Hard at Work Box Set

Carey’d Away-3

When Leena finally showed up, she wore a disarming smile and a blue long-sleeve shirt with the Superman logo emblazoned across the chest. Her usual jeans had been traded in for a bright yellow skirt, knee-length, and her long blonde hair, normally pulled back in a tight bun to keep it out of her way, hung loose across her shoulders. “You look nice,” Patrick told her. “You had to wear the Superman shirt to ruin it, though, didn’t you?”

“It’s part of my costume,” she said, tossing her coat onto the folding chair behind their booth. She looked around and rubbed her hands together as she surveyed the way Patrick had set things up. “Looks good here. What time’s it start again?”

“Five minutes ago.” Patrick hoped Leena could hear the anger in his voice because he was pissed. f*****g livid. When eight o’clock had come and gone, when the doors at the end of the hall had opened and Leena wasn’t there yet, Patrick had considered leaving. Let someone else worry about the booth and the overstock and all the other s**t Leena had dumped on him.

Only he wasn’t like that, he couldn’t just leave…but it’s a good thing you decided to show up or I might have. Where the hell would you be then, hmm? “What took you so long?”

Leena shook out a red bed sheet she had folded over one arm. “I couldn’t find my cape.”

Patrick eyed her warily. “The fact that you even have something you call your cape scares me.” He watched as Leena draped the bed sheet over her shoulders and tied the ends around her neck. “Do you really have to do that? You look…”

He trailed off, unsure of whether to say like a weirdo or if his friend would get the point with pretentious. He could almost hear Leena’s reply. “Pretentious? How?”

Patrick didn’t want to have to explain it to her.

“You just have to get into it.” Leena held the cape out at her sides and shook it. “What do you think?”

“About what?” Patrick asked cautiously. Please don’t ask me about the cape because sure as hell you ain’t no superhero. You look like a fool in a silly red sheet, that’s it.

“You should’ve dressed up.” Leena grinned as the first few customers approached the booth, a trio of young boys who started to flip through the Pokémon cards. “Hey, guys. Looking for something in particular?”

One of the boys saw the cape and laughed. “Nice Supergirl getup. Do you have a first edition Charizard?”

“American or Japanese?” From under the table, Leena pulled out the binder she kept her high-dollar cards in. “Holo or non? Basic set or Team Rocket expansion?”

Patrick sighed and tuned them out. Was it just him, or did everyone suddenly lapse into a foreign language here? Moving Leena’s coat aside, he sat down and stared around at the room rapidly filling up with people—mostly boys, but there were a lot of parents as well, a few single men his own age, and even a large number of girls.

Some fool in Wolverine’s signature yellow tights and claws stalked the snack area. A woman with a tight tank top and holsters strapped to her thighs blew imaginary smoke from the barrel of her drawn pistol as she posed with a group of kids. Someone pretending to be Batman paced the aisle in front of the booth, his cape fluttering dramatically around his heels, but he just looked like an overgrown kid dressed in pajamas and a mask.

They’re all weirdoes, Patrick mused. At least his friend wasn’t the only one. The whole room was full of dorks. He wondered where Carey was now. The registration desk? Could he find some reason to go up there and check?

Nametags, his mind whispered. I need a new one, right? And Leena didn’t get one, so she needs one, too. I can go get us some. Standing, he muttered, “I’ll be right back.”

Leena glanced up at him with a quick smile and turned back to the boys, who poured over the cards as if they were rare treasure. Patrick shook his head. They’re nothing but pictures on paper. That’s it.

Weaving through the crowd, he made his way to the registration desk. In his mind he was already talking to Carey again. That boy had a smile like the sun, and the way he had stared at him, so hungry, so wanting—it took Patrick’s breath away to think anyone would look at him with that much blatant lust and desire and need. He wanted Carey to look at him like that again, to hear him laugh again, to see that smile.

Face it, Dix, he told himself as he crossed the convention hall. You want to feel his hand on your ass again. You want to feel him touch you in places that haven’t felt another’s touch in too damn long. You want him, okay? End of discussion. You just met him and already you want him something bad.

People pressed against the registration desk, most of them filling out information cards for the door prize drawings. Behind the desk sat a guy with a head full of brown mussed hair who handed out pens. He saw Patrick and handed him a pen over the crowd edging the desk. “A dollar a chance,” he told him. “Great prizes this year.”

“I’m—” Patrick caught himself before he said, looking for Carey. He looked at the guy’s nametag and forced a smile. “Bill, is it?”

The guy behind the table turned toward him, raising his chin slightly to hear over the crowd of people between them.

Patrick’s smile widened. “I’m with one of the vendors.”

Bill laughed at that, like it was a joke or something, but Patrick didn’t get it. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Did Carey check you guys in?”

Carey. Patrick nodded numbly at the name. “Yeah, he did. But we need—”

“Is everything okay?” Bill interrupted.

“We need nametags,” Patrick said, though he didn’t really want them anymore. They had just been a ruse to see Carey again and he tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed. Of course he couldn’t expect Carey to be there; he was at work, wasn’t he? He probably saw me coming and ran in the opposite direction. And the joke’s on me, because chances are the number he gave me isn’t his either. He was just being mean. I’ll call it up and the guy who answers will be like, “Pizza Hut.” My bad.

“Nametags,” Bill repeated, as if he didn’t quite know what Patrick was talking about. Then his smile slipped a notch and he started to rummage around the papers on the desk.

Patrick nodded. “You know, it’s okay—”

“They’re around here somewhere,” Bill muttered. “What booth are you at?”

“One sixty.” Patrick shook his head, handed back the pen. “No, really, it’s okay. We’ll just—”

“How many do you need?” Bill asked, scribbling down the number. “I’ll have someone run them by when I find them.”

Can you send Carey?

When Patrick didn’t answer, Bill glanced up at him. “One sixty? How many?”

“Two.” Patrick held up two fingers for emphasis. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, “Is Carey around?”

Bill stopped and looked at him, really seeing him for the first time. His smile brightened and he ran a hand through his hair to brush it back, even though it wasn’t in his face. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You’re Pat Dix?”

God. Patrick felt his cheeks heat up. No, he didn’t tell his friends about me. What the hell did he say? “There’s this boy over there who got all hot and bothered when all I did was look at him.” Jesus.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Two nametags, if you get a chance. It’s no big deal.”

With a wink, Bill said, “I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

Patrick sighed. “You don’t have to…”

But Bill had already turned his attention back to the kids crowding the table. “A dollar a chance,” he called out. “Great prizes this year, folks. Need a pen?”

You don’t have to mention it to him, Patrick thought, trying to catch Bill’s eye, but the guy didn’t look up at him again and when someone pushed him aside, Patrick headed back to the booth. You don’t even have to let him know I asked for him. What’ll he think?

What do I want him to think?

Patrick wasn’t sure, but he wished he had stayed home. Damn Leena and her comics and this convention. Damn Carey and his hands and smile. Patrick just wanted to go home. Three days of this s**t? He didn’t want to think about it.