The next time Chris calls, Lee hesitates before he agrees to anything. “This isn’t another scheme to get me to go clubbing with you guys, is it?” he asks, dubious, when Chris wants him to swing by the parlor after closing. “Because, dude, you ditched me and I had to fend off three very drunk-ass girls the rest of the night.”
“Naw, man.” Chris laughs, a warm sound through the tinny receiver on Lee’s cell. “I got a new design I want to draw and you’re my canvas. My muse, even. You coming?”
Keep talking like that and I will, Lee thinks, but he keeps that to himself. Instead he grunts into the phone, noncommittal, but Chris knows him so well, he just laughs again. “See you at eight.”
Lee is sure to wear a pair of boxer briefs under his faded Levis this time. He arrives at quarter to, lik
