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The first time he saw Doyle, Simon'd breath had stopped for who knew how long. Tall. Broad shoulders under a fine gray suit jacket. Yves St. Laurent, he learned later, from the very pricey Frost Brothers. A casual walk along an aisle of dust-ridden paperbacks made even more elegant by the perfection of his legs.
Seen from behind.
When he turned to come back another aisle, a soft pink shirt and flashy tie only enhanced the exquisite features of his face. Ice blue eyes. Lips pursed in just the right way. Clean chin sculpted by the heavens. He had to be an apparition, he was so gorgeous.
He stopped in the action/adventure section of paperbacks and picked up a new copy of Arthur Hailey’s The Moneychangers.
Without thinking, Simon called over, “That’s a good one. He wrote Airport, too.”
Doyle glanced at him and picked up a slightly yellowed copy of that book and held it up for Simon to see. One eyebrow perfectly raised in question.
Simon nodded, feeling completely idiotic.
Doyle brought both over and said, “Haven’t seen the movie.”
“It was on TV, last year. Maybe they’ll show it, again. Will that be all?” Doyle nodded...and Simon noticed his eyes were looking straight at him. “Uh, that’ll four-twenty-eight,” Simon murmured as he slipped the books into a bag.
Doyle paid with a five, saying, “You new?”
“What?”
“Haven’t seen you here, before.”
“Oh. Yeah. Just started. Part-time.” Why did he tell him that?
Doyle nodded, accepting his change. “Still in high-school?”
“No. No, Graduated in May. Started at SAC. San Antonio College.” More stupid words.
But then Doyle looked him over like a cat eyeing a mouse it’s about to have for its dinner, and smiled. “I’m familiar with it. So you work nights?” Simon just nodded. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Then he licked his lips, winked, and walked out the door.
And for the next three weeks Simon kept hoping he’d see him walk back in.
Which he did, just before closing, dressed in a fine pullover shirt and tan slacks. It was still too warm for a jacket. He went to the adult magazines and picked through them, finally choosing a Playgirl and ignoring the glances cast his way by a couple of older men in rougher clothing who were pawing a Penthouse.
Then ten o’clock came and Simon told him, “I’m closing, now.”
He’d looked around, smiling. “You here, all alone?”
Simon nodded. “Just for a few hours.”
“Seems dangerous.”
“Nobody’s gonna rob this place. Get maybe fifty bucks.”
“But you’re cute. They might take advantage of you.”
Simon had no answer to that...until Doyle reached over, put a finger through a belt loop in his jeans, and pulled him close. “Is there anyplace they could?”
Simon still had no words, but did manage to motion to a door in the back.
“So maybe lock the door?” said Doyle.
Simon did, and Doyle led him into the back...