It was a perfect day for a round of 18 holes. The partly cloudy Orlando sky contained only the fluffy snow-white clouds that promised no rain. Justin squinted up at the sun as he fastened his lucky leather golfing glove.

 

'Going to make the deal today,' he promised himself. Then Landon will have to make me a partner.' He shouldered his golf bag, the soft leather strap worn from use and comforting to him.

 

“Shall we get started?” he asked his potential clients.  Mr. Ricciuti, a well-kept man in his forties curtly nodded. Justin was intimidated by the experience and confidence the man seemed to exude. He placed the towel he used to wipe any sweat on his palms before gloving up back in his bag, ignoring the young man that had it on his shoulder.

 

Ricciuti and his associate, Charles Evatz began their way across the club's lobby in the direction of the green. Their caddies followed.

 

'They're going to think I'm cheap and not worthy because I don't have a caddy,' Justin realized. He quickly scanned the crowd. His eyes landed upon a man that looked slightly older than Justin himself and apparently alone, dressed in a long sleeve polo shirt and khakis like the rest of the employees of the country club. The promise of promotion in his mind made him cross the lobby quickly. His bag came off his shoulder, landing at the startled man's feet.

 

“One hundred dollars to be my caddy today,” Justin promised. He paused just long enough to see that the man was picking up the bag.

 

“I'm not-” the man tried to explain but Justin had moved on, in pursuit of his golfing partners. He picked up the bag and followed the dark blonde.

 

They rented three carts, Justin lagging behind until his temporary caddy had caught up with his clubs.

 

“Get in,” Justin said once the clubs were safely in the back.

 

“I don't-” the rest of his reply was cut short as Justin bodily pulled the shorter man into the passenger seat and hit the gas.

 

“I'm Justin,” he introduced as they pulled up to the first tee. “Chris,” the black haired replied automatically. “I don't actually-” Chris dropped the sentence as Justin was gone already, on the tee talking to the other two men. He got out of the cart, then stood awkwardly by it, unsure of what to do. He wasn't a caddy, but he also didn't want to show the ambitious young man's hand to his business partners.

 

After determining the order of tee off, Justin returned to the back of the cart to retrieve his three wood. Chris met him back there.

 

“I'm not a caddy.” Chris rambled out. Justin froze from wiping his precious club.

 

“You're not?” He looked the older man up and down. “You're wearing the uniform-” His eyes widened as he noticed the shirt was missing the logo over the left breast. “Oh man, I'm so sorry. Um. You can go back, I guess.”

 

Chris looked Justin up and down. “You look like you're in a bind.” Justin nodded.

 

“If I make the deal today, I could be made partner,” he surprised himself by explaining. There was some sort of kindness in the dark brown eyes watching him that made him want to spill everything he was thinking to him.

 

“I see,” Chris peered at him a minute longer before slowly smiling. “Well, I guess I could use a hundred bucks.”

 

“You'll do it?” Justin could hardly believe his luck. Chris nodded. “Thank you.”

 

“I'll be welcome when I've got my money,” the dark eyes twinkled.

 

Justin's lips twitched at the corner before he joined the other two men on the tee.  Ricciuti went first, a very polished, practiced swing throwing the ball a good five  hundred yards. 'The man could have been a pro,' Justin thought. Justin was next.  Hew swung, sending his ball a respectable four hundred yards down the par four hole. Evatz went next, landing somewhere near Justin's.

 

The business men returned to their carts to exchange clubs before ambling to where the balls had landed. Chris watched the other two caddies pick up the bags and follow suit so he decided he should probably do the same. He hefted Justin's bag onto his shoulder, absently stroking the worn leather strap as it dug gently into his slender physique.

 

“You should switch to this one,” Chris suggested, handing Justin his five wood. Charles had just hit his ball, landing just off the green.

 

“Really?” Justin asked. He put his three iron back and took the offered club.

 

“Yeah. If you hit it right you'll be on the green.”

 

“Cool,” Justin grinned.

 

He glanced back at Chris, wondering if taking the man's advice was a good idea as he squared off to the ball. His temporary caddy just grinned from where he was standing next to the other men. Clearing his mind, Justin turned all his attention to his swing. He took one steadying, calming breath before raising the club. One more breath later, he was swinging it and watching as his ball sailed high and true, landing neatly on the green. Chris seemed to know what he was talking about.

 

“Nice shot,” Mr. Ricciuti appraised him. “There's hope for you yet.”

 

“Thanks, Mr. Ricciuti,” Justin grinned.

 

They walked the hundred yards to the final ball, and the eldest hit the ball near Justin's.

 

Chris handed Justin his putter when they reached the green. He allowed the potential client to go first, watching as the ball just missed the hole ten yards away. Justin was next, and he couldn't contain the grin as he watched the ball fall and heard the satisfying clunk as it hit the bottom of the cup.

 

“Birdie!” He exclaimed. Charles slapped him on the back and Mr. Ricciuti congratulated him.

 

“Thanks for the advice man,” Justin told Chris as they walked back to their carts. “I've never gotten under five on that hole before.” He gently pressed Chris' free shoulder with a fist. “You're like a good luck charm or something.”

 

“Something like that,” Chris muttered, trying to stop the grin from taking hold.

 

The next couple of holes went well enough, the three men starting to talk business a little while waiting for someone to tee off or as they walked to and from the green.

 

“Landon and Associates are the place to turn to though,” Justin was reassuring the two men. “We've got a full staff of certified attorneys.”

 

“Your firm is known for malpractice and the like. What do you know of corporate law?” Charles Evatz asked.

 

“We're expanding our firm, a whole new division devoted to corporations. From the small business up to the largest corporation in Orlando. We have an excellent record and will continue to carry that into the future. You'd do well to hire us, hire me.”

 

The partners were quiet as they made their way back to the cart, thinking over the current discussion.

 

Somewhere around the fifth hole, Chris caught the other men's attention by making Justin laugh a little too much.

 

“What's so funny?” Charles inquired.

 

“Nothing really, just a stupid joke,” Justin replied.

 

“Can't be that stupid if you laughed that hard at it.”

 

“No, really, it's a stupid joke, it was just out of nowhere.” Justin assured him.

 

 “I could tell it again,” Chris offered, grinning.

 

“Please do, who doesn't like a good chuckle now and then?” Mr.  Ricciuti joined the conversation.

 

 “Okay. What did the baby corn say to the mother corn?” Chris asked.

 

“I don't know,” the two men said. Justin bit his cheek, knowing what was coming.

 

“Where's the Pop corn?” Chris delivered. The others chuckled, Justin just barely biting back a snort of amusement.

 

Chris continued to crack jokes, showcasing his wide array of topics. Justin wondered a few times if the man did stand up at open mike nights at the comedy clubs in town. By the ninth hole, Mr. Ricciuti invited him to turn the trio into a quartet. The forced causal atmosphere dissolved into a more natural relaxed one. Even imposing Mr. Ricciuti cracked a smile or two at Chris' jokes and golf anecdotes.

 

“What is it that you do, Chris?” Charles asked around the twelfth hole.

 

“I own a record company. FuMan Records.”

 

“I don't think I've heard of that one.”

 

“We're pretty small still. Only been in business for about five years. We've got three artists at the moment. All local, but fairly successful in the clubs.”

 

“Ah, a man of business. I like you, Mr.-” Mr. Ricciuti smiled at the younger man.

 

“Kirkpatrick,” Chris supplied.

 

“I like you, Mr. Kirkpatrick. A sharp mind for business and a sense of humor to boot.”

 

“You're a pretty cool cat yourself, Mr. Ricciuti,” Chris said, stroking the man's ego. Justin tried not to stare. He wished he was that casual with his potential clients. He wanted to be the cool one, the one that could joke like that, so effortlessly.

 

At the sixteenth hole, Justin watched as Chris scratched at his leg, his khaki pant riding up a few inches. Justin caught a glimpse of black, not enough to tell what the tattoo was, but his interest was piqued. Not many members of the club were tattooed. The few that had them kept them covered up at all times.

 

When they had finished, Justin was quite pleased with himself. He had played his best game in a long time. Mr. Ricciuti had won by a good six strokes, and Mr. Evatz was pretty close to Justin in the score. Chris had even done well for his nine holes, and with borrowed clubs. The six men were all in good spirits as they entered the lounge.

 

“You play a good game, Timberlake,” Mr. Ricciuti said, taking his gloves off.

 

“Thank you,” Justin replied. “Have you given any thought to what we've been discussing?”

 

“I'd hire Justin if I needed a lawyer. In fact, I think I might anyways, can never be too careful in my line of work. Have you heard about Trans Continental? Bankrupt by lawsuits from their artists.” Chris shook his head. “Still, he deserved it, glad I read over that contract with a fine tooth comb.”

 

Ricciuti and his partner looked at each other. Charles nodded minutely, and  Ricciuti turned to Justin. “We like you. You've got a lot of passion and ambition. We're going to hire you and your firm. Don't let us down, Mr. Timberlake. We'll be in touch to talk business.”

 

Justin couldn't believe what he was hearing. He burst into a huge grin, shaking their hands. “Thank you, Mr. Ricciuti, Mr. Evatz. You won't be sorry.” The exchanged farewells. The two men and their caddies departed. Justin's hand dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet to pay Chris the money he promised, turning around to hand it to him. But Chris was gone.  Justin gazed down at the design he had been doodling across his empty notepad. The meeting had been going on for what seemed like eternity, discussing the Zuckerman case that had nothing to do with him. The image was a jumble, some weird abstract thing taking up one side of it, some sort of design with flames. Another section had a graffiti design reading 'FuMan'. In one corner, a sketch of kind eyes peered up at Justin as he stared back. He sighed, wondering for the hundredth time that day what Chris was up to. Something more exciting than a useless meeting he bet.

 

“We'll turn it over to Mr. Timberlake,” Robert Landon's use of Justin's name brought him back to attention.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Landon,” Justin said. “I am pleased to announce that we have landed the Star Precision contract. Mr. Ricciuti's secretary has called to set up a meeting for Mr. Ricciuti, Mr. Evatz, Mr. Landon and myself for next week to discuss the details of the contract. Ricciuti and Evatz have assured me that it is a done deal at the last meeting.”

 

Robert smiled at the young attorney. “Well done, Justin. The account is in your capable hands.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” Justin returned the smile and sat back again. He glanced around the table, fighting back a larger smile as he decided on what he was going to do when he got back to his office.

 

“FuMan Records, Danielle speaking,” a chipper voice greeted Justin through the phone.

 

“I'm trying to get a hold of Chris,” Justin answered.

 

“He's out of the office at the moment, may I take a message?”

 

“Um, no. Could you tell me if he'll be in this evening? I have something of his I'm trying to return.”

 

“Oh, okay. Decapitated Carnage has a booking at the,” Danielle paused, Justin could hear her typing. “Saint Vitus. The show starts at nine, but Mr. Kirkpatrick likes to get there early to scout the opening acts.”

 

“Thank you,” Justin told her. He scribbled out the club name. He wasn't familiar with it, but it sounded innocuous, despite the band's name. He hung up with the friendly secretary and quickly searched the address of the bar. Downtown Orlando. He glanced at the clock. If he left now, he'd have enough time for dinner before the time Justin guessed the opening band would start their set.

 

Half an hour later, Justin was trying to find a parking spot. The club was situated in an area saturated with bars and restaurants. Everywhere was busy in the post-work day hours of the warm Friday evening.

 

Finding a spot down the block, he made his way to his favorite little bistro for dinner. He lucked out and got one of his favorite tables in the place, right in the window where he could watch people while eating.

 

The steak was done exactly how he liked it, and he took his time enjoying it, watching people walk by. Couples holding hands, a pair he was sure were only just going to make it around the nearest ally corner before jumping the other. Families coming and going from the restaurants, the kids running ahead or teenagers lagging behind the rest. College students dressed to impress.

 

The meal paid for, he walked down the strip, finding the bar easily enough. He walked in. Immediately he felt like there was a spotlight shining right on him. That everybody in the building was watching his every move. He glanced around at the other patrons. Most were wearing black. A lot of ripped jeans, piercings, darkly themed tattoos. And Mohawks. Half the people there seemed to have mohawks.

 

“Don't cause trouble,” the gruff bartender said, the strobe light gleaming off his shaved head.

 

“I'm not looking for trouble,” Justin mumbled, taking his two beers and change. He looked around, becoming more aware of how much he stuck out still wearing his work clothes. He found the stage and started that way, figuring the music mogul would be around there somewhere.

 

Chris was sitting on a very beaten up couch behind an equally beaten in coffee table just to the side of the stage. Like most of the people there, he was also in all black. Justin noticed that although he blended in at a glance, Chris' jeans were not ripped, and his shirt wasn't frayed or displaying a logo of any sort. His face was scrunched up as he laughed at whatever the guy next to him had said. The light caught a glimmer of silver in his ear and Justin saw he was wearing two hoops per ear. His short dark hair was spiked up like it had been at the country club, though there seemed to be a sheen to it that was missing earlier that week. He made his way to the couch, standing just in front of the table and swallowed as Chris turned his attention to Justin.

 

“Hey,” Justin yelled over the music blaring from the speakers nearby. There wasn't a band on stage yet, so it was from the juke box located near the bar.

 

“What are you doing here?” Chris asked. His dark eyes had widened in surprise. Justin stuck a hand out, offering the beer in it to Chris. The older man took it, watching Justin move around the table.

 

“Celebrating a very good week at work,” Justin replied cooly, sitting on the empty cushion next to Chris.

 

“Mm,” Chris hummed taking a drag of the beer. “Didn't know you were into this kind of scene.”

 

“Oh yeah, love metal,” Justin lied. Chris actually snorted as he and the guy on the other side laughed.

 

“Uh, no. Don't believe you one bit.”

 

“How would you know? You don't know me.”

 

Chris's eyes flicked down then back up at Justin's face. He smirked and took another sip of the drink. “Don't have to, you're advertising it quite well.” The guy next to Chris said something to him and he shook his head.

 

“No, no,” he murmured. He glanced at Justin. “Justin, this is Alex, my man in Havanna. Alex, this is Justin from the club.”

 

“Really?” Alex sat forward and stared at Justin. Justin shifted a little under the studious gaze.

 

He offered his hand. “Nice to meet you,” Justin replied. Alex's eyes twinkled with amusement as he took the hand and shook it.

 

“Yes, and you. What brings you here? Got a little sweet going on for Lucky here?”

 

“Alex,” Chris warned. Alex just started laughing. He got up, leaving Justin and Chris alone on the couch for the time being. Chris put the bottle on the table and sat back, arms stretching across the back of the couch. Justin took a drag from his bottle before setting it down as well, finding Chris studying him.

 

“Brian McKnight,” Chris announced.

 

“What?”

 “That's the kind of music you're into. R&B, Soul. Brian McKnight's one of your favorite artists, isn't he?”

 

“Well, yeah, who doesn't love Brian?” Justin asked. Chris grinned, pleased he was correct. “How do you even guess that?”

 

“It's a gift.”

 

Justin was about to respond when a group of musicians, if you could call them musicians, they looked as ragged as the rest of the crowd. What Justin figured was the lead singer had hair past his shoulders, completely unwashed looking, with streaks of fire red dye haphazardly throughout the normally dishwater blonde. Chris grew quiet, watching as they set up.

 

“Who are they?” Justin yelled as they started to play. Too loudly. It was all Justin could do not to press his hands over his ears before they started to bleed.

 

“Foresaken Realm. Geoff gave me a demo of theirs. The bassist is a friend of his. Wanted to check them out live.”

 

“Oh.” Justin was lost, but just nodded and pretended to watch the band play. He kept sneaking glances at Chris though, noticing things like how his goatee looked just a little scruffier than he remembered.

 

Forsaken Realm's set lasted about twenty minutes. Justin wasn't sure how many songs that had been, they all blended together into loud noise. Once they had wrapped up, Chris came alive again. He flagged a waitress down, ordering a bottle of something stronger than beer.

 

While waiting for it to arrive, a girl wearing nothing more than a bikini wandered over, sitting on the table in front of them before lying down on it. She handed Alex a bottle of tequila and he contentedly poured the sour liquor across her abdomen before licking it off. He passed the bottle to Chris, who did the same, giving the bottle to Justin. The young attorney looked at the girl, who watched him through half-closed eyes. He glanced at Chris. The eyes that had seemed so kind on the golf course studied him, not quite mocking him. Justin poured the liquid over the girl, leaning forward and slowly working his way across her stomach, lapping the shot out of her navel. He felt Chris' eyes burning on him as he did so and he felt compelled to show he could hold his own here.

 

A second band had taken the stage, the music almost exactly the same as the first band. People had created a mosh pit in front of the stage, dancing together in a tangle of skin and black material. The strobe lights glinted off off the silver piercings in every imaginable place and probably a few that couldn't be seen by Justin as he sat up from the body shot. Wiping his mouth, he gratefully took the shot glass Chris offered him, downing the drink in one swallow, not even bothering to ask what it was. The vodka burned his throat going down, a welcome burn that would hopefully block the memory of what he had just done from his mind.

 

Justin leaned close to Chris. “Do you want to get some coffee sometime?” he asked. He pulled away to see the response. Their eyes met and half a second later, Chris' goatee was tickling Justin's clean chin as their lips met. His eyes fluttered closed, mouth parting open in shock. Chris took advantage, his tongue darting across Justin's lower lip. As soon as it started, he had pulled back. Justin protested, a quiet moan in the back of his throat. He opened his eyes to find Chris grinning at him still.

 

“Sure.” Chris agreed. “I'm free all next week.”

 

Tuesday afternoon, Justin managed to get away early. He felt like he had recovered from the Friday night experience, as he thought of it over the weekend. The night had given him so much more to think about, that man with the chocolate brown eyes. The kiss that had led to some rather racy dreams. He had seen two completely different sides to the man. He could fit in seamlessly to two different worlds, was accepted at both. Both felt like a facade. He wanted to unravel the puzzle that was Chris.

 

FuMan records was one of a few businesses in the plain brick building at the edge of the industrial area of town. Justin locked his precious little sports car and entered the business. A perky blonde was seated at the desk in the small waiting room. She looked up from whatever she was typing as the bells on the door tinkled gently.

 

“One moment, please,” she said to Justin, returning to her work as he crossed the small room in three steps to stand at the chest-high counter. He took the time to glance around at the sparsly decorated room. A few worn-in chairs, an end table with a few magazines. A potted ficus plant stood in the corner. Framed posters of the three bands on the label adorned one wall.

 

“May I help you?” The perky blonde whom a nameplate at the edge of the desk proclaimed to be Danielle Raab.

 

“I'm here to see Chris. Is he still here?” Justin asked.

 

“Do you have an appointment?” She asked, glancing back at her computer screen.

 

“Not really. He told me to stop by sometime after work this week,” Justin explained.

 

“Oohkay,” Danielle responded. He could tell she wasn't going to let him back unless he did his best. He gave her his brightest smile. She couldn't help but return it. “I don't have any appointments listed for him this afternoon, but if you could give me a name, I could ask him if he'd receive you,” she said.

 

“Justin Timberlake.”

 

Her eyes widened a little at the mention of his name. “Oh.” She glanced down at something he couldn't see right below him. “Go on back. Third door on the left,” she gestured to the short hallway that started at the end of her desk.

 

“Thank you.” Justin made his way around the desk. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he walked down the tiny hall. Chris was at his desk, reading something as Justin knocked on the open door.

 

“Justin!” Chris got out of his chair, revealing that under the clean dress shirt and tie he was wearing pressed black jeans. Yet another enigma of the one and only Chris Kirkpatrick.

 

“Yo,” Justin greeted the shorter man.

 

“I'm glad you came. Now I have an excuse to finish that tomorrow. My eyes were starting to cross.” He had removed his tie and folded it up, tucking it into his jeans pocket. He started to unbutton his dress up shirt, slightly alarming Justin until he saw that there was a plain white tee underneath. He couldn't deny he was slightly disappointed to see the cloth. “Where do you want to go?”

 

“Starbucks?” Justin tried to focus on the conversation. Not the sudden urge he had to pull Chris' clothes off.

 

Chris laughed. “Which one?”

 

“Um, the one that's on the corner of Jefferson and Monroe's my usual one,” Justin replied.

 

“Cool. I'll follow you,” Chris offered.

 

 

“Okay,” Justin managed. Chris placed the dress shirt on one of the hooks of a coat rack just inside the office door before grabbing a leather jacket. He shrugged the jacket on as Justin's eye caught the helmet that was underneath. Chris removed that as well.

 

“Motorcycle?” Justin asked. That would explain the jeans. Justin's eyes darted down. Thick riding boots.

 

“Yeah. You ride?”

 

“Sometimes,” Justin couldn't believe it. He loved motorcycles too? “It's too awkward to ride to work, but on weekends. Love it.”

 

“Cool,” Chris grinned. They left the tiny office. Chris patted the counter on their way by. “Don't work too late,” He told Danielle.

 

“I won't,” she promised.

 

Chris whistled when he saw Justin's car. “Sure are doing well for yourself, aren't you?” he asked, running a hand over the powder blue paint of his Bentley.

 

“It was a graduation gift from the folks,” Justin confessed.

 

“They have great taste.”

 

“One of my dream cars, they couldn't have gone wrong.”

 

“Nope.” Chris headed a few spots over where he was parked.

 

“Is that a GSXR Suzuki 600?” He walked over, looking the bike over.

 

“Yep. An '01, But I can't seem to get rid of her. We've got some great miles together.”

 

It was Justin's turn to run a hand over the paint on the body of the bike.

 

“Sweet. She handles well?”

 

“Like a dream,” Chris was proud of his bike. He straddled the bike, fastening his helmet. Justin took the cue and went back to his Bentley. He left the parking lot, Chris right behind him.

 

They pulled into the lot at Starbucks together. Chris pulled into the closest available space to where Justin had selected. They met up at the doors. Justin held the outer door while Chris went in. Chris returned the favor with the interior doors. They waited in line in a comfortable silence while the baristas took care of the elderly couple and teen hipster before them.

 

“I'll have a Grande Frappachino with four espresso shots in it.” Chris' order rolled off his tongue. “And a double chocolate chip muffin.”

 

“Four espressos?” the young redhead behind the counter asked.

 

“Yes,” Chris confirmed. She rang him up and he paid before she started to make his order. He moved to the side. Justin stared at him.

 

“May I help you?” The other girl, the brunette, was behind the register now, ready to take Justin's order, and he stepped forward. “A Grande Caramel Soy Latte, easy on the foam, and a cran-orange scone.”

 

“Man, are you secretly a girl or something?” Chris asked after Justin had paid.

 

“What?”

 

“Could you get any more girly?”

 

“It's good,” Justin pouted. “How can you even process all that caffeine and sugar?” he asked as the redhead handed him his drink and muffin.

 

“Easily. Mmmm.” Chris replied, sipping his drink, waiting for Justin. A few moments later he had his soy latte in hand and they were finding a table in the window to settle in at.

 

Justin removed the lid to his drink and ripped a piece of his scone off, dipping it into the hot liquid.

 

“So, Christopher Kirkpatrick, three younger half-sisters, an ex-stepfather or two, a current one and two dogs. October 17, '71, Libra.” Chris rambled on for a moment.

 

“What?”

 

“The first date bio, thought I'd get it out of the way.” Chris' eyes wrinkled up as he grinned at Justin's sudden blush. “Thought so,” he said softly. “What about you?”

 

“Um. Justin Timberlake, two younger half-brothers, parents are both remarried. One dog, thinking of getting another. January 31, 1981.” He dunked another chunk of his scone.

 

“Hey there, J,” Chris teased. “Always dunk your scones?”

 

“Not really. Guilty pleasure, I guess. So, you know what kind of music I'm into, what about you?”

 

“A little of everything. Michael Jackson, Brian McKnight, No Doubt, Busta Rhymes, The Beatles. I collect vinyls,” he smiled. “Sometimes I DJ at Club Vanoo.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“Yeah. Get that promotion?”

 

“Kind of,” Justin smiled. “I'm in charge of the entire department. I've got a secretary of my own!”

 

Chris laughed at that. “Me too, man. Isn't it awesome?”

 

“Yeah,” Justin agreed.

 

Chris picked a chip off his muffin. Justin noticed the edges of a tattoo peeking out from under the edge of the sleeve.

 

“What about your tattoos?” He asked.

 

“What about 'em?”

 

“How many and what do they mean to you?”

 

“Five right now. Mean different things.” He lifted his left sleeve up, showing a beautiful cross tattoo. “A cross with my grandparent's initials in it, they helped Mom raise me. Things were tough growing up.” Justin made an appropriate sympathetic noise as Chris got up. He lifted the leg of his jeans, showing off a flame encircling his ankle and a dragon with an Asian symbol by it. “The flame reminds me to purge the bad stuff. The Kanji is FuMan's logo. The dragon's just cool.” Justin looked down at them, the flame was the one he saw the previous week. Chris moved to his other leg. A Phoenix on his calf and words on the inside of his ankle.

 

“Cool,” Justin said as Chris sat back down. “I've got a few,” Justin said. He rolled his shirt up, showing Chris the bottom of the cross that adorned his left bicep.

 

“Nice,” Chris replied appreciatively.

 

“I've got an angel on my back with Mama's initials in it. And,” He looked down where he was pulling is scone apart “My initals on my ankle,” he added quietly.

 

Chris started laughing. “Your own initials? Egotistical much?”

 

“It was during a phase during high school when I wanted to be a rapper.”

 

Chris laughed even harder. “I can not picture you as a rapper.”

 

“It was a phase,” Justin repeated. “I'm going to get it covered up someday.”

 

“Oh, I bet,” Chris commented as he calmed down from his fit.

 

The two men stared at the other across the table. The air felt suddenly charged, like a bolt of lightning was just about to strike down in the middle of the coffee shop. Justin looked away first, lowering his gaze to his still mostly full cup of java. He took a long sip, the hot liquid burning his tongue pleasurably, like Chris' stare had done to other areas just the moment before.

 

Their banter came easily, a gentle teasing flowing seamlessly into flirting and back. They found they had so much in common, not just sports and cars, but they found something to agree with on almost every single topic they talked about.

 

Their drinks were finished long ago and the sun was setting before they moved from the table.

 

“So, maybe we can do this again?” Justin asked, holding the door open for Chris.

 

“Yeah, sounds cool. How's Friday? I know where they have the best Indian food in town.”

 

Justin nodded. “Cool.”

 

“I can pick you up from work, if you'd like,” Chris offered. “You'd be on the way between FuMan and the place, it'd just be easier.”

 

“I'd like that,” Justin smiled. They were standing in the fading light of the sunset, neither one really wanting to part. Chris turned towards his bike first when a hand landed on his arm and turned him back around. His goatee scratched pleasantly against Justin's chin as their lips met. Unlike the last time, this one stayed chaste, more of a promise of things to come that weekend.

 

“Friday then,” Justin breathed after pulling away. Chris opened his eyes, staring up at the taller man and nodded.

 

“Yeah, Friday.”