The pounding starts again and I realize it’s not only coming from my head.

I flick a glance at the clock. Eight thirty. Eight fucking thirty on a Saturday fucking morning.

Quick calculation. Woody’s... and Mikey? Fuck yes, Mikey and the new suitor, Doctor Licks-A-Lot. Woody’s till eleven. Babylon till three. Trick out the door by five. Leaving three and a half hours of sleep.

When the knocking begins anew, I have no choice but to drag myself from my bed, since once again my prayers for deliverance have gone unanswered. I toss on my robe and stumble to the door, already knowing who I’ll find when I pull it open.

“Good morning!” Lindsay is all smiles and dimples and good fucking morning cheer, Gus tucked under her arm and bundled into some kind of carry-all contraption that looks like a baby straightjacket.

I raise my arm to block her entrance. “You realize that the only reason I’m not slaughtering you where you stand is that I don’t want to explain the blood to my drycleaner, don’t you?”

Lindsay just giggles and ducks under my arm.

And I let her. Fuck.

She plants Gus on the counter before surveying the room, hands on her hips. When she turns back to me, she’s got a gleam in her eye. “No Italian lessons this morning?”

“It was an exchange program,” I grump. “Fluid exchange.” When she just huffs in amusement, I slide the door closed, resigned to my fate.

“You know, just because you have to be up at some ungodly hour--”

“You shouldn’t be out partying all night anyway,” she interrupts. “It’ll age you before your time. And you wouldn’t want that.”

“I pay obscene amounts of money to an exclusive firm in Paris to ensure that doesn’t happen,” I point out.

She shakes her head but wisely chooses not to say anything disparaging about my anti-aging regimen. There’s only so much a man can take at... fuck... what time is it again? Instead, she plops herself down on one of the stools and makes herself at home.

Okay then. “Why the fuck are you here?”

“Gus and I thought we’d come over for breakfast,” she says, all wide-eyed and innocent.

“Uh huh.“ I attempt to stare her down, but she busies herself with fussing over the kid and finally I sigh and move to the cupboards, searching for something that’s not covered in fungus or contaminated by e-coli. I find a container of cereal at the back of a cupboard, likely stale as shit. It’ll do.

I grab some cutlery and a couple of bowls. I start the coffee percolating. And I begin to think that maybe, just maybe, Lindsay doesn’t have some ulterior motive in this visit after all.

“Also...”

Fuck.

“... I wanted to remind you that the fundraiser is tonight.”

“Why would I be interested in attending any event sponsored by the Society of Dickless Fags?”

Lindsay rolls her eyes. “The GLC performs an important community service. And besides, Justin’s artwork is going to be featured.” She leans forward to put a hand on my arm, which I brush off in irritation, and begins speaking faster. “He’s so excited, Brian. He reminds me of when I was young, that rush of anticipation, the thrill of having that first showing. It would mean a lot to him... and me... if you were there.”

I ignore the look in her eye by concentrating on pouring out the cornflakes. “I told you,” I tell her when the bowls are full, “I’m not going.”

“I promised him you’d be there.”

Aaah, the truth comes out. I cross to the fridge. If I keep moving, I won’t strangle her. “Well, you should stop making promises that I can’t keep.”

“Hey, don’t be a shit. I’m trying to clean up some of your mess.”

What the fuck? I slop milk into the bowls. “Look,” I explain, quite patiently since I am considering throttling her with the sash of my robe, “he’s the one who threw himself at me. I’ve been trying to get rid of him.”

And I have. Except for that time at Babylon, I haven’t been near Justin. And that time when he showed up here, running from mommy. But what happened that night was not my fault. And yeah, okay, there was that time in Mikey’s room, but that was just a blowjob. Fuck, that kid’s got a talented tongue. With some more experience, once he learns some patience...

Lindsay scoffs, breaking into my reverie. “Tell it to the judge.”

Bitch. I fling sugar cubes into the bowls and hope she chokes on one. “When did you start sounding like your girlfriend?”

Tossing Mel into the mix is almost guaranteed to get a rise out of Lindsay, but this time she ignores the bait. Instead, she lectures me in her prim and proper schoolteacher voice. “It’s time you became part of the community.”

“Just because I fuck guys doesn’t mean I’m part of some community, and it doesn’t mean I have anything in common with someone else who does.”

“You know it’s more than that,” Lindsay says quietly. “We need to take care of each other.”

Coffee. What I need is coffee. Fuck the mug, I douse the pot with sugar. “I don’t need to take care of anyone. And I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” Why can’t people understand this? Wasn’t I just explaining this to someone the other day? It was... shit... it was Justin. I turn away from Lindsay and take a deep swallow of the coffee, wincing at the burn.

“Someday you might,” Lindsay says from behind me.

“Fuck groups.”

Lindsay huffs out a laugh. “I thought you did.”

“Occasionally. But it’s by invitation only.”

She laughs again, and I’m left trying to figure out how to get her out of my fucking loft that doesn’t involve stuffing her body down the garbage chute. I toss back another mouthful of over-sweetened Peruvian before stalking back to the kitchen and tossing the contents down the sink.

I lift an eyebrow, indicating the bowl into which she’s enthusiastically digging. “You know that shit’s from 1992, right?”

“Mmmm,” Lindsay enthuses around a mouthful of mushed flakes. “The mold lends a certain piquancy to the flavour.”

I huff out a breath and stand up straight, crossing my arms at my chest. “I’m not going.”

“There’s a bar. You can stop by and have a few drinks before you hit the clubs.”

I press my lips together and try to stay calm. “That would be a fabulous plan, except I’m NOT going.”

“And Justin’s work is set up to the left as you come up the stairs. I wouldn’t want you to get lost among the vagina sculptures.”

I lean against the counter, getting into her face. “How can I make this clear to you? Justin is nothing to me. I should have him arrested for stalking me, for fuck’s sake! I don’t give a shit about him, I don’t give a shit about his artwork, I don’t give a shit about the GLC!” I push away from the counter and swipe a hand through my hair. “I’m. Not. Going.”

“Okay, Brian.” Lindsay smiles, sliding her empty bowl away. She slips off the stool and picks up Gus’s contraption. When she starts toward the door, I heave a sigh of relief and follow. I tug the door open and give my son a kiss while Lindsay looks on. Lindsay pecks my cheek and turns to the elevator and I start to slide the door back, another hour of sleep, workout with my trainer at noon, Babylon tonight... when Lindsay glances over her shoulder at me.

“And Brian?”

So close.

“The showing starts at seven... in case you change your mind. But if you want to be fashionably late, I’ll understand.”