Sugar Baby Âœ”ϸ twenty-eighth: sight

“Xavier Easton.”

I sighed softly. Another one of Harold’s failed projects I assumed. It had only been a few years that I started working under him, but his schemes were quickly pissing me off with an increasing frequency. When would he finally understand that hormonally challenged teenagers were not the solution to our operations?

Harold shook his head as he led me through the drab hallway. He continued ranting about his recruit. “The kid is maniacal. Hasn’t ever learnt to hold a gun and shot one. Although he claims it was a mistake and I do want to believe him. The implications-“

“Is he alright?” I asked, feeling a twinge of worry for the strange boy.

Harold was quiet for a while. “I suppose. We first need to drill some sense into his brains. This sort of behaviour-” he shook his head, clicking his tongue in frustration as we finally reached the metal door. He knocked and opened it gently.

I almost laughed.

A slender figure lay sprawled on the long bench. Resting on his stomach, his face turned away from us. It was astounding how relaxed he was in a police station where he had been dragged after shooting a fifty-year-old woman.

“Easton,” Harold’s curt voice called, cutting through the silence. The kid didn’t respond, his back rising and falling gently as he dozed on, unconcerned by the seething man yelling at him.

“Easton!” Harold yelled loudly, his voice echoing around the room so loud that even I flinched. 

He got up with a start, wincing as he slowly turned to us. He messed his dark hair, raking a hand through it as his dizzying blue eyes finally focussed on us. “Man, what the fuck?”

It took all my strength to not laugh at his incredulous expression.

“Sit straight,” Harold said.

“I’m flexibly gay. I don’t do straight.” He yawned, his eyes falling on me. Something flashed behind them and he seemed to deflate a little, a soft pink flush rising up his cheeks. “How come you’re keeping all the hot ones for yourself and I get fucking Simon Pickett?”

I was amused by the kid’s forwardness. Even more so at the expression on his face. It didn’t look like he was flirting. He seemed genuinely angry that he was stuck with Pickett.

“You shot Melanie Rose,” Harold reminded him matter-of-factly. 

“In her foot,” he responded.

“You shot her.”

“She was groping me.”

Despite his seemingly nonchalant demeanour, I could sense some fear and sadness behind his words.

“You were supposed to pretend-“ 

“She was disgusting. Smelled like dog shit.”

This time I laughed aloud. Harold glared at me and I quickly disguised my laugh into a cough. Easton’s amused eyes swivelled to me, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Harold sighed again, “Then you are allowed to extricate from the project. You can’t go around shooting-“

He sighed, swinging his legs as he spoke. “I told you. I need the money.”

Harold shook his head. “Another strike and you’re off to juvie.”

Easton sighed, leaning back against the wall and nodded slightly. Harold turned on his heel and walked away. 

I gazed Xavier for a while as he fixed his eyes on the ground, drawing the tip of his sneaker in an aimless arc on the floor.  I turned to leave the room. Just as I would, however, he tried to get up and his face contorted in pain as he let out a tiny whimper. I walked over to him, studying him carefully.

He bit his lower lip and turned his face away, pulling the cap of his black hoodie lower on his head. “Easton?”

“Xavier.” He corrected. I was slightly startled when his eyes finally met mine. They were strikingly beautiful. Like the clearest azure of the sky. “What’s your name?”

“Grayson Shelby,” I responded. “Are you hurt?”

He was quiet, biting his lower lip and perhaps deliberating whether to answer truthfully. Finally, he sighed, craning his neck as if to make sure no one else was around before saying, “I think I…twisted my ankle.”

I crouched down as he hesitantly stuck his right leg out. I untied his sneakers as he seemed to size up. I gazed up at him. He was biting his lower lip harder. “Does it hurt?” I asked in concern. 

He shook his head. “You haven’t…done anything yet.”

I smiled softly as I removed his shoe. I pulled his jeans up to reveal his ankle. It seemed to be swollen. I sighed, “This is going to hurt a little.”

I glanced up at him and saw that he was looking away from me, his gaze fixed on the wall to his left. His face flaming. His hands clutching the bench so tight that his knuckles were almost white.

I held his foot, resting it on one of my hand as I gently massaged with my other.

He hissed, his face scrunching with agony as he finally looked at me. “That fucking hurts.”

“I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

I tried to gently massage his feet. I was acutely aware of his gasping breaths. I looked up at him and did a double-take.

His lips were slightly parted, his eyes half-closed. Soft, gasps, moans escaped his throat. His dark lashes framing his eyelids. His breathing shallow. Rapid. Almost erotic.

I turned my face away from him, feeling hot around my neck. His soft laugh told me he was trying to do whatever it was, intentionally.

He whimpered as I pulled his ankle out. Just one strong movement and it would be in place. I needed to distract him. And myself.

“So… what kind of music do you like?”

“Mario track.”

I scoffed. “That is a classic.”

He gasped in pain as I kept massaging his feet. I tried again. “So, any girlfriends or-?”

“I’m single and available for you,” he said, cutting across me quickly. “Also, if you want to distract me you should just remove your shirt.” 

I gazed up at him, amused. “Wow, kid. You’re really forward aren’t you?”

His eyes hardened, his nostrils flaring. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

“Watch your mouth, Xavier,” I said, finding his demeanour extremely entertaining.

He smirked, oozing confidence. “Drop your pants and I’ll have you begging for this mouth sir.”

I stopped and stared up at him. He glared at me with narrowed eyes. He looked defiant. Unabashed. His jaw clenched tightly. I sighed, “Wow. You’re really something aren’t you.”

“I’m just say-” he let out a loud yelp of pain as I turned his ankle. He crumpled backwards into the chair, his chest heaving. “Was that…your revenge?”

I chuckled, putting his shoe back on as I rose to my feet. I gazed at him. There was something strange about Xavier Easton. Perhaps the fiery fierceness behind his irises. Perhaps the subtle defiance. The cleverly disguised fear. Like he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

“You’re welcome,” I said, smirking.

He gazed up at me, “I’m not a kid you know. Sixteen is legal in many places. I’m almost seventeen anyway.”

I shook my head. The kid was ridiculously preposterous. “So?”

“So…maybe you should come get some coffee with me or something. Or we could…cut to the chase.” He took a deep breath, his eyes clouding over for a second. He smiled, slurring the next sentence. “You smell so fucking good. Pickett smells like cigarette and wet clothes. I think having you around would be better. You know for the cases and stuff.”

Despite my shock at his words, I couldn’t help laughing. His face got redder and redder as he looked affronted. “It’s not a-“

I stretched a hand out and messed his hair as his cheeks flamed, his eyes flashing.

“Hey!” he yelled, his face turning a bright red.

I chuckled and started walking away from there. He remained quiet, but I could feel his intense gaze trained on my back. I turned just as I reached the exit. I smiled softly at him. “Welcome to the force, Xavier.”

He didn’t respond, his face flushed. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his lower lip jutting out ever so slightly. Perhaps unconsciously to almost make it seem like he was pouting. Oddly innocent. He turned his face away, fixing his eyes on the wall again as I shut the door behind me.

Xavier Easton. I had a feeling he’d impact my life in unimaginable ways.