The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(8)
“I’m all in, and those bitches are going down. Could use the cash. I have an eye on a new microphone setup—those things are expensive.” L wiggles his fingers like a pianist about to play. And he’s serious too.
“You could start work for me next week, you know. I’d kick Dave right off the team.” But he’s smiling when he says it. Ryan keeps trying to get Lawrence to play video games for him as a professional. They rarely lose a tournament, which means good cash prizes, and now that Ryan is helping Genius Comics develop the newest Hooded Falcon video game—thanks to moi—he really could get Lawrence a job with his development company. Which L keeps refusing. Not all of Ryan’s gaming friends are as cool with queendom as Ryan, and L loves being the reigning queen of wild color dye jobs in East LA. My friends have found their niches and success in their careers. I haven’t. Not really, not until I get to wear that executive badge.
“I’m good,” Lawrence responds, as always.
“What are you two girls talking about?” Ryan asks, picking up his headphones again. “Looked serious.”
“We’re talking about Edward Casey Junior,” I say before Ryan can put on his headphones. Maybe L will tell him about knowing Casey Senior too, if given the open door. Seeing as Ryan recently started as a contractor for Genius Comics, I thought the conversational opening particularly suited for everyone involved and high-fived my dialogue-writing genius.
Ryan glances between us, then grunts, a sour look on his face too.
“What the hell. You two are being so weird today. It’s like I don’t know you.” I throw my hands up as I watch Ryan clamp the bulky Dr. Dre phones over one of his ears.
“Men,” I mutter.
“So have you done anything about that yet?” Lawrence addresses me, raises an eyebrow, and looks pointedly at Ryan. And by “done anything,” he clearly means “hit that.” I can tell he’s trying to change the subject, which I don’t want to do, but he’s hit an Achilles’ heel. Lawrence has been hoping for a Ryan-MG ship for a long time. Which I get. On paper, Ryan would be perfect for me. He runs his own business, he nerds out with the best of them, he’s not bad looking, he’s not horrible to live with, and he’s open-minded about his friends and clients. But. My feelings of my roommate-found-at-a-gaming-con situation possibly turning into something more led to a best friend. Not a romantic love. Lawrence just always holds out hope since Ryan and I are still single.
We’ve had this mini conversation a million times. “No. There’s nothing that needs to be addressed. Look, I know we live together amicably and shared one teensy kiss, but I think that boat has sailed romantically. I love Ryan, just not in that way. In fact, last night he went out with a girl from his gaming group. I’m happy for him.” I shrug, thankful that Ryan isn’t listening, and try to shove the thoughts of Matteo out of my head. We need to get back to the matter at hand. Maybe a little humor will grease L’s tongue. Sass is his first language.
“So. Casey Senior. Were you his colorist?” I’m teasing, but I’m surprised to see a flash of something haunted in L’s gaze. It’s an expression I haven’t seen cross his usually jovial features.
His eyes flick to mine, and his shoulders sag an inch. I get the feeling that he knows I’m not letting this go. “Not his colorist. I was his security guard. You say he saved your life when you were a teenager? Well, he saved mine too, and he was a damn fine man for it. He got me out of a bad situation when he didn’t have to, took me in, gave me a job, accepted me as a person.” Lawrence’s voice is quiet, and he avoids eye contact.
I sit back, letting that wash over me. I never knew. The million or so times I spouted off about The Hooded Falcon and he never said anything. For all the angst I have when people try to label me, I never considered Lawrence as anything but a lipstick-loving queen. Security guard. He certainly looks the part. I’d never mess with Lawrence in a million years, unless I wanted to get scraped off the street. The guy still worked out twice a day—he and Ryan went to the same CrossFit gym. His arms literally bulge out of the black tank top he’s wearing today, and I saw him win a bet that someone could bounce a basketball off his abs.
There’s so much story here, I don’t know what to ask first. “Let me get this straight. You worked for Casey Senior? As a security guard? Why did you quit? . . . Oh.” Edward Casey Senior died of a heart attack, amid rumors of a huge change in the plans for his comic book. Of course his job would have ended. “Lawrence, we have to talk about this. You have to tell me everything. How could you keep this from me?”
Again, a flash of something I don’t understand crosses L’s face. “Girl, sometimes the past doesn’t need to be examined. Mr. Casey was a good and kind man, but he died on my watch, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But he died of a heart attack. No one can help that.” I just reread the big LA Times article yesterday when doing research for my write-up on the thirtieth anniversary. Stress-induced heart attack.
Lawrence doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Maybe.” There’s a shadow behind his word, but he moves on with a shrug. “Junior blamed me for it. For bringing trouble into their house, for adding to his father’s stress. And Junior sure didn’t appreciate my . . . extracurricular activities and dismissed me. I don’t love that my life led me back to dealing with him, but I make it work. LA is a small town. End of story. Now, let’s get you to the wash sink before your hair ends up like a trashed purple weave.”