Secrets and Ink Read Online Free

our false IDs, and a couple of cute twinks like us got all the free drinks we wanted. Hollywood, on the other hand, had offered skeezier entertainment, and we’d liked it exactly for that reason. There, tourists mingled with locals, Scientology clones, street entertainers, runaways, the homeless, hustlers and partygoers. You never knew who you were gonna run into.
    As my conscious brain started to power down, old memories floated to the surface.
    There’s a movie opening at the Chinese Theater, fucking up the traffic at Hollywood and Highland. Onlookers are stacked several people deep behind the velvet ropes, waiting for the celebrities arrive. Riley is determined to dig his way through them, all the way to the front. His eyes shine like glitter at the prospect of seeing a star up close. I leave him there; we’ll meet up again later. A few blocks down, where the sidewalks no longer have stars in them, the hubbub barely makes a ripple. Buses rumble along; people of all sorts walk past me. I get more than a few looks—smirks, gapes and double takes. One guy catches my eye—he’s pointedly not looking at me. Backpack, red Cardinals cap, and the Stars Map in his hand give him away as a tourist.
    Red is the sign of danger, but I ignore it. He turns and pretends to survey the collection of garish T-shirts in a shop window, but I catch his glance in the reflection. I sidle up to him, feigning to admire the display. Our elbows touch, and he doesn’t pull away.
    “Where are you from?” I ask, friendly-like.
    “Saint Louis. Here for a week.”
    “So, how do you like LA so far?”
    “It’s…interesting.” His gaze slips to my chest, where the sheer fabric leaves little to the imagination.
    I know I’ve gotten him hooked. “I could show you some local sights most tourists don’t see.” I keep my voice neutral, but I bat my eyelashes at him. He gulps and nervously glances around. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Just follow me.”
    I stroll away, down a side street. I keep walking without a backward glance but I know he’s behind me. The motel is as ugly as it is cheap. I wait for him at the entrance. He goes inside, pays for the room. I watch him take the key before heading after him.
    The room smells of mildew and stale cigarettes. He drops on the edge of the bed, and I push myself between his knees. He doesn’t move, so I take his hands and guide them to my ass. He avoids my eyes. Nervous? Maybe a virgin. I pull off my shirt to break the ice. The brim of the baseball cap hides his eyes, but I see the quickening beat of his pulse on his throat.
    Time to talk business. “I’ll blow you for fifty, but if you want to fuck, that’s a hundred.”
    Wordlessly, he counts out five twenties. I unbutton my jeans and hear his breath hitch.
    “Turn around,” he says. His voice grinds like gravel under heavy boots.
    I turn, and he grabs my wrists. CLICK. The handcuffs bite into my skin, and my heart begins to race.
    “You’re under arrest.”
    He whirls me around, and I see the grimace of revulsion on his face.
    That’s how I’d gotten arrested for prostitution. Funny how these details had stuck in my head, despite my best efforts to get rid of them, while the rest of the night is a blur. I know that Uncle Charlie came and bailed me out, but I don’t see it in my head. My parents’ reaction, Dad’s shouting and Mom’s crying—they hid in a haze.
    But that expression of contempt on that cop’s otherwise unremarkable face… That had lodged in my memory like a bullet. Because it hurt the most. By then I’d been used to getting the stink-eye or being called a fag. The cop’s disgust had gotten to me because deep in my heart I’d known he’d been right—I’d been trash.
    So my first time with Nick was really the second round, I thought before the sandman mercifully took me into his arms.
    Saturday morning, I plodded around my apartment in a state of gloom. Usually, the first thought in my head after opening my