Semi Precious Weapons Read Online Free PDF

wheelie.
    "Does… that bike… even belong to you?"
    Jason let the wheel drop and stood with the bike between his legs. "They say possession is nine-tenths of the law. I suppose it's nine-tenths mine. Which tenth would you like to ride? I suggest the handlebars. It's not very safe, but I'll let you borrow my helmet." He knocked on the orange shell.
    Chris folded his arms. "I don't know what you think you'll get out of me. I'm a poor college student. I have nothing you want."
    Crestfallen, Jason dropped his hand. "All I want is to see you ."
    Chris pantomimed being cashless as if Jason was deaf. "I told you, I do not have any money ." He pulled his jean pockets inside out. "Do you comprehend?"
    "I don't want your money. I never wanted it. I liked you, but..." Jason peered beyond Chris to the model house. His face turned bright red, and he brought a hand up to wipe away something under his sunglasses. "Whatever."
    The heels of Jason’s stilettos tangled in the pedals as he unsteadily whipped the bike around. Chris watched until he turned the corner of the block, feeling such incredible loss that bile rose in his throat.
    "Shit," he muttered.
    When he turned around, he saw Sebastian leaning against the door in a robe, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He'd never looked happier.
    * * * *
    It would've been so much easier to apologize to Jason if he had a phone or an address. Chris realized how bipolar he'd acted. Maybe it was lack of sleep that had turned him so flaky, or the pressure of being so far from home. Either way, he wished he'd been more circumspect in his treatment of Jason.
    Sebastian may have been right about Jason, but Chris didn't know that for himself. He was determined to find out.
    His plans were thwarted when he went back to the club where they'd met -- and the place Jason kept his things. Chris was barred from entry by bouncers who were twice his size and wanted to pound him into the ground.
    After being threatened within an inch of his life by the bouncers, Chris headed to a quaint Mom 'n Pop coffee shop up the street. Filled with newspapers and magazines, the place was little more than a glorified newsstand, but there was a little table where he could sip his stale coffee. He phoned Sebastian, hoping that meeting on neutral territory would encourage him to fess up to why he hated Jason.
    Sebastian settled into the creaky chair across from Chris and sipped his coffee. "Look, Chris, the fact that you called him out and he bolted proves money is all he wanted from you."
    "Jason never asked me for money. He said he had something for me."
    "He was probably going to show you something he wanted you to buy for him. Or something he stole. You dodged a bullet. I wish you'd see that. Why would he let you hang around if he's not getting anything from you?"
    "He didn't bar you from the club, and he's not getting money from you."
    Sebastian blushed and hid behind his coffee cup. "Yeah, well. I did give him money before. Maybe he hopes I'll give him more."
    "You gave Jason money." Tempted to throw his coffee at Sebastian, Chris set the mug down and knitted his fingers together. "And he didn't fuck you."
    "He didn't have to fuck me. I gave him money. I thought I was helping him out. I wasn't trying to get in his pants."
    Sebastian averted his eyes to the newspapers on the front counter. Chris remembered how seeing Sebastian affected Jason that morning -- how hurt he'd been.
    "You asshole ."
    "What? I lived with my girlfriend back then. I'm not gay . What use would I have for Jason?"
    He addressed his protests to the newspapers rather than Chris. Everything fell into place. Chris felt like a complete idiot.
    "Sebastian, why don't you live with your girlfriend anymore?"
    "That's personal."
    Chris clenched his jaw and glared.
    "Well, look. Just remember, I was his mentor. I had to look out for the kid. That was my job." Sebastian dared at glance at Chris, but quickly started talking to the newspapers again. "Anyway, my