Free Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder by Nicole Castle

was absolutely right.  I’d been known to use words like faggot in a derogative manner, not just toward myself but toward any slightly effeminate male.  It was hard not to when I’d gotten so accustomed to hearing it.  As much as I hated when someone called me anything remotely offensive in that way, it had infiltrated my vocabulary to the point that I rarely even noticed when I used it.
    “I should have said handsome,” Frank muttered under his breath.  Language was clearly an insecurity for him, though I couldn’t see why.  He spoke better English than I did, and I never would’ve figured out what the accent was if not for the way he’d said Paris.
    “So you’re a little ESL.  It doesn’t change the fact that I’m pretty,” I said.
    “I’m a little what?”
    “Um…European.  You say my name with a French accent.”
    “ Do I ?” he asked. “ Merde .”
    I laughed.  I knew that word.  “Is Vincent a French name?” I asked.  As far as I was aware, my ancestors were all Irish.  The name had been passed down from my grandfather, the first Vincent James Sullivan.
    “Not specifically, but it’s more common in Latin based languages,” he said, then he repeated my name a few times, making sure to say it like I had. “Sometimes it slips.”
    “French is pretty.  I don’t see why you bother speaking English at all, much less with an American accent.”
    “Because I’m in America,” he said. “I like blending in.”
    “You don’t blend in,” I told him. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
    He paused for a moment.  “Charlie says that you fancy me.  Is that true?”
    That hadn’t been the word Charlie used.  He would’ve told Frank that I wanted to fuck him, or something lewder.  I watched him carefully, trying to gauge how he’d react.  Would he be mortified or would he just blush again and get over it?  Whichever it was, I was fairly confident that he wouldn’t punch my lights out, so I went ahead and answered.  “Yes, I fancy you,” I said.
    The color that was just beginning to fade returned to his face.  “Vincent, you’re―”
    “I am fully aware that you’re straight, Frank,” I said, hoping he realized that I wasn’t as devious a homosexual as Charlie had described me.  “I’m not gonna hit on you…much.  You have nothing to worry about.  It isn’t contagious.”
    “I know it’s not contagious,” he said, shaking his head disparagingly. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s no one’s business but yours and the person you’re with.  Actually, I take that back.  In your case, the police should be involved.”
    I tried to playfully smack him, but he moved out of my reach as fast as a snake striking.  God, he was quick.  “Don’t tease me.”
    He sat back down on the bed.  “I mean that, Vincent.”
    “Because he gave me a black eye?”
    “That, and I’m sure he’s older than you are.  You’re still a minor.”
    I hadn’t even told him about Mark yet.  I was positive that wouldn’t go over well.  But it was comforting that Frank seemed just as concerned about my welfare as I was about his.  Not since my father died had a man showed an ounce of care for me that wasn’t sexually motivated.
    “I had nowhere to live, Frank,” I said.  When I’d first run away, I’d tried staying in a homeless shelter.  That was a nightmarish experience.  A man who’d been missing teeth had tried to fuck me in the shower, and it had scared me so much I refused to go back.  After that, I’d met a CPA who was separated from his wife, and the rest was history.  “Guys my age don’t have their own apartments.”
    “What about getting a job?”
    “The only thing I’m good at is giving head, and I don’t want to be a prostitute.”
    Frank flinched.  Talking bluntly about sex obviously bothered him more than talking about death.  “That’s not true, Vincent.  I’m sure you’re skilled at