Against Fate: A Prince Castle Novel

by Damian Bloom

  I don’t know if it’s me or the exhaustion that gets to Luis, but I recognize the moment he gives in by how his shoulders slump. When he sits down next to me, I resist the urge to rub his back.

  “What’s your ideal date?” I ask, scrolling through profiles. I show the guys to Luis, and he shakes his head or scrunches up his nose at every one of them.

  At first, he doesn’t answer my question.

  “Come on, I’m sure you must have it all planned out.”

  He fixes the framed poster of my A House at Midnight cover art with his gaze, looking despondent. When I think he won’t bother responding, he says: “Dinner and a movie.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Maybe some dancing.”

  “You’re so boring,” I mutter. I love teasing him and seeing his cheeks pink up with outrage. I can’t help it.

  Luis huffs and puffs next to me, utterly shocked by my nerve. “It’s classic.” He shifts some more. “It’s romantic.”

  I find myself secretly agreeing with him. I think it’s sweet he dreams of something so mundane. With him, it’s all about the guy. The right one will make even the most ordinary night special.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Look, what about this one?” I pull up another profile. “He’s not bad.” While the guy in question isn’t my style, objectively, he’s quite handsome. “No shirtless pics. That’s a good sign, right?”

  Luis lays his head down on the back of the couch. He blinks a few times like he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. “He looks like you,” he mutters.

  I bring the phone closer to my face and squint. Okay, yeah, I can see it. The beard, the jaw, the shape of the eyes—he does kind of look like me. I’m ready to tap out of his profile when Luis pokes my side. “Message him. He’s cute.”

  The skin on the back of my neck prickles. Is Luis’s attraction to this guy in some way related to the resemblance he bears to me?

  “Wow, you finally like someone,” I say. “I was starting to think you’re straight. I dropped him a ‘hey’, let’s see where it goes from there.”

  “Mmhmm.” Luis’s voice grows softer.

  It’s past eleven already. My legs feel sweetly sore after today’s jogging. I don’t want to know how badly Luis’s body must ache. “I think we can wrap it up for today,” I declare. “Before you fall asle-”

  Once I turn to Luis, I know there’s no point in finishing my sentence. His chest rises and drops steadily with the calm of sleep. A slight whistle comes through his parted lips every time he exhales.

  The guy who looks like me—I can’t stop seeing it now—replies immediately. Leaning back next to Luis, I make myself comfortable. The whistling is louder now, wanting to turn into a snore. I do my best not to laugh for fear he might wake up.

  The Grindr guy, whose name is Freddie, is not very chatty, but he’s got good grammar and decent punctuation, which scores him a few extra points with me. He makes his move right away. Right down to business—I can respect that in a guy.

  You feel like meeting up on Friday?

  Luis mumbles something in his sleep, rubs his face, whines, and then falls silent. Opening Freddie’s profile again, I study his pictures some more. Out of three, two of them are cropped photos of him in a group, at different parties. In the third one, he’s lying on a beach—he’s got a nice body. I peek at Luis again. His long eyelashes quiver as he dreams of things unknown to me. Suddenly, I’m gripped by a strong urge to delete the app, but I ignore it.

  Sure, why not, I reply. After mentally checking Luis’s schedule, Freddie and I settle on Friday evening, at seven, when I know Luis should be free. That’s technically our writing time, but he’s earned a break.

  I put my phone away. Now, what to do with Luis? I guess there’s nothing wrong with him sleeping here.

  I yawn. Whenever I’ve fantasized about him staying the night, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind. Anyway…off to bed.

  When I make to stand up, Luis whines again. It’s a guttural, pretty darn adorable noise. He slides forward, his face crashing into my shoulder, and with a wide swing, he flops an arm across my chest, locking me in place. He utters one small satisfied moan and then drops back into his deep sleep.

  Now what?

  High up on my arm, a spot warms up where he breathes against my skin. His body feels comforting against mine, like a weighted blanket.

  If I can just gently push him off of me, enough to slip out from under him, maybe he won’t wake up. I shift my weight away from him, but he grumbles instantly, instinctively aware of my intention.

  Tightening his grip on me like he’s begging me not to go, he slides forward until his face rests on my chest. Like he said in the park, for the past few weeks, he’s practically been working two jobs—both in the cafe and here, picking up a new craft. He’s been showing up on time and putting in every last ounce of effort he’s capable of, always with an encouragingly contagious can-do attitude. If we add today’s jog to all of that, the poor guy must really be burned out.

  You’re an asshole if you ruin his sleep.

  Hector’s watching me, curious to see how I’ll wriggle myself out of this situation.

  Now free, my right arm hovers over Luis, unsure of where to go. Finally, I let it rest on him in what almost feels like a hug.

  His face is serene in the semi-darkness. Finally resting. No, I don’t have the heart to wake him up.

  Luis’s cadenced breathing lulls me into a long-forgotten coziness. It’s been years since I’ve felt someone pressed like this against me—so sweetly, so innocently. It reminds me of cuddling. Although this is definitely not that.

  I haven’t allowed myself to cuddle with any of the men and women I’ve slept with since my divorce, because cuddling has a way of making you hope for more.

  I have to tilt my head awkwardly to look at Luis. His hair is growing out. One strand has now fallen over his eye, which looks like it might be uncomfortable or at least ticklish. He wouldn’t notice if I brushed it off. But a gesture like that would feel so intimate—too much like a caress.

  I look away. Outside, the world is one big block of darkness. It might as well be gone, reduced to a single room and two people, and we wouldn’t know it.

  Luis frowns just a little. With a gentle stroke, I push the hair out of his face.

  There. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t like I really caressed his sleeping face. His gorgeous, painfully kissable face that only half an hour ago crinkled with annoyance directed at me.

  I want a love story.

  His voice echoing in my head makes me smile. He’s so endearingly innocent. On the one hand, I wish I could keep this illusion of love he’s hanging on to alive for as long as possible. On the other, I want to crush it quickly, before it grows to an even more monstrous size. What will happen when life finally crushes his expectations? How will he cope? Who will he turn into? And will he be as bitter as me?

  Mindlessly, I squeeze his shoulder. I wish I could protect him.

  Dropping my head back, I stare up at the ceiling. Get a hold of yourself, idiot.

  In the quiet and calm of the night, to the sound of Luis’s deep breaths and Hector’s content purring, a stray song begins playing in my head, although I’ve got no clue where or when I heard it. Surprisingly, I can recall a few lyrics. At least I think I do, but I might be making them up in my sleepy daze.

  I feel at home when I’m around you,

  And I’ll gladly say again,

  I hope the encore lasts forever,

  Now there’s time for us to spend.

  Today’s truth is that I should wake Luis up and send him home. Today’s second truth is that there’s no piece of me that wants to do that.

  Half-baked thoughts waft through my nearly-sleeping mind. The last thing I’m aware of is a question. Has anything ever felt as right as this?

  I feel at home when I’m around you.

  Before I can find an answer to that question, I fall asleep.

 
12

  Luis

  The sky is wet with the dark blue of summer rains. As the winds gush in from all directions, I wrap myself tighter in my own arms. All there is to hear is the tug of war between the sea and the shore, and my mind finally falls silent.

  Suddenly, I wake up. A cramp pinches my left butt cheek, and the waves are no waves at all, but Adam’s breathing, rustling in his chest, which I’m using as a pillow.

  What?

  When I lift my head, I’m met with Adam’s sleeping face. His jaw slack, his forehead uncrinkled, he looks a few years younger. Despite the unusual situation we find ourselves in, which I haven’t yet made sense of, my first thought is that he smells so impossibly good—like expensive cologne and…himself.

  He’s got an arm around me, holding me tight like I’m a teddy bear. His body is hard and warm, all-enveloping. I could stay here forever.

  Probably woken up by my shifting against him, Adam suddenly opens his eyes. He blinks to clear his vision, like he also can’t yet comprehend what he’s seeing, then he yawns and stretches his arms above his head.

  Just like that, reality comes swooping in, and with it, so does my self-consciousness. A lump of embarrassment lodges in my throat, and I hastily push myself up into a sitting position. Unfortunately, in my frantic attempt to put some distance between me and the other man, I don’t check my hand’s placement. It lands on a soft spot. Attempting to prop myself up, I shift most of my body weight onto that arm and—

  Adam yelps. “Ouch, man, that’s my dick.”

  I lower my eyes to his thighs, and to my horror, I find myself squeezing Adam’s crotch. He folds over in pain as soon as I let go.

  “I’m so sorry,” I stammer.

  He turns away from me, knees clutched together, hands between his legs. “It’s…fine…” he says, not without effort, breathing loudly through his mouth.

  I squirm along with him, mortified and utterly useless, only vaguely aware of the blistering pain in my sore legs.

  Eventually, he stops squirming, and his body relaxes. Despite having just woken up, Adam’s eyes look weary.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

  He lifts a hand to shush me. “Don’t mention it.”

  I clamp my mouth shut, but I can’t hold my mind back from venturing into dangerous territory. My hand still remembers the lump it held—how impressive it felt, even soft.

  I look around. A few lamps are still on, but daylight’s seeping in, blueish-gray. Rainy day. “How long was I asleep?” My brain’s still working at a quarter of its capacity.

  Bringing himself up into a sitting position, Adam bends his head to one side, then the other, and a loud cracking noise shoots through his neck. It must feel good because it steals a troubling moan out of him. “Well, since it’s morning now…all night, I suppose.”

  I struggle to remember anything from last night, but all that comes back to me is how impossibly tired I was. And then I woke up next to Adam. On Adam, to be more precise. My heart skips a beat.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” I ask, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  Adam shrugs. “You seemed exhausted. I thought I’d let you rest for a while. And then I must have fallen asleep too.”

  I can’t argue with that. I was exhausted. Caught between work, writing, and life, I’ve been running on steam for the past weeks. “That’s…really nice of you,” I say, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you.”

  Adam avoids my eyes as much as I avoid his. “Whatever.” He trudges to the kitchen, where the coffee machine promptly starts growling. After picking up my backpack, I follow him and climb onto one of the kitchen island stools. He only makes one cup of coffee, which he hands to me.

  When the creamy wonder flows past my lips, I close my eyes and sigh. Damn, I would pay an embarrassing amount of money for this coffee. I thought it was perfect the first time I tasted it, but since then, Adam has tweaked it again and again, picking up on small cues from me that I wasn’t even aware I was dropping. After telling him about my sweet tooth, the brew miraculously became sweeter. He also switched to almond milk after I casually mentioned I prefer it to regular milk. Starting from perfect, his coffee has reached heavenly status.

  Dangling my feet an inch above the tiled floor, I stare at the overcast sky beyond the narrow kitchen window. Adam plucks a green apple from a tiered fruit stand. It’s a tall, unsteady-looking, metal construction that he apparently likes to keep on the edge of the island, inviting a klutz like me to knock it over. “What do you want to eat?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  Adam bites hard into the apple. “I’m having oatmeal.”

  “Cool, I love oatmeal.”

  Muffling a smile, he pulls a bag of oats from an upper cabinet. “When do you have to get to work?”

  “Oh, good thing that you reminded me.” Startled into action, I check the time and stifle a curse.

  “That late?” Adam asks.

  “Yes, I won’t make it in time. Not if I go home to shower.”

  “Then don’t. Just shower here. I’ll lend you a clean shirt.”

  The thought of wearing Adam’s clothes triggers feelings I don’t have the time to unpack. “It’s alright, I’ll…” I trail off, not sure what exactly I can do.

  “Come on, don’t be silly,” Adam groans, pouring milk into a saucepan. “This way, you don’t have to stop anywhere, and you won’t be late.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to bother you…” Rushing to my feet, I swing an arm to the side in an ample movement, and I elbow the troublesome fruit basket. As soon as it begins teetering, I lunge for it, before bananas, oranges, and apples can scatter to the floor. The steaming hot contents of the cup I’m still holding spill over the front of my shirt and pants, making me yelp.

  Immediately, Adam’s by my side, pressing a kitchen towel to my chest. Down to my knees, I’m covered in brown stains that will be a bitch to remove. Adam stops his patting when his hand reaches my lower abs. “I guess you don’t really have an option now. I’ll get you a towel.”

  So he hands me a thick, fluffy towel and then gets started on the mess in the kitchen by wiping a microfiber cloth over the kitchen island’s marble top. I take this as my cue to scamper to the bathroom.

  “Just drop your clothes in the laundry basket, and I’ll wash them later,” Adam shouts from beyond the door. “Also, there are new toothbrushes in the drawer. Just take one.”

  I hope that’s not a veiled jab at my morning breath. “Okay, thanks,” I shout back, taking in the neatly organized bathroom.

  I crouch in front of the sink and begin pulling drawers open. First, I chance on Adam’s lube and condom supply. Despite myself, I note the lube bottle is half empty, and the condom box’s open. Hmm, I wonder when they’ve last been used. Moving on to another drawer, I find the toothbrushes and help myself to one.

  Large enough for a small football team, Adam’s shower shines with cleanliness. As the warm water soothes my skin and muscles—especially my wretched legs—I study his product choices. My knees turn wobbly when I open the shower gel and sniff. Wow, it’s like having Adam in a bottle. I have to remember to buy this bad boy for myself.

  Then, I towel myself off, brush my teeth, and pull on the same pair of coffee-stained briefs as before. I doubt Adam’s gonna lend me his underwear too, but I blush at the naughty idea. Actually, now that I think of it…

  I whirl on my feet, studying every corner of the bathroom. “Uhm, Adam, the clothes?”

  I hear him shuffle past the door. “They’re on the living room couch.”

  My jaw squeezes. Does this mean I have to prance naked through his hallway? Would it be awkward if I asked him to bring them to me? Is it arrogant of me to assume he’d even find me attractive if he saw me like this?

  Sucking in a deep breath, I crack the door open. When I think I make out movement in the kitchen, I dart into the living room. On the edge of the sofa, nicely folded, I find a pair of jeans and a
blue T-shirt. I barely manage to unfold them before the sound of footsteps makes me freeze.

  “Did you find them?”

  Adam stops in the doorway. I spin around and stare at him with half-parted lips no sound comes through. When his immediate reaction is to look me up and down, my stomach flutters. “Yes, uh, thank you.”

  All wide eyes and faltering, open mouths, we gawk at each other for another long, charged moment.

  His jaw is tense and sharp. Adam’s eyes fix my face and won’t let go, as if he’s got something to prove. “I’ll-I’ll let you get dressed.”

  “Thanks.”

  My heart thumps in my chest like it’s demanding to be let out, and putting on Adam’s clothes proves to be an adventure. From the get-go, I know that I’m doomed to look like an idiot the entire day. I use my own belt to tighten the jeans around my hips, but they crease unattractively around my crotch and butt. Not to mention I must roll the cuffs up twice just so I don’t trip. The T-shirt doesn’t pose as big of a challenge; I let it hang down to the middle of my thighs so that it hides as much as possible of the jeans situation. However, the shoulder stitching goes way too far down my arms, and the collar reveals an uncomfortable amount of skin.

  “I look like a child in his father’s clothes,” I say. I find Adam in the kitchen, spooning some powdery supplements into a fitness bottle. Freshly mopped, the dark gray tiles shine even in the mopey light of the rainy day.

  Adam stifles his laughter when he lays eyes on me. “You look like a rapper.” He then points at a bowl he’s prepared for me. After rechecking the time, I shovel spoonfuls of oatmeal into my mouth, too late to properly enjoy my breakfast, but unwilling to let Adam’s efforts go to waste. Adding water and screwing the lid onto the bottle, Adam begins shaking it. In his eyes, there’s still some awkwardness left after seeing my naked body.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” I say. “And for last night.” I grab my backpack from the foot of the chair I sat in. “I think it’s best I get going before I spill or break or set anything on fire.”