Escaping Cupid (International Affairs)

by Devaux, Olivette

  “Not really. If we circle back to the right, it will be shorter. And we will be passing by a lovely pond where I used to swim as a lad.”

  They got going again with Wade’s words still ringing in Ariel’s ears. The words he used and the accent in which he spoke were so exotic, so different. Could he really fall in love with a man’s tone of voice as well as with his hands?

  No, no he couldn’t, because it was the accursed Valentine’s Day, and no such disaster was going to befall him. He’ll follow Wade back to his ancient house and politely eat the lunch Wade seemed set on preparing. Then he’d look at all those photos, reject every single one, and move on.

  He’d be home in Atlanta in a few days, with yet another V-day over and his ex a distant memory.

  All would be well, as long as he ignored the man who patiently cycled as Ariel executed his run at a punishing, pig-headed pace.

  CHAPTER 7

  Despite his sore bottom, biking slowly while Ariel ran at an impressive pace was exhilarating. When Wade trailed behind him, he got a great view of that body he had so loved to photograph fewer than twenty-four hours ago.

  Less than a day, and he was fancying the fellow already. Which would never do, especially not on Valentine’s Day. His romantic history was blemished enough as it was, and there was no reason to add to the string of broken-hearted despair and abandonment he inevitably suffered once a well-intentioned romance went awry.

  Maybe he’d be best off cutting Ariel loose as soon as he reviewed those photos – but that presented an issue of its own. Wade loved those images. He had already been making a mental list of various photo contests to which he could submit them, or magazines that might be interested in a wraith shrouded in the fog of mystery. If he changed the tone of their interaction toward booting Ariel out, Ariel would never agree to those photos being released.

  This train of thought took him to darker places still. How far would he go in his effort to obtain a model’s release from Ariel? If he did so, would he lose his chance at even the possibility of starting anything with Ariel? Contrariwise, would he be willing to give up on the photos entirely in order to have a better chance at a relationship once the dreaded V-day was truly done and over with?

  Either way, it felt vaguely like whoring out.

  When they got back, Wade went through the motions of hospitality. “I have the lunch meat to fry up. Would you like to shower after your run?” Americans showered more. He’d met enough of them to know that the water pressure better be good and the hot water supply plentiful.

  “Nah, I’m good.” Ariel grinned. “That wasn’t that long a run and it’s not even hot out. If I had to shower after every time I put my running shoes on, I’d use up all my free time in the bathroom!” He kicked his trainers off, lined them up neatly by the door, and slid over to Wade’s side. “Is there anything I can help with?”

  “Our tea got cold, naturally, so if you wouldn’t mind terribly and put a new kettle on?” Was that too much to ask a guest, Wade wondered? Had Aunt Rose ever accepted help from guests, even when it was freely offered?

  “I love iced tea,” Ariel said. “Although in Atlanta, you’ll generally get it too sweet for your taste. It’s a staple of sorts.”

  Wade sweetened his tea. How sweet was too sweet? Sudden curiosity about something as thoroughly American as sweet iced tea prompted him to say, “There is sugar in that cupboard, and we have ice, so if you wouldn’t mind making some, I’d love to try it.”

  The way Ariel lit up at doing something useful warmed Wade’s heart in a way he didn’t expect. It complicated things, too. Didn’t he want to cut Ariel loose? If he went on feeling all gushy now, it was going to be quite difficult to say the necessary and permanent goodbye in just a few hours.

  By the time they sat down to lunch, the downstairs of the house smelled of fried, seasoned fat and happiness. The iced tea was, to Wade’s surprise, served in tall water glasses, with ice cubes floating near the top.

  He had a sip. Cloying, so sweet it was painful, the tea was barely discernible under all that sugar.

  “Not your speed,” Ariel said with amusement. “I’m not surprised, honestly. But this is how most people make it. We do have extra cold tea in reserve if you’d like to dilute it.”

  Wade shook his head. “There’s no use. Do you really drink it like this all the time?” Appalled at his own censorious tone, he backtracked. “I was only thinking, you’re obviously an athlete. Every serious athlete I’ve ever met was watching their sugar.”

  A twinkle of amusement brightened Adrian’s hazel eyes. “No, I don’t drink it like that. I usually ask for unsweetened. I just thought...” He grew thoughtful suddenly. “It’s a part of home, y’know? You’ve gone out of your way to show me a side of England I’d have never discovered on my own, so I only tried to reciprocate. I’m sorry I ruined the tea – but I did it only in name of a new cultural experience!”

  Faced with Ariel’s contrition, Wade guffawed. “Well, then. If you’d like, I can put on a pot of tea and we can have it later.” He paused. “After lunch.” Damn, this guy was pushing all his buttons, and he didn’t want to alienate him over a set of images that now seemed trivial. He could easily pay a model to haul ass out to the henge on a predictably foggy morning and do the same thing, couldn’t he?

  “That’s right, the photos.” Ariel writhed. “I guess I should have a look.” He grimaced. “I should warn you, I don’t photograph very well.”

  HE HAD HOPED THAT WADE making more tea would postpone the necessity of looking at the damn pictures indefinitely. Ariel was perfectly serious when he’d said he didn’t photograph well. The camera didn’t love him whatsoever, and the memory of painful, mandatory school pictures during his school years hit him like a hot whip across the chest. He shrunk into himself. His mother, looking for a photo where he looked least fat. His father, always disappointed in something Ariel did, or failed to do.

  His loathing of team sports.

  His apparent lack of interest in girls.

  And, after college, his obvious love of other men.

  It all got rolled up into one messy hairball of cat throw-up, body image and parental estrangement, and the net result was Ariel’s firm refusal to seek anyone’s approval.

  Not anymore. He would never put himself into a position where his self-esteem hinged upon a favorable nod from another person. He had an advanced degree, a good career, a good job. He had also been left by a man who he had thought was “the one.” No more of that. No more love, or romance, or hormonally induced idiocy. He’d give thanks for what was good in his life, and make do without the rest. He didn’t really need companionship.

  Except here was Wade, being all sweet and handsome and considerate. Wade, who hadn’t shaved in three days and who burned with artistic passion bright enough to make the sun burn through the fog of a dreary February dawn. Ariel respected that kind of dedication, and he loved a man who cared about being good at something. It harkened to the values instilled into him since childhood.

  Would it be so wrong to simply allow himself to like Wade? Just that, an appreciation of his qualities. A bit of gratitude for his hospitality.

  Scratch that – a ton of gratitude for his hospitality.

  A yawn overcame him, fierce and irrepressible.

  “Ariel,” he heard Wade’s voice countless moments later. “Ariel, wake up. I have some hot tea. Or coffee, if you’d prefer?”

  Then a warm hand patted his shoulder. “You’re exhausted. I can’t let you drive in this state.”

  Ariel tried to open his eyes, but the warm touch disappeared, and the creaking floor boards told him Wade walked away again. He sighed. How could he be so tired all of a sudden? So...

  “Ariel,” Wade whispered by his ear again. “I put a pillow and a blanket on the sofa. Come on, you’ll feel better if you nap for a few hours.” Wade’s warm hands stroked his shoulders, and if Ariel didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he did so in a caring way. Deep in
the recesses of his mind, Ariel realized that he hadn’t been touched like that in a very long time. And now that he was still half-asleep, with his guard down, he found it very difficult not to enjoy the attention.

  “Hmmmm.” Oops. That slipped out by accident.

  “You’re just tired,” Wade said in a voice that held too much amusement by far. “I can’t carry you. Well, technically speaking I am able to execute a fireman’s carry, but we would crash into the walls and the old pictures would fall off. You don’t want the old pictures to fall off, do you, Ariel?”

  “Nuh-huh,” Ariel agreed. He would’ve shaken his head, but first he had to unpeel his face off the woven placemat on the table. Just sitting up was harder than it should’ve been. It was as though he froze in a position, and his body turned off. “I’m stuck,” he finally said, and to his relief, his voice sounded almost normal.

  Wade pulled on his shoulders gently and, with his help, Ariel worked his way into an upright position. He rolled his neck experimentally, then twisted his trunk from side to side. “Ouch,” he said. His back was sore now, and his neck had stiffened in a way that promised a tension headache later. “Let me stand up, okay?”

  HE HAD SEEN GUESTS pass out at the table before but they had been only children. He had never expected Ariel to fall asleep at the table while Wade was making tea. As he tried to rouse Ariel, Wade thought back to Ariel’s adventures of the previous night.

  The interminable drive into the wild unknown.

  The valiant effort to sleep in the car.

  The incredible naked yoga adventure in the cold, followed by a hot bath and, as if that hadn’t been enough, by a six kilometer run.

  Topped off with lunch.

  No wonder Ariel was crashing at his table. And he had been all loose after his bath and his run, too. Falling asleep in an awkward position had him stiffen up in a way that would only worsen if he had to nap on the old sofa in the front parlor. The piece was so old, it didn’t even have detachable pillows, and unless Wade was sorely mistaken, it was still stuffed with the original horse hair.

  “We’ll go upstairs,” he said in a quiet, gentle voice. “I want you to sleep in the big room, right next to the bathroom.” He didn’t call the room Aunt Rose’s room, because it wasn’t that anymore and because he didn’t want to predispose his unexpected guest against the trapping of aged womanhood. He wouldn’t notice until he was awake anyhow, and by then Ariel would be rested, and safe on the road.

  Which is where he would end up, Wade reminded himself. On the road, headed to embrace the rest of his life. His life in America, with a job that let him visit the headquarters in England on occasion, and only as long as he worked for that particular company. Even if Wade had been looking for a relationship – which he wasn’t, he reminded himself – Ariel was geographically incompatible.

  Too bad. Now that he had clarified that Ariel was geographically incompatible, Wade let his imagination run free. Was Ariel compatible in other ways? He was cute, sweet, and handsome. He had an adventuring spirit, which Wade appreciated a great deal. He would never be bored with a man who... never mind. He had, after all, photographic evidence.

  As he ushered Ariel up the crooked, slippery staircase, he allowed himself to enjoy the scenery. It wasn’t just Ariel’s great runner’s legs, it was the way he stumbled up the stairs, trusting him. Wade resolved to do right by that trust. As they entered the spacious room, Wade glanced around. The bed was made, and the pile of old clothes he had been sorting through was in a plastic bin outside, waiting to go to charity. The place was dusted, and mostly aired out, and even though the pink and white floral sheets were old, they were clean.

  “Wow,” Ariel said suddenly. “Here?”

  “It’s the most comfortable bed. I sleep upstairs,” Wade said as he pulled off the quilted velvet bedspread and folded it. He hung it off the bed’s iron frame by the feet, making the little tassel hem show attractively. Aunt Rose used to keep it that way, and Wade, being a photographer, went through life making things photo-worthy.

  “It’s too nice,” Ariel said with a yawn. “You said there was a sofa.”

  “Your back would stiffen up. The sofa would be a horrible idea right now.” Wade fluffed up the pillows, navigating around Ariel, who just stood there and gaped, taking the place in. Wade wondered what was the most unusual thing for Ariel. Was it the fur rugs on the old, polished wooden floors? Or the quirky, cut crystal chandelier overhead? He almost asked whether this place was too pink for Ariel, but bit his tongue. He didn’t want him running out in this state.

  “What do you usually sleep in?” he asked sensibly, trying to propel Ariel into action.

  “Oh,” Ariel said. Then he giggled in that over-tired and punchy way of jet-lagged travelers. “That’s right.”

  Wade had been brought up well enough not to stare at Ariel as he was disrobing. On the other hand, Ariel was geographically incompatible. The question remained, was it acceptable for Wade to fantasize about his guest’s compatibility in other areas?

  A lovely mirror hung above the bed, in an ornate frame covered with rococo leaves and roses. Another mirror, just as ornate but carved in a different style, stood on the squat armoire by the opposite wall.

  The two-mirror effect had potential.

  Wade peeked.

  His lovely guest shimmied his way out of his running tights. His underwear was the barely-there variety. Wade glanced away, fast, and cleared his throat. “I’ll be going, then. You know where things are. Help yourself to anything.”

  As he turned to exit the room, his eye caught the other mirror, where a reflection of an infinite number of Ariels pulled off their shirt in a calculated, sinuous way.

  Their eyes met.

  “Sleep well,” Wade said, slipped out the door, and closed it shut. He headed straight for the oversized bathroom, closed the door, and groaned.

  He got caught looking. That was beyond embarrassing.

  But Ariel was so... photogenic. And lovely. Had he been putting on a display for Wade’s benefit?

  No, that was impossible. He had been just tired and punchy, that was all. His defenses were done – and Wade wondered what did that say about Ariel’s character. Maybe his inner nature was a lot more playful than his reserved exterior.

  He crossed the room in six long strides, turned on the cold water faucet, and bent over the sink. A solid splash of icy water in his face was the only way to treat what threatened to be an infatuation. And he couldn’t allow that, not on Valentine’s Day.

  CHAPTER 8

  Ariel woke in the middle of the night. The yellow street lamp light filtered in through the two small windows facing the street, showing off the flags that danced and snapped in the wind. He took in the sight and realized the walls up here were almost two feet thick.

  This conclusion had him peer around. Polished metal and old mirrors gleamed from within the shadowed recesses of the room’s nooks and crannies. The empty space was the door, then. He sat up and set his feet down gingerly, not knowing what to expect.

  The sensitive skin of his feet hit the unusual, yet pleasant, texture of a fur rug. He shivered as the cold and clammy air stripped heat off his bare body, and chided himself for not sleeping in at least a T-shirt. It was still winter, after all.

  He made his way to the bathroom, managed to find the light, and did his business. As he opened the door on his way out, he was surprised to see Wade standing by the foot of the crooked staircase that led to his sleeping quarters. “Is everything okay?” Wade said in a low, sleep-addled voice.

  “Too much tea, I think,” Ariel said. He shivered. “The temperature must’ve dropped.”

  “Yeah. It’s freezing upstairs. I didn’t know one of the window-frames bent and won’t shut!” Wade headed into the bathroom next, which left Ariel standing in front of what had to have been his aunt Rose’s room. The room with the most comfortable bed, Wade had said before. Ariel didn’t doubt him. Yet if Wade was cold sleeping upstairs, with the w
ind blowing Old Blighty’s weather through a crack, there was no reason not to invite him in.

  This was, after all, the most comfortable bed in the house, and it sure was big enough.

  Ariel stood outside the bathroom door and waited. Goosebumps rose on his bare skin, but he just knew that if he moved into the room to fetch his shirt, he’d miss the opportunity to offer Wade a warmer berth.

  It felt like an eternity before he heard the water running and before Wade came out.

  He stopped, surprised and altogether alert. “Yes? What is it?”

  “Come join me,” Ariel said. “This room is warm, and the bed is plenty big.”

  “Nonsense,” Wade scoffed. “I’ve weathered worse.”

  “Don’t tell me I’ve been standing here in my briefs, freezing my ass off, just to have you say no,” Ariel said. “And just so it’s not awkward, I can wear my jogging gear. Come on!”

  He turned and walked into the spacious room, assuming Wade would follow.

  “Wear extra layers only if you want to,” Wade said. “Are you cold?”

  “No, it’s plenty toasty.” Ariel slipped under the covers and tucked himself on the window-side of the bed, leaving a generous swath of real estate for Wade’s consideration. Wade was hot and sweet, but Ariel was leaving in the morning. Nothing would happen, because neither of them were going to even remotely explore the possibility of a relationship on a Valentine’s Day.

  Wade measured the space with a thoughtful gaze. “If you’re sure,” he said. “I can stuff towels in the frame for now.”

  “We can do that in the morning,” Ariel said with a yawn. Then he closed his eyes, because as much as he’d been tempted to watch Wade, he knew Wade was feeling awkward as it was.

  The mattress dipped, the ancient bedframe creaked, and Wade settled down next to Ariel, and covered up. “This really is a lot warmer, especially with the door closed,” he whispered. “Thank you.”