by Rachel Kane
I glanced at the bathroom door. Would Nat be mad if I called Harris back? He’d been so insistent on getting me out of there earlier today. I could understand that. Maybe I’d gone too far in describing Harris as a manipulator. Maybe some of that was just to make myself feel better for how the relationship ended. Had he really been that bad?
I chuckled at myself. Was I seriously trying to rationalize calling him back? Trying to come up with some really logical-sounding reasons that it was okay for me to call, in case Nat did get mad. That was pretty silly. There was no reason for him to be mad. No reason for jealousy or anything. So it was okay. I’d explain it to him later.
“Sorry you’re feeling down,” I said when Harris picked up.
“I’m glad you called. I felt a little tension in the air when you left today. I thought maybe I’d been acting melodramatic.”
“Yeah, you’re the star of stage and screen.”
“Was I that bad?”
“I was using irony to comfort you. No, you weren’t dramatic. You’re the least expressive person I know, Harris. You’re a statue.”
“I feel at sea. It’s not like Sergio and I never spent a night apart. He’d often want to go out when I had a surgery the next day, and I’d have to let him go on his own. And yet tonight the house feels strangely empty, like there’s a new echo in the air.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No, not yet. The wounds are still too fresh. I’m too sore for a new fight. But how are you? How is your show going?”
I looked around the suite. “Must be going pretty well. I’m staying at the Excelsior tonight.”
He sniffed, the sound he always made when he was impressed. “They’re giving you the star treatment, then.”
“Apparently so. I’ve never been anywhere so posh.”
“You’re in the same room as Nat?”
“Right this second? No, he’s taking a bath.”
“I meant in general. You’re staying with him.”
“Well, sure. They got the suite for both of us.”
He chuckled. “You move quickly, don’t you.”
“How so?” But I felt a little fear. I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about.
“You and Nat. I thought this thing you were doing was pretend. Just a favor you were doing for him. Now you’re in a suite together.”
I found that I didn’t really want to talk to him about this, not in any more detail than I already had. “Like I said before, it’s complicated.”
“You’re sleeping with him.”
“That’s really none of your business, Harris.”
“That’s the same as saying yes. If you had meant no, you would’ve said it.”
“Actually that was me setting a boundary. You know, the thing you said I was so bad at, back when we were together?”
“A boundary? So this is more than just sex. You like him.”
“The boundary means I don’t want to talk to you about it. Come on, man. You’re my ex, and you just went through a breakup. You don’t need to hear about what I’m up to.”
“Maybe I want to hear it because I’m lonely, and need some distraction. Is he any good in bed? He seems so restrained, like he wants to blend in with the surroundings so no one can see him. Or is that just a cover? Does he become a wild animal once your clothes are off?”
“Harris, seriously.”
His voice dropped. “Sergio and I broke up because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“He was too jealous, I think. Too convinced I wanted you back. There is some truth to that.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Quite a bit. In vino veritas, you know.”
“I think I’m going to hang up now.”
“Was it that bad with me, now that you’ve had some distance to think about it? I thought we made quite a nice couple. You were never pretentious like Sergio. All those sculptures. He needs so much praise, Owen.”
“Yeah...and still, I have to go.”
“Maybe we should get together, you and I. Just drinks. A little chat. What would you think about that?”
I stared at the bathroom door as though Nat could somehow hear my conversation. “I think that’s a very bad idea.”
“A little drink, then maybe I could take you to bed. Just once.”
“Wow, you really are drunk. I’m going to let you go. You sleep, and then tomorrow hopefully we can pretend this conversation never happened.”
I hung up before he could say anything, and I put the phone back on mute. I couldn’t bear it if he started calling again. I took a second to regain my composure, and then went in to see Nat.
He was covered in bubbles, completely submerged in froth. His head was back on a bath pillow, and a folded washcloth covered his eyes.
“You look like an advertisement for bubble bath,” I said, sliding my hand into the water and feeling its warmth.
“Never let me leave this place,” said Nat. “I wish to live out the remainder of my years in this tub. Just add more hot water as time goes on.”
I moved some of the suds away, and saw his cock bobbing in the water. Half his face was still covered, but I saw him smile when my fingers brushed it.
There were bath products on a shelf within easy reach, and I found a gel that looked promising, aloe and papaya. I poured some onto my hand, then rubbed my hands together, gauging the slickness. My hands found his cock again, and stroked it until it was slippery but hard. “You see how perfect this tub is?” he said. “It even comes with a handjob attachment.”
I debated in my head whether I should just tell him Harris had called. It wasn’t that big a deal. Drunk people say stupid things. It’s one of the perks of drinking. I was sure that once we had downed some champagne, I would say simply ludicrous things to Nat.
But as my hands lazily toyed with him, I couldn’t shake the worry that telling him would ruin everything. What we had was still in early days. It’s not like there’s an official probation period in relationships, but there really is a point where you can say, whoa, false advertising, your life is way more complicated and treacherous than you let on, and where you can walk away still feeling that you’d been fair.
“Why don’t you get in?” he said.
“I’m not sure there’s room, with your enormous cock filling up the tub.”
“There’s another bath pillow on the shelf. Come on. Luxuriate. But don’t let go of my enormous cock.”
I pulled off my clothes. One entire wall of the bathroom was glass brick, and late-afternoon sunlight made the room golden. I glanced in the mirror and saw how the light played off my torso. It did something kind of wonderful to my body, bringing out the definition, and I had the stray thought, why wouldn’t Harris want me back?
It wasn’t a thought that was disloyal to Nat; rather, it was a gift of Nat’s, that I should suddenly see myself as worthy of love. That was something he had done for me, that Harris never had.
I slipped into the water at the opposite side. Well, I say slipped, as though it were a very graceful process. Do you know that feeling when the water’s really hot, and your body hasn’t adjusted yet? I came down in a series of little hops and yelps, especially when I felt the hot water touch my balls.
Nat lifted the cloth from his eyes. “Are you okay down there?”
“Boiling alive. Is that your evil plan, to cook me in here?”
“Later I’m going to serve you with butter, and put on a little bib with a picture of you on it.”
“I can’t decide if that’s romantic or chilling.”
“Why can’t it be both?” He moved his legs to make room for me and reached for my cock to give it a squeeze.
Without words, he gestured at the bath gel, and I poured a little into his hand, and also slicked mine back up. We spent a while just languorously stroking one another, getting hard then kind of slowing down, allowing ourselves to soften, then stroking again to harden. It wasn’t meant to go anywhere, no
t right this second. We were just enjoying each other.
Or so I thought.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” Nat said.
“Wondering how to wash this stuff off so that I can suck you later on without getting a mouthful of soap.”
“Is that all it is? Your little worry lines were getting deep there.”
“Put your washcloth back over your eyes and don’t worry about me!” I gave him my big everything’s-all-right smile.
He responded by squeezing my cock. “Fine, you don’t have to talk about it. But your eyes look sad.”
You know what? I’m an honest person. I know I’m superficial, and I know I hide from things a lot, but deep down, I like to tell the truth, and I hate for people to get hurt, and when those things are in conflict, I am not sure what to do. But I couldn’t sit here in this luxurious tub, having my cock stroked by a man I had real, intense feelings for, and lie to him. I swallowed, lay my head back, and closed my eyes.
“Harris called a few minutes ago.”
I felt Nat’s hand slip off my cock. “Oh. Is everything...okay?”
My eyes were still closed, and I shook my head. “I don’t think anything’s okay. He’s drunk. Babbling.”
“Mm-hm.”
“He invited me out for drinks.”
I heard Nat sitting up in the water, and opened my eyes. He was staring straight at me. “And?” he asked.
“I hung up on him.”
He was studying me so closely I couldn’t bear it. I tried to maintain eye contact, but I looked away. It made me feel guilty, not being able to meet his eyes. Like I’d done something wrong, like I had something to hide. But I didn’t.
Nat’s cock, which had been hard and stretching up above the waterline, was soft again, tucking itself by his thigh. His arms were crossed. I could see what was on his mind, and I didn’t know how to help, I didn’t know what to say.
“Are you...are you still interested in Harris?”
“No, not at all. I already told you that.”
“You promise?”
“Nat, Harris was really bad for me.” Wasn’t he?
“It’s just, you know we were talking about feeling inferior to people. Like we don’t deserve good things. I’m pretty insecure right now, Owen.”
I sat up in the tub and put my arms around him. At first, he resisted a little, but I pulled him in. “Listen to me,” I said. “Harris calling has nothing to do with me, or what I want. I want you.”
“But he’s so handsome and wealthy, and his house is enormous, and his life is so perfect. Why would you want me, instead of him?”
There are times you answer from your heart, and times you answer from your head. And I was so caught up in my thoughts, that my answer to this didn’t come from my heart.
It’s not like there was anything wrong with Nat. Not at all. I knew he thought of himself badly, but he was so cute and so smart, and I liked him so much. The trouble wasn’t Nat, it was me.
Things had ended so badly with Harris, and I knew that was mostly my fault. My insecurity, my immaturity. When he’d started seeing Sergio, it was like this huge judgment against me. Sergio was everything I wasn’t, he seemed to be saying. And now Sergio was gone, and Harris wanted me back. Why? What did he see in me?
Stop it, I told myself. He was drunk and rambling. He might’ve wanted some pointless hook-up that would have left us both feeling gross at the best of times. But that wasn’t going to happen. I was taken now. It wasn’t even a temptation. I didn’t want Harris, I wanted Nat.
But he had this way of insinuating himself in my mind, making me question everything. I remembered the little speech he’d given me, back at his house this morning. Rushing into relationships, then trying desperately to compensate for the fact that I hadn’t given proper time for things to develop.
“It’s not like comparison shopping,” I said finally. “I want you. I’m not picking between the two of you. I just want you.”
Nat pushed himself up and threw a leg over the side of the tub. He reached for a towel. “That answer took an awful lot of thought, Owen.”
“I wanted to be sure I was answering the truth.”
He rubbed his hair with the towel. “Is it always going to be like this?”
“Like what?”
“Harris. Just randomly popping into our lives. I know you two are close, but I’m not sure I’m able to withstand any drama. I’m not built for it.”
As he stood up, I tried to make a joke. “Yeah, I see what you’re built for.” I reached for his cock.
He brushed my hand away. It felt like the water temperature had dropped 30 degrees.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said. “I do. It’s just, if Harris is going to keep trying to storm the castle--”
“It’s more than you bargained for,” I finished for him. “I know. I’m going to have to put my foot down. I know that. I’m just so bad at boundaries.”
He knelt by the side of the tub and touched my face. There was so much kindness in his touch, and his face was so serious but had such warmth. “Get better at them,” he whispered to me. “It’s important.”
16
Nat: The Part Where Everything Falls Apart
You know you’re at a weird part of your life when everything is absolutely perfect--you’re bundled up in a thick white robe sitting in front of a fire, just as twilight darkens the sky above the ocean; there’s a bottle of champagne, a sexy guy next to you, and someone is fixing your worst problem for you in a condo across town--and yet you’re sitting there feeling miserable.
Owen and I were snuggling together, looking at the flames flickering. Mr. Thurgood was just close enough to the hearth to stay warm, but not so close that he would get overheated; he had to regularly turn himself over so that each flank could absorb the heat.
It should have been perfect, and I was beating myself up so much because it didn’t feel perfect. I was so jealous and angry, but I couldn’t show it. I took another big swallow of champagne, feeling the bubbles tingle my throat. “Maybe we should move onto something harder,” I said.
“I’ve got something harder you can move onto,” Owen told me.
I tried to think of something flirtatious to say back, but nothing came to mind. I knew Owen was picking up on my tension. I could see that it worried him. He didn’t know what to do. The worst part is, there was nothing he could do. He’d hung up on Harris. He hadn’t kept it a secret from me. He’d done everything right! Why couldn’t I accept it? Why was I so worried?
I knew what was happening right now. I knew my insecurity was pushing me away from him. But when it came to figuring out what to do about it, I had no ideas. I knew I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I didn’t think I could stand it. He had looked so sad in the tub, telling me about the call. He was trying to do everything right, and if he had to sit there and listen to all my fears, it would be an awful thing to ask of him. I knew that nobody liked to hear someone just list every anxiety they have. It is mind-numbing and exhausting enough to think about your own fears; listening to someone else’s was far worse, and he’d just sit there in horror if I bared my soul to him.
That left me feeling so stuck, though. I reached into his robe and gave his cock a quick squeeze, as though that would make up for everything, and got up and went to the bar.
“Well, this is daunting,” I said.
He glanced over at me. “What’s up?”
“I came over here thinking I would make myself a cocktail. But...I don’t know how. I know how to make a rum and Coke, because the ingredients are right there in the name. But what do you do with vodka? What is vermouth, actually? I’m a little lost.”
He finished his champagne and set the flute on the table, then came over to where I was standing. “You could make a martini. Do you like gin?”
“Ugh, no.”
“Then vodka, a little vermouth depending on how sweet you like it, shake them with ice, voila.”
>
It wasn’t fair. I should have been allowed to enjoy this night with Owen. I should have been able to calm down and to crack jokes and try some drinks and just exist. Instead, I just stood there and stared at all the bottles feeling very overwhelmed and paralyzed.
Owen cleared his throat. I looked up at him.
“It’s okay, you know,” he said to me.
I shook my head slowly. “It’s not.”
“We’re both very insecure people. It’s uncomfortable and it’s weird, but it doesn’t change how we feel about each other.”
“Doesn’t it?” I said, but then his face fell, and I hurried to say, “I mean, it doesn’t change that I like you! Don’t get me wrong! But it adds all this fear.”
“We just have to get past it. There’s no other way. We can’t hide from it, we can’t pretend it’s not there. So, we just have to wait it out. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit here all sullen and silent, does it? If we’re honest with each other, if we just blurt out all the anxious stuff we’re feeling, then we don’t have to act like something is wrong. The more quietly you sit there staring, the more I feel like there’s something hidden away from me, some problem that is about me, but that I can’t fix.”
I got out the bottle of vermouth and opened it. I poured just a little into a glass, then sniffed it, and tasted it. “Okay. Make me a martini. We’ll ride out this storm using the power of drinking.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I pointed at the bottle. “No, that’s the spirit. Now get to pouring.”
The one good thing about conflicting emotions is, they’re not all bad emotions. For all that I felt weird and hesitant, Owen’s presence still excited me. Back in the tub, I had been totally ready to have a go at him, and my body still tingled at the thought of his touch. Maybe if I just focused on the good feelings, just for a little while, things would be better?
So while he was pouring, I sidled behind him, and put my hands around him. I could feel his cock through the terry cloth of the robe. It was soft and long, and I stroked down its full length through the robe. He moaned and pressed himself against my hand.