by Zoe Lee
So I’d left one more voicemail and then sent him periodic texts. It was a painful parody of our earliest texts, when I’d sent him pictures I knew would infuriate him because they were of me doing dangerous stuff. I deliberated about each text for what felt like hours, and then felt like they were painfully immature or unhelpful or insincere and he’d never reply. Through them, I tried to show him that I cared, but tried to encourage him to talk to me about whatever had happened, not just at the hospital but when he’d been hurt.
Two weeks, and I was ready to break.
But I was still no closer to knowing what to do.
I even considered trying to get in touch with Camdon somehow to ask his advice, except he’d said he was terrible at relationships and I was still a little pissed at him.
The worst part was there was no deadline, no milestone to reach or pass where I’d know for sure I should stop trying because he was never going to talk to me again.
Usually at least one of my three roommates were around and I wished they’d get out of my hair, but tonight, it was the opposite. I was sitting on the couch alone. My knee was bouncing and I was gnawing at a hangnail like an anxiety-ridden dog with a bone.
Who knew how long I’d been there when my cell rang.
Snatching it up, I yelped, “Hello!”
“Gav?” my cousin Kale asked. “Why do you sound so weird?”
Flopping down on the couch and tossing my feet up over its back where a throw blanket was haphazardly folded up, I sighed melodramatically.
Before his daughter was born, Kale was more like me, free-spirited and sarcastic and insincere. But since then, she’d become the center of his entire universe and it made him more balanced, even if he had a tendency to be sad since her mom had left them.
So if this moment had happened five years ago, I would have made something up and moved on. But we were both better now, so I whined, “No, I sound desperate,” and spilled my guts about Eliott, the ferris wheel, the hospital, and Eliott’s radio silence since then.
“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” Kale commented when I was done.
“I know, right? I’m being so measured and mature,” I said proudly.
“No, you’re being a dumbass, you dumbass,” he shot back.
“What!”
I could hear him roll his eyes. “Okay, I give you a hundred points for being mature and trying to figure out the right thing to do, instead of just blowing up at him. But he’s dating you, not a clone of himself. It sounds to me like he’s more reactive. Like, you made fun of his car when you met him and told him skydiving makes you horny, and he broke his own rule and went for it, right? And you two banter and I’m sure it’s hot foreplay, but I bet you’re the one who sets the tone. The one who changes the banter from sassy to sexy to kinda sweet?”
Scoffing, I started to tell him he was crazy.
But then I realized that while Eliott seemed like he should be the one with the constant upper hand, the prissy straightlaced top, it wasn’t actually true. He might’ve stood up first at the diner, but I’d propositioned him. He might’ve taken me to the ballet, but I’d bet him he wouldn’t like a ride on my bike first. He might’ve rimmed me until I was in heaven, but I’d demanded he do it first. When I didn’t know what to do, like the first time we’d held hands, he’d been right there with a teasing joke and a challenge to bring me back.
“You might be onto something…”
“Duh!”
“So how are you? I’m sure you didn’t really call me to listen to me and offer advice,” I said, not wanting to totally hijack the call. But it turned out he wanted to complain about work, so my mind drifted a little while I made all the appropriate hums and exclamations.
As soon as he wound down and said he should go to bed, I jumped up and paced around the common area of the apartment, formulating a plan. Not a measured, patient plan to be there, because despite Barley’s solid advice, it clearly just wasn’t working.
I wasn’t going to run over to Eliott’s now. It was too late and I had to be up really early to go with Barley to a local morning show tomorrow. But after that, it was ambush time.
I went to bed, then bounced up when my alarm went off like I always did, but after my shower, I took a lot longer than usual picking out my outfit and doing my hair.
Once I got to the TV station, I was the most helpful, efficient personal assistant, bringing coffee and retying ties and reconfirming the questions that were and weren’t allowed. While Barnyard was being interviewed, I was a master of efficiency answering emails and scheduling things. After the interview was all done, I told Barley that I needed to go take care of something, and he just mussed up my hair and pushed me out of the room.
In preparation for going to see Eliott, I ran a few errands, glad that one of my roommates had let me borrow her car, since my bike didn’t have storage. Once I had everything, I drove to Eliott’s office and parked in a public lot. I popped the trunk, but then I sat down on the back bumper, my heart pumping fast and the back of my neck sweaty.
Two minutes to panic, and then I snapped into action again, getting everything I needed, slamming the trunk shut, and sashaying over and up to Eliott’s office.
“Sasha my darling,” I all but trilled as I pushed into Santos & Zajac. The super cute nerd-chic receptionist lit up when I set down bakery boxes with clear lids on the desk in front of her, flourishing my hands at the four dozen donuts. “I need your help,” I sighed.
She bit her lip and edged one hand closer to one of the boxes, the one with the S’mores donuts. “I would love to, but I feel like your ideas might be disruptive,” she hedged.
Santos & Zajac was a serious place, everyone focused and diligent, and so far, the only exceptions were when people lost their composure for a few seconds the first time they saw Barley, and Sasha. She was all sunshine, even though I knew she could get tough because one time I’d heard her put someone in their place over the phone so neatly, my balls had shriveled up. But I was banking I could convince her to help because she had a gorgeous, tiny square-cut ruby engagement ring on a white gold band and matching wedding ring.
“Between you and me,” I whispered, nudging the lid of the box with S’mores donuts open, “I’ve been seeing Mr. Navarre outside business hours for about five months.”
“I know,” she whispered back.
I didn’t hold back my smile. “Maybe you’ve noticed he’s been—”
She nodded emphatically, cutting me off. “You’re going to fix it?” she demanded. “I know he doesn’t notice, but all of us, other than the senior partners, you know, love him.”
“I didn’t hurt him,” I told her fiercely. “But I need two hours to help fix it, Sasha.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, then swiveled away and tapped at her big, sleek computer, clicking around until I assumed she was looking at Eliott’s calendar. Then she tapped her headset and said a second later, “G, can I move Javier’s 11 with Eliott? No, nothing’s wrong. His boyfriend’s here to try to help cheer him up, so—Exactly. Thanks!”
Frowning, I leaned in a little more. “He’s been that bad? Here?”
“Don’t worry, the bosses haven’t noticed and he hasn’t pissed anyone off, it’s just… we can tell he’s not so happy right now,” she admitted, then took a big bite of a S’mores donut as if she was trying to stop herself from saying more. “Can you wait forty-five minutes?”
“Whatever it takes,” I said with determination.
“Good,” she declared. “Come on, help me bring these donuts back to the break room and then you can hang out in the IT department. Eliott never breaks his technology.”
So I did, distracting myself from my plan by answering the IT people’s detailed questions about the guitars and sound equipment that Barnyard used until it was time.
“Thanks for letting me hang out,” I said, tossing out fist bumps and high-fives. “And I’m serious about those backstage passes for the show next month. I can swing te
n.”
“Good luck with Mr. Navarre,” the quietest one said. “He’s nice to us.”
“And doesn’t watch weirdo porn on his work computer,” another muttered.
It cracked me up, just the relief of tension I needed before I left.
Mia stood up when she saw me striding over, putting her purse over one shoulder. She’d warmed up to me, but today she was totally stern as she explained brusquely, “Mr. Sycamore. Sasha and I worked some magic and this suite will be empty for an hour. I’ll lock the outer door. But don’t think those delicious donuts will save you if you fuck this up.”
Grateful she and Sasha had found a way to give us privacy, I nodded emphatically.
With one last warning look, she nodded and left, the lock clicking loudly.
Blowing out a breath, I knocked on Eliott’s office door and then went right in.
Chapter 28
Eliott
Completely engrossed in the brief I was writing, I jumped when my office door opened without a knock first. Then panic rocketed throughout my body when I saw Gavin, who locked my door and then closed all the blinds, one panel at a time. His hair was loose, pushed back behind his shoulders in a heavy mass of black and violet, contrasting beautifully with the barely green button-down and stonewashed skinny jeans he wore.
I sucked in a breath of terror and stuttered, “G-Gavin?”
His mouth was pursed into a tight bud and his eyes were flashing fire, but he cruised across the carpet with his body relaxed like a predator, his upper body almost slumped back from the cradle of his hips. Those unforgettable eyes tracked from my polished shoes—I hadn’t even realized I’d stood and stepped out from behind my desk—up my charcoal gray suit to my face. They settled there, unrelenting as they took in my expression and the groove between my eyebrows, my parted lips with short puffs of air bursting out.
“Oh, so you do remember me?” he asked silkily, the words blades.
“I…”
But my throat was clogged and my brain was buzzing and empty.
“Sit down,” he ordered.
I fell back into my desk chair as if I were his puppet, sweat beading already.
“I’ve been truly hurt only a few times in my life,” he said. “Not very often, because I’m proud of who I am and mostly I’m able to know that if you don’t like me, it’s not my problem. Ten years old, and I could laugh at bullies while they terrorized me. Twenty years old, and I could laugh off men harassing me at bars, calling me a pretty twink they were going to break. Thirty years old, and I can almost crash into someone’s car and be jaunty about it. But two weeks of dead silence from the man I thought of as my boyfriend?”
“I—”
“Shut up,” he cut me off, not with anger or hurt, but with ice-cold pride.
Shame engulfed me, and even in the middle of my panic, I knew it was one of the few times in my life that it was the right emotion to be feeling. So many times with Peter I’d felt ashamed when he said hurtful things when I shouldn’t have. But what I’d done to Gavin at the hospital, and every second since then by hiding, that really was shameful.
“Now I tried to be patient because I don’t know what happened to you,” he went on, and there was a tiny quiver in his voice, like he had imagined the very worst possibilities.
That I couldn’t let him wonder, so I dared to interrupt. “He never—he didn’t…”
Gavin swallowed hard and nodded. “Good,” he said, his demeanor softening a fraction.
My hands clawed at the surface of my desk. “He—he… I met Peter at an honor students group my sophomore year, where he was one of the leaders. I had my friends, but I wasn’t fitting in with any of the pre-law students except Camdon. We started dating and then he’d… It always sounded like advice,” I pushed out, every word like gravel. “I was too…”
Even remembering the things he’d said, even considering saying them out loud, made my heart pound and sweat pour. I stripped off my suit jacket and pressed a fist to my temple, laughing without a hint of humor. “I was never going to be respected by the pre-law students, or by anyone who would interview me for an internship or a job someday. I was too… too colorful.” I spat out the word, just the way he had, with so much disgust. “I was a stereotype twenty years out of date. I was… I was practically setting back gay rights—”
I couldn’t get another word out, too nauseated, my mouth full of saliva but I couldn’t make my throat work right to swallow fast enough to get rid of it. I couldn’t look at Gavin.
“Sweetheart, no,” he whispered.
I felt the heat of his body but still couldn’t look up.
Suddenly my throat opened and the rest came out, as forceful and distasteful as vomit.
“So I got rid of all my colors and patterns and bow ties. I cut my hair. I took out my piercing and took off my rings and bracelets. I gave away my rainbow comforter and linens. I changed my walk and my hand gestures. My friends tried to talk to me, but all they were able to make me see was that Peter was a shitty boyfriend. Everything else had… sunk in like poison. The worst part, though, was that it worked, Gavin. The other pre-law students started to respect me. I did get internships. I did go to a good law school and those students respected me too. And later I got good job offers from every place I applied.”
My chair was shoved back, cracking into the wood file cabinet behind my desk, and spun around forcefully, and then Gavin was crouched between my legs, grabbing my face.
“I want to kill him,” he stated, utterly sure and deadly.
I closed my eyes, unable to handle the full weight of his eyes from so close.
“Is that why you were so off when I showed you all the shirts I brought for you, at the IMAX?” he asked, and his voice was quieter now, gentle and compassionate in a way I’d never heard him be before, and didn’t deserve. “And why you admire my tattoos so much?”
“Yes,” I choked out, prying my eyes open, and locked my hands around his wrists.
“So I pushed something at you that you’ve been denying yourself for over ten years, and then pushed you to ride the ferris wheel, and then you had to listen to Camdon,” he said, understanding dawning in his bright eyes. “It all snowballed, and it was too much.”
I felt my eyes well up and I admitted, “I’m so sorry, Gavin. I got over most of it years ago and told myself that my tastes had changed, that I’d grown up from that flamboyant young man. I don’t hate my plain, dark clothes or walk around missing my piercing. Or that’s what I convinced myself, I don’t even know right now. But Camdon… He just told you all of this stuff that I wanted to tell you, that I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”
His thumbs stroked my chin while he huffed out a self-deprecating laugh and shook his head. “Damn it, baby, I had this whole speech planned about how you were being such a dick and I don’t want to find out about the baggage you carry from your friends.”
“That’s the first time you’ve called me baby,” I blurted out, semi-teasing.
I watched in fascination as he flushed hard.
“Whatever your speech was, I promise I’ve given it to myself about a hundred times,” I admitted, feeling a little calmer and more capable because I’d thrown him off a little. I knew it was probably petty, but there it was. “I don’t regret throwing a hissy fit at Camdon, but I never should have left without you. Dragged you out with me, maybe. Or texted you that I was in the waiting room or outside the hospital waiting for you. And I’ve been a total asshole not texting you back or calling you. Even if I wasn’t ready to explain, I should have been strong enough to tell you that directly, instead of hiding and being embarrassed.”
That put a modest smirk on his face. “You are an asshole.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” I promised, feeling lighter than I had in two weeks, “if you still—mph!” Gavin’s tongue was in my mouth, wet and desperate, and I groaned weakly in relief, tearing free so I could finish doggedly, “If you still want me to be your boyfr
iend.”
“You promise not to run or go incommunicado again?”
“Yes.”
“You promise to explain shit to me or tell me you’re not ready to yet?”
“Yes.”
“You promise to wear whatever you want and pierce whatever you want and be as flamboyant—or as all-black and uptight and outwardly boring—as you want to?”
That made my throat clog up again, but I squeezed out softly, “I’ll try my best.”
“Great. And I’ll try not to get paranoid that you’ll throw all that out the window the next time we fight or something uncomfortable comes up,” he said, quick and impatient, and I nodded, because that was fair too. “So now that we’ve made up, please fuck me. Sasha and Mia worked their magic and the suite is empty and locked up until about one-thirty.”
I should have laughed it off or told him Tonight, but desire ignited like a huge bonfire. I had been missing him viscerally, but the embarrassment over why he wasn’t within my reach had left me desire-free. So this bonfire was too much for me to withstand or temper, and I absolutely had to surge to my feet and lurch us sideways so that his ass was pressed against my desk. Our hands tangled in each other’s hair and we both moaned like we were dying, my mouth devouring his as our bodies ground together from our cocks to our pecs.
It went on and on, hands roaming to grab and burrow beneath our shirts, until I almost came, spontaneously combusting inside my boring suit, but I held it off.
“Here, here,” he gasped, shoving his hand between us to fumble a condom and a few lube packets out of his front pocket. “My backup plan was to fuck you into contrition.”