by Peter Styles
“Okay,” he said firmly, and leaned forward to kiss Chris as hard as he could. Their lips pressed together roughly, tongues playing between them. “I want to go with you. I want to be yours, forever.”
Chris blinked again, looking astonished, and then he smiled so wide and sweet that it made Jeremiah’s chest ache. “You will? I’m so happy!”
Jeremiah pressed his face to Chris’s shoulder as he was embraced, his heart still hammering while the other’s beat calm and soothing against him. Only a few more days. Everything would be over.
After a moment of deliberation, it was decided that Jeremiah would shower first. He paused on the way to the bathroom after finding his clothes from where they had been strewn across the room, glancing back over his shoulder at Chris. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?”
“I would, but then we would never get anywhere.” Chris waved him away, and Jeremiah knew that he was right. Nevertheless, he put some sway in his hips for the rest of the way and was rewarded with a soft moan from behind. He had forgotten how good it felt to actually have control over how he made someone feel. Markus had stopped paying attention to Jeremiah’s flirting a long time ago, something like two years. That was another thing he had realized after thinking everything through.
He showered quickly and dressed again just as fast. As he was toying with his hair in the mirror—and regretting a lack of hair products—he spied a toothbrush and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste on the sink. After brushing his teeth and poking some more at his hair, he emerged from the bathroom again to find Chris sitting on the bed. The man looked as pleased as a peach.
“You took a peek when you brought that toothbrush in, didn’t you?” Jeremiah accused.
Chris threw his head back and laughed. “You caught me. I just wanted to see what you looked like when you were all soapy and wet. I love your skin. It’s such a beautiful color. Like very weak coffee.”
Jeremiah scowled at him, planting his hands on his hips. “You need to work on that whole complimenting thing.”
“I’ll schedule that in,” Chris promised. Standing, he crossed the carpet to take Jeremiah into his arms. They kissed, relishing in the touch of each other. “Text me as you can. Actually, text me as much as you can. Save me from the monotony of my day.”
“I will.” Jeremiah pulled out of the embrace and smiled into the eyes of the man who had just changed the course of his life. He knew everything would be okay now. He just knew it. Nothing could go wrong.
He left the apartment and took Markus’s car back to his own building. About halfway there, his confidence started to fail him. There was no way Markus was going to take this well. The best thing to do was catch him at a good time… but they had been together so long that Jeremiah knew Markus was over-the-top and fully committed to everything he ever did, no matter the time of day. He woke up aggressively and went to sleep with the firmness of a man who was confident in his work output.
The solution was to take Markus by surprise then, but Markus didn’t like any surprises.
Stop trying to fool yourself into thinking that there’s going to be an easy way out of this, he scolded himself. There isn’t. It’s going to be rough but it’s necessary.
He opened the door.
Markus spoke from the couch. “I read your note.”
Jeremiah had left a note the night before for when his boyfriend awoke, explaining where he had gone and why.
“And?” Jeremiah said, nervously. His heart jumped up in his throat, lodging so firmly that he feared it was there to stay. Every inch of his body jumped with his pulse, and his stomach churned angrily.
Before he had time to react, Markus launched up off the couch and grabbed Jeremiah in his strong arms. Jeremiah let out a terrified squeak and shut his eyes tightly, bracing for some sort of punishment, but what happened was worse than that: Markus kissed him hard and rough, lavishing attention upon his lips as though there was no gap between them.
“I love your commitment,” Markus growled. His eyes blazed with a brutal confidence, as they always did. For some time Jeremiah had resented that look without even knowing it. No one person could be right every single second of every day. “I bet you didn’t have much time to investigate his apartment, or his office, but if you keep this up he’ll get so comfortable with you that you can do anything you want. You’ll have Chris Finley wrapped around your little finger. What do you feel about that, babe? My main competitor and you’re going to rip him to shreds!”
“But, Markus,” Jeremiah started. His irritation forced the words out for him, otherwise he never would have spoken out of sheer terror of being crushed. Those powerful arms gripping him were happy, and yet they still hurt. Some real damage could be done if Markus willed it.
But his voice cracked and was lost. Markus didn’t hear him. Or, at least, he pretended not to. There were more important things on his mind, and what his boyfriend had to say wasn’t on the list. It never was.
“Babe, you got this. And I have to go to work. You’re such a babe, you know that?”
“Markus…”
Markus ruffled his hair with one massive hand and then released him. The drop in pressure sent Jeremiah’s heart plummeting back down from where it had been lodged in his throat, and even lower. It sank now to the pit of his stormy stomach, adrift in a sea of anxiety. “You’re such a babe,” Markus repeated, a little firmer. He was ending the conversation, signaling he was done. Just like he always did.
Jeremiah opened his mouth again, starting to see angry flecks of red in his vision, but Markus had already turned his back on him and was walking out the door. He slammed it behind him, and a painting jumped off the wall and cracked on the carpet. Shards of glass shimmered on the pale carpet. Jeremiah stared at the broken picture frame, and the red flickers in front of his eyes gathered together like a blazing fire. For a moment, only a moment, he imagined himself racing after Markus and catching him just before the elevator.
“Markus!” he would say, far firmer than the other. He would let it be known that he meant business, with squared shoulders and crossed arms.
“What is it, babe?” Markus would ask, looking bored and impatient.
And Jeremiah would look him right in the eyes and say, “I’m breaking up with you.”
No, that would be too forward. “We have to break up,” was a better way to go. Or, even more accurate, “This isn’t working.”
Yeah, that one was better. It placed blame on no one’s shoulders. In fact, it almost sounded like a positive thing, signaling personal growth. There was nothing wrong with their relationship, or with either of them. They simply grew apart, as people tended to do.
Jeremiah grabbed the doorknob, and his shoulders slumped. A sigh blew from between his pursed lips. He’d waited too long. His boyfriend was already long gone, down the elevator and out into the parking lot. He would be pulling out into the street, humming under his breath and already thinking of his company. Thinking of his job, and not of whatever Jeremiah had wanted to say to him.
Ignored, as always. And Jeremiah had let it happen. He had come home with a mission, words on the tip of his tongue, and the future right before his eyes, and he had screwed up everything.
I wanted to change my future, but I still haven’t changed at all.
Chapter 14
Tribeca Rooftops was quite the place. Chris had been there once before at another party just like this one, and that was when he realized the allure of the high life. Skylights, enormous rooms, caterers that wove effortlessly through the crowd, and live classical music both in the main party room and above on the roof… Everyone was beautiful, or had enough arrogance to believe they were. Everything was perfect, with no expense spared for clothing, decorations, entertainment or food.
The main party room was full of areas defined by patches of colored light, except for the dance floor, which was directly beneath the enormous skylight. Partygoers moved in and out of the light, reminding Chris of that Edgar Allen
Poe story. What was it? “The Masque of the Red Death,” where the carrier of a terrible plague infiltrated a party much like this one? That was a dark thought and he hurriedly shook it away. A story was a story, and he was no intellect to be thinking about works like that. Nothing bad could really happen in a place like this, where some of the caterers were bodyguards in disguise, and bouncers guarded all exits and entrances. This was a haven of self-indulgence, and nothing dark could disturb it.
He sat at a table all on his own, admiring the lacy floral edges of the tablecloth for the umpteenth time.
Maybe one day I’ll be hosting a party like this.
It was certainly tempting, imagining a future like that. Yet, on the other hand, he was realizing more and more that he had no desire to grow too large as a company. Bigger yes, but not so large that he lost the personal touch that made Finley Real Estate what it was.
Lifting up his gaze from the white tablecloth, his eyes passed over the expensive centerpiece before ending at his phone. The notification light was distinctly absent, which meant that Jeremiah hadn’t texted him since he left his apartment to head to the party. It was almost time for him to arrive, and Chris could hardly wait. He knew Jeremiah would have a hard time adjusting to this atmosphere, and he wanted to be here for all of it; he wanted to be the one whose arm Jeremiah held, the one he pressed against for comfort like a timid rabbit until he realized that this could be his pasture, his home. There was charm deep inside the bookish man, if only it could be unlocked somehow.
Chris closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back to their first date at the Tavern. At what point had Jeremiah emerged from his shell, and why? The answer to that was the answer to everything, he was sure.
And then, there he was. Chris’s phone buzzed as his text finally arrived, but it was too late for that. Jeremiah was there, emerging through the crowd. He wore a suit jacket, and seemed slightly more comfortable with it this time. His eyes said otherwise. They were wide and rimmed with white, like a terrified stallion.
“Jeremiah!” Chris said, calling to him. He rose from the table and strode over to Jeremiah, catching him in his arms and pulling him tight against his chest. Tense muscles immediately relaxed, and Jeremiah lay his head down on him.
“I am not going to like this at all,” Jeremiah whispered.
Chris slid his fingers up through the back of his lover’s hair, caressing him so that his tight neck muscles relaxed as well. “Just give it some time, okay? If you still hate it after half an hour, we can go.”
Jeremiah looked up at him with those beautiful eyes. “Half an hour. No more.”
“I promise.” Chris held out his arm and Jeremiah clung to it, following along behind him as he took them both back over to the table. “What don’t you like about it?”
Jeremiah immediately picked up the name plaque and started fiddling with it. “Too many people all in one place makes me nervous.”
Filing away that information for later, Chris asked, “How do you manage college?”
Jeremiah grimaced, his lip curling. “Who says I do? College still sucks. There’s a lot of people. But it’s something that I do a whole lot. I’ve gotten used to it, even though it still makes me nervous. This is something I haven’t ever done before.”
“So, you have to give yourself some time to get used to it.” Chris placed one hand over Jeremiah’s nervous ones, stilling them beneath his fingers. “Besides, no one here is talking to you but me. No one’s bothering you, or even looking at you twice. Too many people in here for that.” Jeremiah still looked unconvinced, so Chris tried another tactic. “Why don’t you focus on something else?”
“Like what?”
“The music, to start.”
The live music came from a rather large band that was positioned beside the dance floor, although their sound was pumped throughout the rest of the lower party room by a system of speakers. Decorations hid the paths of the wires. As it so happened, Chris’s table was also near the dance floor and so they were able to catch glimpses of the band through the shifting of the crowd.
Chris always considered it an honor to watch professionals at work, especially those who could be considered artists. Making music was an art, and it was apparent when watching musicians. Their eyes danced across the sheet music like strokes of a paintbrush. Their fingers flicked. Their bodies swayed. Feet tapped. No matter whether he watched the violinist strike at the strings with the force of her whole body, or the pianist slamming his body weight down on the keys, or the flutist swaying with the beauty of his melody, it was apparent. And watching the band as a whole instead of individuals, he saw a waving ocean that rose and fell as one. They breathed together, moved together. They were beautiful.
After a minute of watching, one song came to a slow end. As if a spell was broken, the harmony of the band became discordant as they shuffled around and adjusted themselves. The dancers on the floor paused, leaving and entering and switching partners.
Chris glanced over at Jeremiah, trying to judge his reaction, but all he could see of the other was the back of his head. The trance might have ended but Jeremiah was clearly still caught up in the last fading echoes of the music. And then the music began again as the conductor instructed them to, and the next spell started. This time, the song was violin-heavy. She threw her body into the music until she was almost a dancer herself, accompanied by the pianist.
As that song ended, Jeremiah finally stirred. He lifted up his head and turned back around to look at Chris. “Is the music always like this at these sorts of things?”
Chris laughed and shook his head, glad that Jeremiah was enjoying himself. “Hell, no. Most of the time, it’s cheap acts from bands that are okay enough to get hired but aren’t good for much else.”
“Huh. These guys are pretty good though.”
“Of course they are. Nothing less for the Rooftop.”
A caterer drifted past, a woman in a pretty, flowing dress. She was also clearly a bodyguard in disguise. Only after a second glance were her thick forearms obvious, and there was some difference in her gaze. Her eyes were sharp, watchful, and her smile was forced. Gesturing to her, Chris took two flutes of champagne from her tray and handed one to Jeremiah.
His lover looked skeptically at the thin glass in his hand. It looked like a rose, and the liquid within was crystal amber. “Am I going to like this?”
Chris sipped at his experimentally. A bit of a bite to it, but he nodded anyway. “You should,” he answered.
From the look on his face, Jeremiah did. Almost immediately, some color rose to his cheeks. And just like that, the answer to everything revealed itself. Alcohol. Not much, as Jeremiah wasn’t a drinker, but just enough. It was so obvious, and yet not obvious at all because of who the man was as a person.
“You’re right,” Jeremiah said, looking surprised. “I do.”
Chris gave his empty glasses to another passing caterer while taking two more, passing one over again immediately. Jeremiah drank that one as well, and Chris decided to leave it at that and see how things went from there.
“So, you like the music, and you like the drinks… Maybe we can get you to like the people?” Chris suggested.
But the other shook his head adamantly. “No way. I’ve never liked other people.”
Chris leaned forward over his hands, looking right into Jeremiah’s eyes to hold his focus in place. His gaze was much calmer than when he walked in here, warming up to the situation around him. “So, stop looking at it that way.”
Jeremiah shook his head, a funny little smile flickering around his lips. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
Spreading his hands, Chris pressed on. “The party doesn’t revolve around you. No one’s noticing you. No one’s waiting for you to make a mistake. That’s not why they’re here.”
“So, why are they here?”
“Just look around you.”
Jeremiah did, skeptically. Chris stood and came around the table, crouching down
at his side and slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Look,” he whispered, and pointed toward a woman in a red dress surrounded by a circle of young men. “She’s a married lesbian. Her wife is in the crowd somewhere. But she loves the attention she gets from men. Lives on it.”
He pointed toward another person, a couple dancing under the skylight with stars in their eyes to replace the lack of stars in the sky. “And those two? They just got engaged and wanted to come here where the atmosphere matches their mood.”
He kept pointing, at a man laughing his head off, and a girl with square glasses and a stereotypical librarian’s bun pulled tight up on the top of her head. He said the stories behind all of them, watching as Jeremiah started to smile.
“You made all of that up, didn’t you?”
Chris widened his eyes innocently. “No. Of course not.” Jeremiah pushed roughly at his shoulder, scowling. “Ow! Fine, I made it all up. Geez. You’re stronger than you look.”
“I don’t get your point, Chris.”
Rubbing his shoulder, he explained. “Everyone here came out to have a good time, to follow their own purposes. They’re enjoying themselves. So, why shouldn’t you? You’re actually more likely to be noticed if you don’t.”
Jeremiah sighed and leaned his head over to lie against Chris. “So, what do you suggest?”
“Dance with me.”
Jeremiah huffed. “I’ve read a book or two on the art of dance.”
“Is there any book you haven’t read?”
“Every math textbook.”
Chris grinned and stood, reaching out to grab Jeremiah’s hand and pull him to his feet. “Well, I have a surprise for you. I am a dance student.”
He practically heard Jeremiah’s jaw hit the floor as it dropped. “You’re a dancer? I… never would have guessed.” His lover flicked his gaze up and down his body, and Chris smiled to himself. Now that Jeremiah knew, it probably seemed obvious. Dance was the perfect exercise to make a man toned but not overly, intimidatingly muscular.