by Roan Parrish
“Yeah.”
“I could make something,” he offered, but his delivery was undercut somewhat by the way he was currently nuzzling into my shoulder, as if attempting to climb inside my skin.
“I got it,” I said.
He let go of me reluctantly. There was no stool at my kitchen counter because no one else was ever in my kitchen, so as Felix kept me company he alternately leaned his elbows on the counter and hoisted himself up onto it.
“So you lifted weights in high school, huh?” he asked, mind clearly still on the gym.
“Mm-hmm. Played football.”
Felix’s mouth fell open, and he let out a snorting giggle that made him choke. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“You were a high school football player. For real?”
“That funny?”
“Noooo? Well, yeah. I mean, it’s funny to think about us going to high school together ’cuz you wouldn’t have even talked to me.”
Joking with the guys, fraternal back slaps at the lockers, the crush of two hundred pounds of muscle slamming me to the muddy grass, sweaty foreheads pressed together, the armor of a letter jacket stretched across my shoulders as I walked down the hallway.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long for me,” Felix said.
I winced. Maybe it was the onions I was chopping.
“What was it like?” he asked. “Being…being like a real high school student?”
“Real?”
“Just, I didn’t do any activities or participate in any clubs. I didn’t play sports or do plays or, like, go to dances. I was either working or getting the kids to school or helping them with their homework. I didn’t do any of that stuff. Pep rallies and games. TV-show stuff. And I would watch the football players or the theater kids or any of the other cliques and it seemed like high school was a whole world for them. For me it was just one more chore that took up the middle of my day. So I guess I just wonder what it was like.”
Felix was right about one thing: I had made high school my whole world. Because the alternative was being at home with my father, who was so lost in his own sadness that he took up every inch of cold space around him. The alternative was watching him drift from room to room, uncomprehending of my mother’s absence and my presence.
Football had been a compass point, an orientation that made my decisions for me: eat to play better, sleep to play better, train to play better, lift to play better. Then, on the field, the logic became more granular: run here to block, zag there to tackle. Sweat, adrenaline, accomplishment, improvement, repeat.
At the end of a practice or a game, I’d been exhausted, pushed to my limits, and then I’d been able to relax. No room for thought or feeling or worry or dread. Just peace.
“Football was everything then. I played ball, practiced ball, worked out to be in shape to play. Went to friends’ games who played other sports. It didn’t seem like TV high school, though.”
“Were you good?”
I cleared my throat, like that might sand away the years I’d spent pushing myself to be better and better. And what happened after.
“Yeah.”
Felix raised an eyebrow, expecting more.
“Got a scholarship for school. That’s how I ended up in New York.”
“Whoa, for real? You must’ve been really good.”
The crowd cheering, students I didn’t recognize high-fiving me as I walked across campus, cheerleaders vying for my attention, the coach’s slap on my back that said “Well done” louder than my own father had ever said it.
“This is ready.” I put spaghetti, sauce, and salad on the table.
Felix slid off the counter and into a seat, resting one heel on the edge of his chair and folding the other foot beneath him, folding himself up like a paper crane.
“Thanks,” he said, waving at the food. “Did you make this because of the episode?”
“Hmm?”
“Secaucus Psychic. The episode I was just watching, they were eating spaghetti. When you came out of the bathroom?”
“Huh. I didn’t notice.”
“Unconsciously you apparently did,” he said, winking at me.
“If you say so.”
“Do you believe in psychic stuff?” Felix asked after we ate in silence for a minute.
“I dunno. Don’t actively believe in it. But if someone says they see or hear or understand something I can’t? Hell, that happens every day, even without the supernatural involved. I’m not so arrogant as to think I know shit about shit.”
Felix smiled.
“You?” I asked.
He bit his lip and shifted his weight back and forth. He was never quite still.
“I’m not sure I full-on believe that people can talk to actual spirits of dead people, but…I kinda do believe in psychic abilities, yeah. Like, people are attuned to such different things. So why wouldn’t some people be tuned in to things like ghosts or others’ thoughts? Like, there are people who have no empathy at all, right? Just total narcissists. It stands to reason there are people who have excess empathy. Enough that maybe they can tune in to presences that aren’t even around anymore.”
I nodded and he went on.
“But does that mean ghosts and stuff are actually real? Or does it mean the way those people feel is real but the stuff they pick up is only in their brains? Like synesthesia. I don’t really know.”
“Just because something exists only in the brain doesn’t mean it’s not real,” I said. “Like feelings? Hate, fear, pain. Love. The brain’s part of the body, and it processes pain, so if someone gets hurt and the pain processing happens in the brain, does that mean pain’s not real?”
The vividness of the cravings I’d experienced argued that things in the brain were just as concrete as a chair.
“You’re right,” Felix said. “Feelings are definitely real. I guess maybe I was thinking of ghosts or spirits as something tangible in order to be real, but maybe if they’re real they’re more like a feeling?”
“Maybe.”
He slurped up a mouthful of spaghetti that left his mouth red with sauce and gestured absently with his fork.
“I guess I think…a lot of times it doesn’t matter if something is real itself. It’s more about what its effects are in the world. Like, we don’t know if God is real, but religion’s had hella concrete, material effects on the world. So does it matter if the thing is real when people act like it is?”
“I agree. I think the effects matter more than whether something is real. I care more about the ethics and less about the philosophy of it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Felix said.
“No?”
“No. Everything you do says you care about how you treat people, how people treat each other, whether your actions make the world better or worse.”
The back of my neck tingled, and I ducked my head.
“That’s good then,” I muttered, and shoveled in spaghetti.
When it looked like he was going to say more about his impressions of me, I said, “You always intend to hand that gig over to your sister?”
He nodded. “Oh, hell yeah. I only agreed to take that meeting because we realized it could be an in for her. Me as a rock star?” He scoffed at the thought. “Total nightmare. I would die. I like to sing. But like, in the shower or in a car. Being famous seems horrible. Being the center of attention from total strangers? Being on the road in a bus all day? The whole thing’s just super not my scene. It’s maybe not gonna make me sound very exciting or cool, but I like being at home, honestly. Well.” He looked around. “I like it when home feels nice. Our place is…uh, kind of depressing.”
Felix carefully shifted his attention to twirling his pasta neatly around his fork and not me
eting my eyes.
“You still miss her?”
He nodded.
“Yeah, it’s just— Never mind.”
I raised an eyebrow at him until he sighed.
“It’s just that I don’t want to work in a bagel shop forever. Is that what I’m gonna do? Just have a series of jobs that pay only enough to make rent?”
“Nothing wrong with working to support yourself,” I soothed.
An expression of horrified guilt flashed on his face.
“No! I know. My mom worked hard at jobs she didn’t like her whole life so that we had enough money to live. But…she also said it was worth it because she had us. Only I don’t have a thing that makes it worth it anymore ’cuz Sof doesn’t need…Fuck, I dunno. I’m just being an idiot. Lots of people work at jobs they don’t like. I’m lucky to have something that I can live on. It’s fine.”
He slumped in his chair, miserably pushing food around his plate.
“Hey. No. It’s not idiotic to wanna do something that makes you happy.”
He shrugged half-heartedly.
“It’s just…” He bit his lip and looked up at me shyly. “It’s just that there was a moment, when they were waiting for me to sing, when…I could have done it. I could have maybe, possibly, changed my whole life. I mean, I would never have done that,” he assured me quickly. “I’d never do that to Sofia. I just mean…I saw it. I saw how maybe your life can change in one instant. How things could go from meh to super happy in the space of that one breath.”
His eyes shone and he was looking at me intently.
“It happened to Sof, so maybe…” He shrugged and tugged on his hair self-consciously. “I dunno, never mind. Ugh. Dane, can we not talk about this anymore right now? It’s just depressing me.” He wrapped his arms around himself.
I nodded. Then, because sometimes it helped just to not feel alone, I added, “I used to work as a bouncer. It sucked.”
He perked up. “How come it sucked?”
“They hired me because they thought I looked intimidating and strong enough to break up a fight. That almost never happened, though. It was just boring. Checking IDs, staring at a mass of people every night. After a while it looked like the same group every night even though it wasn’t. It was dark and loud and smelled like beer and sweat and too many people. Started looking forward to throwing people out because at least it was something to break the monotony.”
“What else?” he asked, smiling and leaning in.
“You wanna hear about all my shitty jobs?”
He nodded.
“Well, in the summers when I was in middle school and some of high school, I worked cleaning fish on the dock north of my house. Tourists who wanted to fish would rent boats there but didn’t want to get their hands dirty. So I’d gut and clean the fish for them. I stank no matter how many showers I took. That shit gets into your skin. Nice being by the water, though. I like the water.”
I’d brought a book to work with me every day and stayed by the water long after my shift was over, until hunger drove me home. I’d wanted to delay it as long as possible.
“Where’d you grow up?”
“Virginia. Worked laying bricks one summer. That was pretty damn bad. Murder on the back.”
My phone chimed the ring tone I’d assigned to the bar. I held up a finger to Felix and answered.
“Hey, boss,” Johi said. “There’s some kind of bar crawl going on and a bachelor party scavenger hunt…thing. And Roy called in, so we’re swamped.”
“Okay, I’ll be down in a few,” I told her.
As I hung up the phone, Felix paused, food halfway to his mouth.
“One of my people called in sick, so Johi’s slammed at the bar. I gotta go help her out.”
Felix jumped to his feet immediately.
“Oh, of course, sure, yeah, no problem.” He put the uneaten bite back on his plate. “I guess…I’ll get out of your hair, then? Or, um…?”
He looked around at the dishes and I realized that he was searching for a reason to stay. Probably just looking for a way not to go back to his apartment, but I caught his shoulder as he put his plate in the sink.
“Felix.”
“Hm?” He leaned into me, arms going around my waist. I wasn’t used to anyone touching me and it brought me up short every time.
“It’s not much fun, but you could come help in the bar, if you want?”
“Really? Yeah, I can do that!” He grinned up at me. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to work in a bar. Can I…”
“What?”
“Can I kiss you before we go down?”
Heat pulsed through me and I bent and caught Felix’s lips in a kiss. He made a tiny noise of surprise, then tightened his arms around me and opened his mouth on mine. I slid my tongue inside and the slick heat of his mouth was heaven. I wanted to slide my hands under his ass, lift him onto the counter, and ravage his mouth, but I forced myself to let him go.
He made a noise of protest and pouted for a moment when I stepped away. Fuck, he was sweet. I traced his lower lip with my mouth and watched his eyes drift shut, long lashes resting against his cheek.
“Ready?” My voice sounded gruff. Felix nodded and sheepishly adjusted himself in his jeans before we went downstairs.
Johi pumped a fist when we slid behind the bar. It was a mob scene two deep on the other side, and I left Felix to Johi for a brief training while I started filling orders.
The next two hours passed quickly. Felix was a natural, chatting easily with customers and fixing their drinks. When he didn’t know what a drink was, he just asked, and then he figured it out. Where I would’ve stared blankly at a man who ordered a complicated half-vodka, half-gin, multi-fruit juice concoction, Felix made it without complaint. When I raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “I’m used to it. Half-caf, half-skim, double vanilla with nonfat whip orders have trained me for any combination of liquids dumped in a cup.”
When things died down and Johi told me she could handle it from there, Felix and I retreated upstairs.
He was bouncing in place, raking his hair back from his face.
“That was fun,” he said, grinning.
It had certainly been more fun than I’d ever had at the bar before.
“Thanks for helping. Hope you at least made some tips.”
He waved that off. “Oh, I gave them to Johi.”
“You did? Why?”
He shrugged. “It was her shift, I was asking her a million questions, and I was just helping out ’cuz I…’cuz I didn’t want to leave yet.”
My heart pounded at the admission.
“No?”
“No,” he said softly, looking at the ground. “Am I…” He shook his head, then looked up at me. “Am I being too…I know we just started hanging out. I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna be a pest. Come on too strong.”
He was so vulnerable, I could crush him with a word. But his desire was aggressive, and the combination filled me with a rush of warmth for him.
“You’re not.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I want you here.”
“You do?” His smile was small and sweet, and I was dangerously aware that I’d go to great lengths to be able to put it on his face again.
I nodded once and let myself trace the lines of his face with my fingertips. I studied him until I could feel him getting nervous, and then I tugged him over to the couch. I sat down and he curled up next to me and held up the remote questioningly. I nodded, and he put Secaucus Psychic on.
When Jackie did a reading for a man whose twin sister had died, Felix tensed beside me. He slid a hand up my chest and gently stroked in small circles. It was relaxing for a minute, then it was the opposite. Felix’s touch electrified me, and I held myself very
still, breathing shallowly so he wouldn’t stop.
Felix shifted to face me and went up on his knees, eyes burning. He kissed me slowly, sweetly, and I kept my arms clamped to my sides as long as I could. But when he made a small sound of need, my control broke. I pulled him into my lap, slid one hand into his hair, and pressed the other to his back. He gave a broken moan and fell to kissing me wildly. I got hard so fast it left me light-headed.
Felix’s mouth was liquid heat, his tongue fire. He twined his arms around my neck, pressing us closer, and I shuddered at the delicious friction of his ass settling on my erection. He moaned and wiggled against me. I could feel his answering hardness against my lower belly.
“Dane,” he gasped into my mouth. I grunted. Felix squirmed closer to me, though I hadn’t thought that was possible. We kissed, hot slickness and grasping hands, until Felix moaned into my mouth. At the sound, I surged up and rolled him onto his back.
He whimpered beneath me, looking up with wide-blown pupils and swollen lips. I fell to kissing his throat, feeling his racing pulse beneath my tongue, and he gasped, clutching at my T-shirt to keep me where he wanted me. I was happy to oblige. I’d be happy to stay like this forever, kissing Felix until he came undone beneath me.
“Will you— I want— Can we—” Felix mumbled as I kissed his neck.
“What?”
“I want…Will you touch me?”
A bolt of lust shot through me at all the ways I wanted to touch him. For now, I pulled back and slid a hand down to cup his erection through his jeans. He threw his head back and moaned.
He looked debauched with his mouth open and evidence of my kisses on his neck. He looked like he’d let me do anything to him, but all I wanted was to give him exactly what he needed.
I slowly undid his pants, watching him to make sure it was okay. He squirmed to try and help me shove them down around his thighs. He wasn’t wearing any underwear—I supposed his had gotten sweaty at the gym and he’d just gone without—so his erection sprang out immediately, thick and leaking on his stomach. He had thick black pubic hair, and the muscles of his thighs strained to try and push the whole gorgeous package toward me.
I ran a finger lightly up his length and he cried out, a bead of moisture welling from the tip.