After the song, I escaped the crowd and climbed a staircase to the indoor balcony, where I sipped my third bottle of beer and gazed down on the party. Fiona strolled up a minute later, carrying a green-tinted drink. “Quite the place, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never been to a party with ice sculptures before. I thought those were a myth.”
She rested her elbows beside me on the railing. “Ariel is many things, but low-key is not one of them.”
Fiona looked the hottest I’d ever seen her, which wasn’t helping my conflicted hormones. She wore a black leather miniskirt with tights, fur-topped boots, and a clingy red sweater that scooped low enough to show some cleavage.
When I realized my gaze was lingering there, I snapped it back to her face. Her smile twinkled with mischief, and she eased closer, settling her weight on one leg so her hip bumped against mine and stayed there.
This time it didn’t cause me any claustrophobia.
“You’re getting a lot of attention from the young models.” She looked down at Ariel’s guests.
“If only I wanted a nineteen-year-old.”
Like some people. Bitter? Not me.
“You’re fast approaching the phase where you could have anything you want. Use your powers wisely.”
“Doubt I’m there yet.” I sipped my beer, reflecting on breasts. On flat male chests. On kissing people. On the kind of intimacy I hadn’t experienced in many, many months and was aching for.
Her arm nestled against mine. “What do you want, then?” She spoke it like a friend, with a suggestive, lazy warmth.
If I were into the casual hookup, which I wasn’t (even my one-night stands were with women I’d known and liked awhile), I wagered I could get lucky with the Irish model or probably other people there. But in the absence of Andy, who was really inconveniently far away and didn’t know I was pining for him, I’d pick Fiona.
I might yet stay longer in London, if I got that BBC part. I could still visit Andy, but plane tickets were expensive, and maybe it made more sense to form lasting attachments in the UK.
Besides, Andy got to go out and drink and get off with someone he found attractive. Half the people at this party were going to do the same. Why shouldn’t I?
I turned to look at her. We appraised one another close up.
It took only a tilt of my face. She answered the silent invitation and met my lips.
Two seconds in, it became clear this was hotter by many degrees than our previous “fond” kisses. When her lips parted, I flicked my tongue against their inner edges, tasting mint—evidently crème de men-the was the green drink—and she sighed, almost a moan, and thunked her glass down on the railing. We pulled out of sight of the rest of the party. I left my beer bottle on the edge of a planter and wrapped my arms around her. She pushed me up against a wall; I grabbed her rear with both hands, feeling plump flesh through warm leather.
“This is so unprofessional of me,” she panted against my mouth.
“It’s a party, who cares?”
She kissed me harder, our tongues wrapping around one another.
“God, I’ve just really wanted to,” she said. “You’re so … delicious …”
“Is this …” I skated one hand around to enfold her breast. “All right?”
“Yes, of course, yes.” She was pressing close, had to be able to feel how aroused I was (which hadn’t been a problem even for a moment in the scenes with Ariel, but this was a different story), and must have liked it from the way she writhed against me.
Voices reverberated closer: people climbing one of the staircases.
“Come on.” Fiona pulled me into a nearby room and shut the door.
I hit a light switch, and a bright row of bulbs came on.
It was some sort of immense walk-in closet, or so I assumed by the long lines of hanging clothes, the array of mirrors, and the unbelievable numbers of shoes on shelves. There was even a loveseat, for the benefit, I supposed, of whoever was helping (or watching) Ariel get dressed. Fiona and I shot each other bemused grins.
She turned the lock on the door handle, then drew me to the loveseat, pushed me onto it, and straddled me.
All thoughts of unprofessionalism, efficiency of door locks, or really anything else, flew out of my mind. We started kissing again. Her hand slid down between my legs. I shoved up her sweater and groaned at the heat of her breasts filling my palms. I tucked my hands inside the cups of her bra to feel her nipples harden. Yep, it would seem I was still attracted to women too.
“I have condoms,” she said in my ear.
“Okay,” I said, the only logical answer at the moment. I even felt comforted because there, see, we were being responsible about it.
Strangeness had already crept into the scenario, what with the bright lights and the legions of Ariel’s expensive clothes. It no longer felt quite as sexy as it had on the balcony. Still, I was a little bit drunk and a lot mixed-up, and she was right there and willing, tugging down her tights and unfastening my jeans.
She found the condom in her bag, I got it on, then we shifted around so she was on her back in the limited space of the loveseat, and … and then we were having sex. In Ariel’s gigantic closet.
Fiona had seen me perform a sex scene (repeatedly, no less), and now, in having actual sex with me, I had to assume she was comparing the two experiences. I would be, in her place. It riddled me with self-doubt, because I didn’t particularly want her to end up disappointed by either of the performances.
Still, having started, I saw it through. It would surely be insulting to stop, and besides, judging from how readily my body went along with this surprise encounter, I was in need of something like this.
Gasp. Shudder. Finish the job. As the script said. Though I was first, at least she didn’t seem to mind, and followed soon after.
But …
As we untangled, creaked our limbs back into place, and fastened up our clothes, all “Wow” and “Ha” and “That was unexpected,” my mind echoed Andy’s sentiment after getting with Jackson: This was a mistake.
And it was his voice that said in my head, mournfully, Oh, Sinter, what have you done?
Fiona stood to tug her skirt and tights back where they should be, then smoothed herself down. “Sorted.” She reached out to me.
Still sitting on the loveseat, I set my hands in hers and looked up at her.
She studied me a moment, then touched my cheek, and I remembered to smile.
“Suppose we should slip out,” she said.
We unlocked the door, peeked out, and escaped.
The band—a different group this time, not the Swinburnes—was playing a cover of Adam and the Ants’ “Stand and Deliver,” and the main floor was a swarm of people bouncing to the beat. Following Fiona down the staircase, I caught Sebastian’s eye. He stood at the edge of the crowd, wearing leather boots, torn jeans, and a garish reindeer-and-snowflakes sweater. He’d already been scowling at the band’s performance, but now turned his disapproval upon me. Lowering the beer bottle from his lips, he glowered as I trailed Fiona down the stairs.
I gave him a humble almost-smile, lips scrunched. He blinked slowly—interesting how a blink could convey I will obliterate you if you set a foot out of line—then turned to face the band again.
I started feeling a bit sick.
As we reached the main floor, Fiona turned to smile at me. “Shall we fetch another drink?”
I shook my head. “I’m pretty tired. I was going to head home. But, um, we’ll talk soon?”
She nodded and stroked my shoulder. “Yeah, you look tired. You get tomorrow off, at least.”
“I know. Incredible.” The next day, they’d be filming scenes involving Jackie and her family, so Ariel and others had to be there, but I was done.
“Then a long weekend,” she added. Monday was Christmas, and we got that and Boxing Day off too.
“But I’ll be around during it, and … yeah, we’ll talk.”
“Yes.” She l
ifted her face for a kiss.
I leaned down to brush it upon her, not quite on the lips, only the side of her mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sebastian staring at us. “Goodnight,” I said. “Had a good time.” I formed a flash of a roguish smile—all acting; my heart wasn’t in it.
Then I escaped the party before Sebastian or anyone else could catch me and ask what exactly I’d been doing up there with her for the last fifteen minutes.
CHAPTER 12: I CONFESS
THROUGH MY TUBE RIDE AND THE WALK DOWN MILE END TO MY FLAT, I MULLED OVER MY STRANGE NIGHT. Should I give Fiona a chance? Couldn’t this be the start of a great relationship? An attractive, competent Englishwoman, a writer and director in the entertainment industry who loved my work: it was my dream setup, right?
But my mind, or heart if you wanted to call it that, kept saying No.
She wasn’t the one I wanted. For that matter, I probably wasn’t the person she wanted, either. The fact that I resembled Taylor, and was portraying him for her, must have counted for an awful lot in her attraction to me.
Had I only been getting even with Andy—or scoring to catch up with him, to look at it another way? If that had been any part of my motivation, I felt ashamed of it, and as my mind sorted itself out, I found he was the one person I wanted to talk to.
Locked into my flat, with the heat turned up as high as my pathetic, clanking radiator would go, I sat on the bed with a blanket around me and opened the messaging app.
Sinter: Hey do you have a minute?
Andy: Hey! Yeah, just got off work. I’m meeting Emma and her boyfriend for dinner later, but I have a little while, so what’s up?
Sinter: Well … are you willing to be my confessional?
Andy: Intriguing. Yes my son, what sins have you committed?
Sinter: I had sex with Fiona. At Ariel’s party tonight.
Andy: Wow
Sinter: Yeah
Andy: That’s good right? You like her, she likes you. Sounded like, anyway
Sinter: Yeah but … I think it was a mistake
Andy: Oh. Well I do know how that feels
Sinter: Heh, thought you might get it
Andy: Do you think she agrees? That it was a mistake
Sinter: I kind of don’t think so
Andy: Uh oh
Sinter: I know. Argh
Andy: Well, you’ll have to talk to her
Sinter: True, no escaping that. Shit I’m so sleazy. An actor sleeping with his director, it’s like a fricking tabloid
Andy: You were nice enough to tell me I wasn’t slimy even though I was
Sinter: Because you weren’t
Andy: Hush. So I’m telling you you aren’t sleazy. You got carried away at a party with someone you’ve been having sexual tension with. As people do. I assume alcohol was involved?
Sinter: Yeah
Andy: Then, normal really
Andy: You were safe I hope?
Sinter: Condom … yeah
Andy: Good. Then chill. Talk to her, be honest and low-drama if possible. It’ll be ok
Andy: I mean I know you majored in drama, but TRY to be low-drama ;)
Sinter: Ha
Andy: So wow, a savvy British woman doesn’t do it for you. I’m kind of surprised
Sinter: Right? Obviously I liked her enough to go through with it. Just … I don’t know
Andy: Not relationship material?
Sinter: Yeah, and I guess not the sex I want to be having right now
I went tingly all over as the adrenaline shot through me. Oh my God, I was going to tell him.
Andy: What pray tell IS the sex you want to be having, or do I even want to know :)
Sinter: Well … lately I’ve realized I’m bi-curious. So … something involving that
I sent the words off, watched them crystallize into reality on the screen, and saw the checkmark appear that indicated he’d seen them. I bit my fingers—not just my nails, but the tips of all four fingers, cramming them between my teeth.
My heart thumped in my throat. The response bubble appeared from Andy’s side, three dots in it: he was typing something. Then it vanished. He had decided against saying it.
I took my hand out of my mouth and started typing too—I’ve suspected it for a long time but I was confused, and I know I should have said something sooner, but
I stopped and deleted all the words without sending them. He would have seen the same from his side: dots appearing and vanishing. We stayed silent a minute, probably both staring at our phones, in a game of instant-message chicken.
The response bubble returned on his side, and his answer materialized.
Andy: April fool’s?
Andy: :)
I smiled, pulling in a long breath.
Sinter: Ah you remember that conversation :)
Andy: Duh, of course. So, wow. That’s awesome! Yay!
Sinter: Thank you. I feel stupid I didn’t say anything until now
Andy: Why didn’t you? Obviously I’d have been fine with it
Sinter: I was confused mainly. Wasn’t totally sure
Andy: Yeah I imagine being bi (or bi-curious anyway) is inherently more confusing than being gay or straight
Sinter: True that
Andy: Though I did always kinda wonder. I mean it’s not everyone who’d kiss their friend on the mouth just to be nice ;)
Sinter: Haha right, should’ve been a clue for us both
Andy: So there’s some guy you want? The sex you’re hoping to have?
My heart revived its heavy pounding. Here goes.
Sinter: Well, like … so last night I had a dream I was making out with you. How crazy is that?
Oh shit, he was going to back away slowly, find some polite way to say he wasn’t into it; why had I said that?
Andy: Oooh. I’ve heard crazier. ;) How was I?
Sinter: Quite good. You got skills, boy
Andy: Lol, well I like to think so
Sinter: You’re … not weirded out?
Andy: Ummm my first ever wet dream was about you, so … nope, fine with it
Sinter: Oh REALLY? Lol. I cannot believe you just told me that
Andy: I strive to be honest. So that’s what’s on your mind huh
Sinter: I guess, yeah. Something along those lines. It’s what I want these days, apparently
Andy: Dude, if you didn’t insist on being in another country all the time, we could be doing that right this minute
Excitement surged through me, sparkling brighter than Christmas lights.
Sinter: Yeah? You seriously would?
Andy: Of course. You kissed me when I came out. It’s what friends are for ;)
Sinter: Hmm, then I really should think about visiting Seattle
Andy: You really definitely should
Sinter: But then my agent still hasn’t heard about that BBC role, so, argh, future is all up in the air. I hate this
Andy: You’ll have to hear soon I would think
Sinter: Any day now. Well regardless, thank you for being willing. :) You’re the first I’ve told, so, no idea where this part of my life is going yet
Andy: Am I? I’m flattered
Sinter: It’s not like I was going to tell my parents first
Andy: Oh shit, them … yeah I see why you’d hang onto the denial
Sinter: Right? They’re a problem for another day though
Andy: If it’s not going to be a big part of your life, you might never have to tell them. It happens
Sinter: That’s what I don’t know yet. How big it might be
Andy: That’s what he said
Andy: Sorry, couldn’t resist
Sinter: Lol
Andy: So hang on. Then all this time, have you been flirting with me, Sinter Blackwell? Not just friend-joke-flirting like I thought, but FLIRTING flirting?
I snuggled the blanket closer around my body. The screen glowed against my knees like a flashlight in a tent. I danced my fingers over the screen to tap in the
words.
Sinter: I have been flirting with you, Andrés Ortiz.
Andy: Well this is my favorite Christmas present. This conversation right here. I mean I haven’t opened gifts yet, but I’m sure nothing will top it
Sinter: Aw … thanks
I was breathing light and fast. My heart cartwheeled along in nervous happiness.
Andy: I have to get to dinner, but I’m stoked for you, even though … you know, complications
Sinter: So many. Jeez. But thanks
Andy: You’re awesome, man. Talk soon!
Sinter: Have fun at dinner, say hi to Emma for me
Andy: Will do
Our message window went dormant. I toppled sideways, curled in my blanket cocoon, cradling my phone.
I came out. I came out. I came out.
I whispered the phrase to feel it in my mouth. Okay, my grand declaration was only “I’m bi-curious,” and only to one person, not quite the level of coming out as gay or trans to the entirety of one’s acquaintances. But I let myself count it. It was far more than I’d ever declared to anyone so far, and I felt different. Better.
Lights from passing cars swooped across my ceiling. The radiator clanked, emitting its hot-metal smell. I’d had sex with Fiona just two hours earlier, which was all kinds of problematic, but maybe it had been the necessary catalyst, the thing that had cracked open my shell to let out this confession. And Andy had received the news happily, even said he was attracted to me too, would be glad to kiss me. A flicker of lust, apparently not quenched by my encounter with Fiona, flashed down to the pit of my belly.
The things we might say to each other in the next couple of days … and if those went over well, the things we might do next month if I flew to Seattle, even if only for a casual weekend visit …
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