22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Christian

I had it in my head that relationships meant pain. That they meant inevitable loss.

I know my preconceived notions were skewed because of my mother. Because of what she lost. She never bothered to explain to me the parts that made it worth it. Why she was with my father. Why she loved in the first place.

All I knew was the aftermath. And it wasn’t pretty.

But everything with Emil feels like life . That’s the best way I can think to describe it.

He’s good, and he’s smart, and there’s this vibrant glint of hunger in his eyes that fascinates me. Hunger for knowledge. Hunger, sometimes, for me . When I’m with him, I can almost believe there’s no after . That the now is all that’s important.

Which is why I find myself stalled in front of a bolt of fabric I’ve walked past time and time again, thinking, for the first time, of buying a few yards. Emil is standing next to me, looking at a distressed denim. After a moment, he notices I’m not moving.

“You like that one?” he asks.

I nod, running my fingers along the outer edge of the fabric, where the embroidered flowers become thickest before ending. It’s an extravagant pattern, meant to be a showstopper. I’ve never had a reason to buy it before, not considering the ridiculous cost. But last week, after acing the exam I knew he would, Emil helped me look into some of the regulations for selling clothes. And now…now I can’t stop dreaming up these designs in my head. And every time, I think about this fabric. About what it could be.

“You should get some,” Emil says. “It’s gorgeous.”

I look over just in time to catch his encouraging smile. When I hold up the tag so he can see the cost, his eyes widen a bit.

“Okay, so that’s kind of expensive…” he starts.

“That’s the cost for one yard,” I clarify.

Emil makes a choked sound. “Shit.”

“Mhm.”

He nudges up his glasses before touching the fabric, his fingers drifting over the flowers delicately. The same as when he touched Bernie, I feel a flash of heat rush through me. Maybe because I want those fingers on me? Maybe because I know what they can do. I know how much Emil seems to love my skirts. How he likes to drag them out of the way and tell me to watch him while he drives me wild. How, sometimes, he likes me to fuck him in them.

I grab the bolt of fabric and tuck it under my arm. Emil gives me a grin.

Before heading to the cutting counter, I grab a few other supplies. A long zipper. Some tulle to create volume. Since the base of the fabric is white, I stick with that, already envisioning a simple yet structured crop top to complement the skirt.

“When’s the awards ceremony?” I ask Emil. Nathaniel mentioned it to me, saying they’d appreciate for all of the performers to be there, even though surely I won’t win anything, new as I am.

“Right before New Year’s,” he answers.

Plenty of time.

When we reach the counter, I set my haul on top. It physically hurts, watching the employee cut into the embroidered fabric, knowing the cost of such a cut. But it feels good, too. Like growth, maybe. Healing.

“I, uh… I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Emil says, a hint of nerves in his voice.

“The answer will probably be yes,” I tell him before thanking the employee who hands over my fabric, along with the slip to pay up front.

Emil huffs a laugh. “Are you that certain I won’t ask for something outlandish?”

“That certain I simply can’t refuse you.”

He flushes at that, a sight that has me feeling smug. It takes Emil a moment to finish his original question. “I was wondering if you’d come to Thanksgiving with me?”

“At your parents’?”

“Yeah. Uh, it’s usually our biggest get-together during the holidays. Immediate family, plus aunts and uncles, cousins.”

I take a slow step toward him. “You want me to meet your family, Specs?”

Emil’s lips lift into a small smile when he sees my own. “Shut up,” he grumbles without heat. “Yes, I do. Would you come? Your grandma would be welcome, too, if you think she could make the trip.”

Emil looks a little startled when I back him down an aisle filled with fabric. He glances over his shoulder, walking backwards until I press him against a few bolts of chiffon. The fabric settles like colorful, billowing clouds on either side of his body. My kinky, angelic nerd.

He doesn’t protest when I bring my lips to his. I’m all too aware of Emil’s own restrictions when it comes to being in public, so I keep it light, and I don’t grind up against him the way I want to. But he still clings to me, hands fisting my shirt, trying to pull me closer.

When I break away from his lips, I lay my cheek against his. “Yes, I’ll go to Thanksgiving with you, Specs. I’ll ask my grandma, too.”

I can feel his smile against my face.

When Emil and I finally make it to the register, I hand over my fabric slip and the other notions I grabbed. “There goes a month’s worth of groceries,” I say quietly.

Emil winces, hand landing on my lower back. It’s a simple touch, but those simple touches from Emil are big. “At least you’ll look gorgeous. I mean, you always look gorgeous, but you know what I mean.”

He rolls his eyes at himself, and I chuckle.

After paying, we head to Emil’s car. Since he already packed some study materials in his bookbag before we left, we head straight over to my place after parking. Emil sprawls out on my bed, getting comfortable like he does at home. He lays a book out in front of himself, powers on his laptop, and pops open a bag of pretzels.

I unload supplies for my skirt while he studies. I have large wooden hangers with clips in my closet, so I hang the embroidered fabric up on one of those to prevent wrinkles. Next, I add the tulle to the pile of fabric on the floor—I really need to get cubbies to organize it all—and then I pick out a length of muslin to draft the skirt pattern.

Emil looks up as I’m spreading the material out on my foldable cutting board. Since it’s a little wrinkled, I plug in my iron.

“What’s that?” Emil asks.

“This fabric? It’s called muslin. It’s a cheap, plain cotton, so it’s good for scrap material.”

He hums, watching me for a moment before going back to his work. I like having him here in my space, even when we’re focused on different things. It feels nice. Comfortable.

Time moves swiftly as I work on patterning my skirt. The shht, shht of my scissors cutting through fabric is a familiar soundtrack amongst the tapping of Emil’s keys. Emil looks up again as I’m standing in front of my mirror, the muslin draped around my waist. There’s a pincushion strapped to my wrist for easy access.

I can practically feel his curiosity.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s just… Isn’t that usually done on a mannequin?”

“A dress form,” I correct. “And yes, but I don’t have one. They’re expensive.”

He makes a soft sound. “Do you ever prick yourself?”

I raise an eyebrow, and Emil shakes his head, lips twitching into a smile.

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles.

“Sometimes I do,” I admit.

Emil shuffles around, sitting upright and leaning against the wall. He sips his energy drink as he watches me work, seemingly taking a break from his own work.

“I saw your scene with Dixon,” I note, shifting a few pins around. “The one you did at the end of last week.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. That was hot as fuck, Specs. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Pretty sure Dixon could have been wearing a tutu, and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

Emil snorts, but then his gaze goes kind of distant before latching back onto me. I don’t miss the way his eyes rove over the makeshift skirt I’m wearing.

“Are you imagining me in a tutu?” I ask.

He flushes, licking his lips.

I grin. “I’ll wear a tutu for you, Specs.”

“Shit,” he mutters, shaking his head as if clearing his thoughts. “I don’t know why that’s so hot, but it is.”

“Have you always been attracted to femme guys?” I ask, curious.

“I actually, um…” He huffs a small laugh. “I’m not sure I have a physical type. My last boyfriend was a big guy. Wore flannel. You two look nothing alike.”

“Huh.”

“Have you always liked nerds in glasses?” he retorts.

“I sure as fuck like one,” I answer, trying to think back on my usual go-to type. True, I haven’t often gone for hypermasculine men—the big, macho types—but I’ve also never been drawn to anyone the way I am to Emil. Yes, I thought the glasses were cute from the get-go. The way they make his eyes a little bigger, vulnerable almost. I like the softness of his body and the way he feels tucked up against me. And, admittedly, I do love his ass.

But it was that time I first met him in person inside Studio 1 that I felt a swoop of something more in my stomach. I don’t know what caused it. Emil’s goodness? His gentle grace? The way he looked at me as if he already knew me and liked what he saw?

I’m attracted to Emil physically, that’s undeniable. But I’ve liked the look of a lot of guys and not once wanted more. So maybe my type is whatever it is inside of Emil that drew out my bravery. The thought makes me smile.

A soft sound draws my attention back to Emil.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he answers slowly. “Sometimes you just…you say the most perfect things.”

“Yeah?” I say, walking over to the bed. I’m careful as I climb onto the mattress, making sure not to disturb any of the pins in the fabric around my waist. Emil draws his knees up as I approach, spreading his legs and giving me room to fit in between them. I knee-walk closer, curling my palms against the sides of his neck, thumbs at his jaw. “You like being my one and only, Specs? You like being the only person I see?”

He lets out a small breath, his eyes fluttering closed. “You know I do.”

I kiss the side of one perfect eyebrow before bringing my lips to his, brushing our mouths together ever so gently. “Good. Because I’m not giving you up. Your ass is on my Instagram. That shit’s official.”

He huffs a laugh, his eyes opening. They don’t stay that way for long, slipping closed again when I take his mouth with mine. He parts his lips, and I sweep my tongue inside, blood igniting. He tugs me closer, instantly eager, always eager, and I shuffle forward, cursing the skirt pinned around my waist.

I’m about to tear the fabric off when my phone rings. I groan, knowing there are only a few people who would call me out of the blue.

“Hold that thought,” I say, pulling back from Emil’s lips. He looks a little dazed as I sit on my heels and grab my phone off the nightstand. It’s Noel. “Hello?”

“Uh, hey, Christian,” my friend greets, the background noise in the call nearly drowning out his voice.

“What’s going on?” I ask, his tone putting me on high alert.

“I, uh… Shit . It might be nothing, but I’m at work right now, and there’s this guy who’s giving me the creeps.” I turn my volume up as Noel continues, the heavy beat of the club making it hard to hear him. “He hasn’t done anything, not really, but…”

“You have a bad feeling,” I fill in, talking loudly, too, so he can hear me.

“Yeah. I’m probably being ridiculous, but last week, he asked me out. A couple times. I said no, but he keeps coming around. And I swear I saw him in the parking lot the other night. I almost felt like…like he was waiting for me? Which, again, probably ridiculous.”

“It’s not,” I assure him. “Always trust your gut, Noel.”

My eyes ping to Emil, his words from what feels like a lifetime ago flitting through my head. “How do we know if the choices we’re making are the right ones?” His answer was simple. “I think you just have to trust your gut.”

“Noel, did you tell anyone about him?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I told our boss, but he didn’t seem concerned.”

Of course not.

“I’ll be right there,” I tell him, eyes on Emil. “Don’t leave the club, okay?”

“Thank you, Christian,” he says in clear relief.

When I hang up, Emil is already closing his laptop. “Where are we going?” he asks.

We . My heart kicks.

“My friend Noel might need some help,” I explain. “He works about twenty minutes from here.”

Emil nods, pulling out his phone. “Name?”

I rattle it off, and Emil’s fingers fly over the screen as I climb off the bed, quickly unpinning the muslin around my waist. I pull on some pants as Emil’s phone and my own start pinging in rapid succession.

“Who are you texting?” I ask.

“The crew,” he answers simply.

By the time I’m dressed, Emil is waiting for me. He hands me my phone, and my throat closes up as I look at the screen. Emil started a group chat with our coworkers.

Specs: Need help. Knee Highs on The Strip.

Dixon: OMW.

Niko: We’re twenty-five minutes out.

Alex: Rowan is bringing his bat. Ignore the knickerbockers. We were doing…a thing.

Teddy: Leaving now.

Kipp: I’m in the chat!

Alex: Porn stars assemble, bitches! Yeehaw!

“Come on,” Emil says gently, giving my arm a tug. “Let’s go.”

Blinking the moisture from my eyes, I nod, and we head out the door.

My foot taps the floor of the car as Emil drives us across town. I text Max on the way, certain he’d want to know what’s going on with Noel. He doesn’t answer right away, and I can only hope he gets my message soon. The drive seems to take forever, but after exactly twenty minutes, Emil parks beside the club.

I see a lot of familiar faces as we walk through the front doors. A few of my old coworkers wave, and I return their hellos, but I don’t stop to chat. I head right toward the bar where Noel is standing. He heaves out a sigh when he sees me coming.

“You okay?” I ask as soon as I’m close.

He nods. “Yeah. I’m probably being paranoid, but I just can’t shake the feeling that something is off.”

“Where is this guy?”

He cants his head behind him. “Black shirt. Near the wall.”

My gaze sweeps the area. “Sitting alone?”

Noel nods.

I give his arm a squeeze as Emil subtly takes the guy’s picture. “Don’t go anywhere alone tonight, okay? We’ll be here until you’re ready to leave.”

Noel nods, looking grateful.

“Oh, and this is Emil,” I tack on. “My boyfriend.”

Noel holds out his hand, even as his cheeks pink. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Emil answers.

“You guys want anything to drink while you’re waiting?” Noel asks.

“Actually,” I say slowly. “You might want to get a tray of waters ready. There are a few others coming.”

“There are?” Noel asks, head cocked. “Who?”

A smile twists my lips. “Friends.”