47. Olivier

Killian opens the front door for me as I step out into the crisp, sunny morning, in desperate need of a cigarette. Our ghostwriter, a former investigative journalist named Mallory Joyce, agreed to let me take this much-needed break after I had a rough memory breakthrough while we were talking about my sophomore year of high school.

While I'd much rather be sorting through my raw feelings in bed with Drew, he's picking up his new book from Keats Kelly and who knows when he'll be back.

I've had to resort to smoking again, much to his annoyance, but look—digging up every shitty thing about my past I spent eight years high trying not to think about isn't easy. And a cigarette isn't cocaine.

Evidently, I'm not the only one in need of a smoke break. Babs's current houseguest is outside, too, sucking a butt like it's life support. He spots me and tips his chin my way. "Sorry," he says, very Brittishly.

"Don't be. Mind if I join you?"

"Please." He holds out a hand, leaving his cigarette between his teeth. "Jeremy Davies."

"Ollie. Arnaud," I add, irritated more and more lately with my own surname. We shake.

"I love a lot of things about America, but the lack of accommodations for smokers is so fucking Puritanical. Sex workers have more rights."

I grin, lighting up and leaning on the wall of the building beside him. "So, how do you know Babs?"

"She's my mum's second or third cousin or something. I'm in the middle of an interview slash internship with a firm here in the city. I wasn't going to do it until Babs offered a room."

"How is it?" I ask. "Panning out?"

"It's not bad. What do you do?" he asks.

"Oh, I uh…dabble a little in runway modeling. I'm working on a book." And then I laugh at the fact that for the first time in my life I have a real answer to the question. Still, those aren't the things that define me. "Mostly I just try to spend as much time with my boyfriend as possible."

Jeremy lifts one dark brow. "That's lovely. Where's a good place to meet men in this town? I haven't had much luck."

"Oh, well, good question. I kind of stumbled on this one. Never really thought of myself as queer before I met him. I'm still not sure we're doing it right."

He chuckles. "What is it you think you're doing wrong?"

I exhale a thick, billowing cloud of smoke, leaning my head back to look up at the bright blue sky. "Everything."

"Please, spare no details. I have some experience in this department."

"You don't mind?" I ask.

He makes a dismissive noise and shakes his head, prompting me to go on.

"Stop me if this gets to be too much. I don't get to talk about it very often."

Jeremy nods with an interested grin.

"Okay, so, when we first started having sex, I was always the one who—you know—topped?"

"Topped, yes."

I sigh my relief with not getting the terminology wrong, at least. "At first he was sort of—resistant about that—he's straight, too—I mean, he was before."

"Ah…"

"But then I felt like it was cool… He was cool with it. He'd always come and everything—Jesus this is too much detail, isn't it?"

"Actually, I have a clarifying question."

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"When he came—would he need to be touching himself?"

"Not every time. It would just sort of depend on the position or the moment or whatever."

"Okay, go on," Jeremy says.

I laugh nervously. "Well, anyway, it still felt like something wasn't quite clicking for me until we reversed things."

"You bottomed?"

"Right. Which made so much sense for us, and I figured, this is what we were supposed to be doing because I really like it—like I think way more than he did."

This is where Jeremy gives me a skeptical glance. "He could come without touching his cock? When you topped?"

I nod, staring at him like he's Gay Buddha or something.

"Then I think he probably enjoyed himself. Are you saying you're not topping him anymore?"

"Not since we switched."

"Was this his request?"

"No."

"Have you talked about it?"

"Not gonna lie, we've got a lot of other shit going on. When we talk, it's usually not about sex."

Drew and I have been together for two months now, and I have very few complaints. But I do have concerns. I'm borderline obsessed with keeping his interest—not like it's waning, but I'm constantly preoccupied that it might.

This is what I get for falling for a straight guy, right? I break out in a cold sweat every time he talks to Elodie or Mallory for more than a couple of seconds. And don't even get me started on his phone calls with Jericho.

Jeremy lights another cigarette, and I get back to work on mine. "This is hard for some men to believe, but I'm a strict top, so the appeal of bottoming is totally lost on me, but more men prefer it than not," he says.

"Because it's amazing," I say like I'm trying to sell him something.

"I'm a control freak. Back home I know a few versatile couples. I think when you're in a relationship, sex is sometimes about more than getting off. It's about connecting. Fuck, listen to me… Can you tell I haven't been laid in a while?"

"No."

"Well, I haven't. Hm…anyhow. What is it you're asking me?"

"I don't know," I admit. "Just are we doing it right?"

He laughs. "Sure, mate. But it never hurts to ask if he needs something else from you from time to time. Check in, you know? I mean, if you're willing."

"I'd do anything for him," I say.

Jeremy's smile is wistful, and I catch a glimpse of a tall, handsome man striding up the sidewalk looking right at me. I bite my lip and wonder if it's too late to hide my cigarette. Drew comes to a stop in front of Jeremy and me and looks between us both.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Jeremy says to him. "Have you been on holiday?"

"No," Drew says. "I quit a month ago." He nods at me. "This one didn't like me working nights."

Jeremy's eyes widen, and he grins as he puts two and two together. He gives me a wink. "I'm afraid I know a bit more about you than you may like, then. He's been testing some theories out. You should ask him about them."

"Jesus," I mutter, dropping my half-smoked cigarette onto the ground and crushing it beneath my shoe.

Drew's brows are raised in curiosity.

"I wasn't testing anything. I was getting some advice from someone who actually knows how to be gay right."

"What'd you learn? I could probably use some tips, too."

"You're perfect," I say before Jeremy has a chance to jump in.

"There's no right or wrong way as long as you care about each other. And talk from time to time."

"See?" I say to Drew. "He knows things."

"You should get his number. I'm gonna go inside. I've had too much water today."

"I'll see you in a minute." I do want Jeremy's number, so I let Drew go up without me.

"Christ," my new friend says. "I can see why you switched teams."

My cheeks heat. It makes me wonder if any man would ever be jealous of Drew for having landed me. But I'm well aware of what an indisputable fact Drew's hotness is. I have to look at him all the time. Granted, in terms of first-world problems, having someone who looks like Drew in my bed is a nice one to have, but I'm not going to lie and say it doesn't torture me from time to time. He has a personality, too. One I love for sure but is also challenging.

I get Jeremy's number and tell him I'll invite him up one night for dinner and drinks. Elodie and I go out only about twice a week now, but the rest of our nights we spend in—her with Matthew when he's available, and me, of course, with Drew, whom I can't seem to get enough of.

When I come into the penthouse, he's got his new book open on the kitchen island to show Mallory and Elodie. Jealousy that I wasn't the first one to see it has me shoving my way between them and turning the large pages back to the beginning.

I'm fucking blown away.

"Jesus, Drew."

"You don't like it?" he asks.

"No—I—fuck…look at you." I swallow past a thick lump in my throat as Drew's brutally beautiful new headshot stares back at me with those bright gray-blue eyes and jaw squared for the camera. His hair is perfect. His skin glows. Steam practically radiates from the page.

"You do like it."

I turn the pages to see him in a suit. A tank. Bare-chested in jeans, then naked. His body and his dark, passionate spirit so perfectly captured, my eyes fill with tears.

"What do you think?" I manage to whisper, because that's what really matters. That he feels good about these. That he's confident again.

"I think what I always think," he says. "I look old."

Elodie snaps her head up and glares at him. "You are not old!"

Mallory agrees. "As someone older, I'm actually offended."

"Mal," I admonish. "Stop. This is a big deal."

A tear falls, but I wipe my cheek quickly, hoping no one noticed. I might need a few minutes before I can properly assess Drew's new book. I'm more than a little overwhelmed. I ask Mal if we can be done for today.

Mallory turns to me with a sympathetic pinch in her forehead. "Are you okay? I know that was a lot earlier."

"I'm—I'll be fine."

"What happened?" Drew asks.

God, I wish everyone would just fucking leave so I could be alone in my own home with my boyfriend.

"You can read about it in the book," I tell him. "By the way, can I borrow you for a minute?" It's meant to sound like a casual request, but even I can hear how desperate I sound.

Elodie, for once, takes the hint. "Mal, let's go get drinks. I was thinking about something that happened when I was seventeen, and I wanted to see if you think it would be good to put in the book. It's kind of tawdry."

"Sounds like something I'd love to hear, regardless," Mallory says.

A few minutes later, Drew and I are left on opposite sides of the island staring at each other. Him with a concerned frown on his face and me fighting back more tears I can't explain. It's been sort of an emotional day, I guess. I've been having a lot of those lately.

He nods to the stairs with a question in his eyes. I lead the way.

Once we're in the bedroom, I sit down on the bench at the foot of the bed, and he takes the spot beside me. "You okay?"

I rest my hand palm up on his leg and he takes it in his. "The photos are incredible."

"Thank you," he says quietly.

I squeeze his hand. "I mean it."

"Why are you crying?" he asks.

"I don't know."

"What were you talking to Jeremy about?" he asks.

"Topping and bottoming."

Drew snorts. "Oh."

"I just want to be what you want. What you need. All the time," I say.

"Have I not made it clear that's exactly what you are?"

"You have," I whisper.

"Then what is it?"

"How did we get here, Drew?" I ask, because I swear the question keeps me up at night. It all feels too unlikely. A fever dream that won't end, but fragile still. And sometimes like a mistake we don't want to fix but might have to remedy one day when we both come to our senses.

"Well…" he sighs. "It's a long story. But it has a happy ending."

"Does it?" I ask.

"Are you afraid it doesn't?"

"I'm afraid all the time."

"Baby, what you're doing right now is tough. I get it. But the pros outweighed the cons. By a lot."

The list had been very heavily weighted on the pros side when I decided I'd participate in the upheaval of my family name. The number one item on the list—one he hadn't disputed when I wrote it down—was I'd get to be with Drew.

"Don't doubt yourself," he says. "You're smarter than you think."

I lean my head on his shoulder. "And you're more beautiful than you could possibly understand."

"On that note, I'm gonna need you out of these clothes. Right now."

I smile. The conversation about being versatile can wait until later.