Chapter 18

18

DES

W hen I meet Alex at lunchtime at Westville, my mind is a wild scramble of software, grumpy staff, and George.

It's one of those wonderful end-of-April, heading-into-summer days in New York, warm enough to sit outside but without the grinding heat. Sunlight dances over Alex's gleaming nut-brown curls, and I lean back a little in my chair on the sidewalk blowing out a long breath. The East River is glimmering beyond him, and God, I love working and living downtown. The thick bustle of trading during the day and the peace and quiet at night. No one really wants to live in this area, and that's fine by me. I can go elsewhere for exciting nightlife and come back to my calm apartment in the evenings and at weekends. Wall Street on a Sunday is a bliss of empty buildings. I'm still bowled over that Alex works about ten blocks away from me and we can meet up, with him in his sharp suit that exposes his ankles. His very sexy ankles. One of which sports a tattoo.

But as my eyes scan over him, I realize he looks … vaguely sick?

"How's your tech report coming along?" I ask, trying to pull my head into the game.

Alex studies me over the wire frames of his glasses. "It's taking me too long. I'm surprised they haven't hassled me more about it. Whatever, it's nearly finished." His voice is oddly clipped.

Why is he not meeting my eyes? "Is work okay?"

He nods and I chew my lip. "I went out to Crush again last night with some friends," I add.

"How was it?" he says.

That's it? No surprise or ribbing about going two nights in a row?

I study him for a second. Is this the right time to tell him about George? Initially, I'd thought they'd meet at some future unknown point, but now I don't want to do that. And I clearly wasn't thinking, like, at all . I would have said George was a close friend, but is he? His view of our relationship seems completely different from mine.

My gaze lands on the tumble of Alex's hair and his cherry lips … They were soft and warm like velvet over mine when we went to Crush. And the idea of tangling my tongue with his, of pushing him back on a bed and … Goosebumps break out across my arms. How much am I enjoying taking this slow? Despite everything and my occasional bouts of horniness when I'm drunk, it's ridiculous how good this feels. But I do need to stop thinking about his body, his clothes, his … his … every bit of him .

"Turned into a bit of a nightmare, actually," I say.

"Did you hook up?"

I stare at him. He's looking down, rearranging the salad in his sandwich, fishing out the pickle.

"Is that a serious question?"

He glances up a me, cheeks a little pink.

"I'm well aware that you hook up, Des. I understand what this is."

What this is ? I shake my head. "I haven't hooked up since I met you."

His eyes go wide, and he stares at me, swallowing. "You're kidding."

"Why would I be kidding? I wouldn't joke about something like that."

His eyes close, and he looks like he's almost in pain as his Adam's apple bobs. "You said you didn't do exclusive. You don't need to …"

Tipping my head to one side, I reach over to squeeze his hand. "No. No, Alex. I know I said that but I like this. I like waiting for you. I don't want to hook up."

His cheeks are pale, eyelashes brushing the dark shadows under his eyes. Unease burns through me. He doesn't seem in a good place today.

He opens his eyes. "I went out last night, too. Someone messaged me on Grindr."

And my whole stomach plummets, but as I watch a muscle ticking in his jaw, I realize that tears have filled his eyes. Oh God. His head drops as he looks down at the table and shakes his head. All I can see is a shimmer of water on his lashes.

I tip my head down to try and get him to meet my eyes as I squeeze his fingers. "What happened?"

"I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not. Tell me."

"I called you last night and you were in the shower, and Marla said you were going out with someone and I just thought …" His voice drains to a whisper, and then he takes his glasses off, wiping them on his shirt sleeve and pressing his long fingers into the corner of his eyes.

And he doesn't even have to tell me, I can imagine what Marla said and what he thought. Jesus, Marla. And I'm a fucking idiot. Why the hell did I go out with George last night? This lovely man . I've wounded him. Fuck, Des .

"God, I'm sorry, Alex, I should never have …"

"It's my own fault. I met up with him because I wanted to get some more experience." He huffs. "Whatever that means."

"More experience ? In what? You don't need more experience, Alex. You're perfect just as you are."

But he just presses his lips together and shakes his head.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

"I went to a bar in Harlem to meet this guy."

"Jake's?"

His eyes go wide. "You know it?"

And God help me, I can't help the smile that curls over my face. I shouldn't be laughing but … Jesus, Jake's . "How bad was it?"

He's still gaping at me. Then his lips curl somewhat reluctantly. "The guy I met, Carlos, put my hand on his fly within ten seconds of meeting me and then followed me into the washroom and put his hand on me while I was trying to relieve myself. Two guys came in and started doing the business on the sink."

Giggles catch in the back of my throat … and Alex starts to grin as his shoulders ease. "It was epically bad. I thought I might not get out alive."

I waft my hand over my face. "I'm sorry for finding it funny. It's just … Jake's is renowned as a dive. You only go there if you want a bit of rough, and it's kind of a given that it'll be blowjobs in the bathroom."

Alex runs his hands up his face. "He actually suggested that."

Oh Jesus. "And did you?" God, this must have been awful for him. And wait a minute, some guy had his hands on him? My blood runs hot and thick, a strange kind of heat taking over my chest.

"Did I what?"

"Give him a blowjob?"

"Of course not! I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I bolted out through the back and raced off down the street."

Hot relief swamps me. The idea of him being forced into something …

Alex bites his lip, eyes roaming over my face and looking suspiciously glassy. "Nothing fazes you, does it, Des? I've been shaky about this ever since it happened and you've just … you think it's funny!"

"Sorry, that's really rude. I'm sorry that happened to you. It must have been awful. I …"

"No, no, no. I like that you laughed. You've just blown it all away."

I tilt my head. "Blown it away?"

"Made me see it differently. You're just not fazed by anything," he repeats.

How funny that I think that about him, too. I shrug. "I'm gay and I have five, fairly lively, sisters. I've seen a lot of shit."

James's words about being good at this people thing echo through my head. Perhaps everything isn't always my fault? Perhaps I'm managing a bunch of assholes. Why do I always take responsibility for everything? Well, it's fucking obvious, Des. Why even ask yourself that question?

A dog walker struggles past with five dogs on leashes, and a smile curls over Alex's lips as they rush around getting tangled up. There's more color in his cheeks now. I laugh and he glances back at me.

"I know, right?" I say, gesturing at a huge Doberman that keeps falling over a poodle with a red ribbon on the top of its head. That's so like Mitzi! I rub my hands down my face. Jesus, I am the worst gay cliché in New York.

Then he squeezes my hand.

"Thanks," he says. "Thanks for saying you want me."

I stir my coffee. "Of course I do, you nut." I grin. "Maybe I should be thanking you, sexy guy." I lean toward him and stare at his mouth, and he blushes and clears his throat.

"Anyway, you said your evening was a nightmare." He takes a bite of his sandwich as his eyes drift back to mine.

God, I'd completely forgotten about George. "Okay, I'm revising that assessment down now I've heard about your evening. More like slightly annoying in comparison to yours," I say, and he laughs.

"For a couple of years, I've had a complicated relationship with a guy named George. We were partners once, but it never worked because I wanted loyalty, and he wanted … well … admiration." I screw my face up. "At least I think that's how it was. I still don't understand what he was doing with me. George is never happier when he has a lot of admirers and he likes hooking up, and after months of him sneaking around behind my back, I got fed up and we called it a day. Until recently, we still hooked up now and again, but we certainly aren't ‘partners' anymore." I make air quotes around the word.

He nods. Perhaps Alex is the perfect person to discuss George with, despite the weirdness of the whole talking-about-your-ex conversation. At least Alex understands something about the scene, and he's honest. He might help me understand George's mentality better.

"He thought we were still boyfriends if that makes sense, and then I told him about you."

"You told him about me?"

I nod. "And he didn't take it well."

Alex looks down at his sandwich intently. "What did you tell him?"

"That I'd found someone new."

His head pops up again, eyebrows raised, and why is he surprised at this? Did he not think I was that committed? Maybe he didn't.

I frown at him. "We're dating, aren't we?"

His face flushes. "I'd like to think so. I just didn't want you to think you had to give things up for me and my …" He hesitates. "Slowness."

I shake my head. "I don't think that. I'm enjoying it." Reaching out, I tap his hand again and he turns it over so I can curl my fingers around his, lifting it up to kiss the back of his hand. "I like this. I like you ," I whisper.

His brown eyes meet mine, and it's like being plugged into a socket. The sky is reflecting the buildings across his eyes, the black center fading out almost to orange near the edges where a dark circle frames the color.

"Tell me more about what happened with George," he says, straightening in his seat.

Sucking on my coffee spoon, I stare off up the street. "You have to understand that George is not that interested in my thoughts or my life: it was all about how I'd wounded him. It's always all about him."

"You sound bitter."

My relationship with George is slippery around the edges like I'm on constantly shifting sands. How do I explain this to Alex without coming across like a dick? Unfortunately, there's no more dog shenanigans to help me avoid spilling it all out.

"I tried so hard with him. I was a good boyfriend, I think." I squint over Alex's head. "And he took and took and cheated and cheated. But somehow, he still made me feel it was all my fault, that I wanted too much from him. And he's still trying to do that."

I peer at my salad and pop a tomato in my mouth. "He said last night that I was wrong to want monogamy and that no one is faithful."

Alex snorts. "That sounds kind of crazy. I don't know the guy, but at the very least you'd want a shared sense of responsibility and an honest discussion about something like that."

That sort of openness is so far away from what George and I have that I want to laugh.

"How long were you with him for, as, um, boyfriends?" he adds.

"About nine months."

"He did all that cheating in nine months?" His mouth falls open.

"Yeah. He's the type of guy that, if you said, I'm really pissed, he wouldn't listen but just say, ‘Oh, it's always about you!'"

Alex laughs. "That sounds familiar. A girl I dated was like that. A proper Jewish princess. I shouldn't call her that, but she was. She was a real charmer, and my family loved her, but she was so demanding. Our relationship was all about what I could do for her. She kept wanting things she could post on Instagram about what her wonderful boyfriend had done for her. It was stressful coming up with ideas to please her and then wondering whether I'd passed the test or jumped over some ridiculously high bar."

And in that one story, he's summed up perfectly where I am with George. But my gut still burns: He met up with another guy last night, and some girl had Alex's time and attention. I'm not used to feeling jealous. Perhaps like that asshole in Jake's, she had even had her hand on his … The thought forces my back ramrod straight.

"How long were you with her?"

"Oh, a couple of months. Is George the guy you sent a photograph of that first time?" Alex asks.

I laugh, nodding. "He was my last hookup."

How funny that I was so pissed off then, thinking Alex was playing some game with me.

Something is bubbling behind Alex's eyes, and he gives me a wolfish grin I don't think I've ever seen before.

"Nice ass," he says.

And with all the talk of a girlfriend and the guy in Jake's, the photograph of the tousled hair and what I assume was his stomach drifts into my mind. He's never talked to me about that guy. Who was he ? It doesn't seem right to quiz him now when I've cheered him up after everything that happened to him last night, but there's a story there, I'm sure of it.