This was a terrible idea.
Roland finished his glass of vodka and stuffed the bottle into the freezer before he opened the front door. Donny stood there, as expected. All five-foot-six of him poured into tight red jeans and white v-neck tee. His black hair, like Roland’s earlier paintings, looked like a planned mess, halfway covering one of his perfect blue eyes.
Roland swallowed, his mouth tasting like bile and vodka.
“Can I come in?” Donny questioned, tilting his head and lifting his arms which were laden with bags of food.
“Sorry, yeah. Of course.” He stepped back to let Donny inside. Donny brushed past him, smelling like Chinese food and a subtle hint of cologne.
“Can you grab Pete?” Donny asked over his shoulder. Roland leaned down and picked up the car carrier, bringing it to the kitchen and setting it down on the island. Donny was pulling containers out of the bag and stacking them side by side on the counter.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little bit of everything. Some Mongolian beef, kung pao chicken, some crispy shrimp, uhm— egg fried rice and some chow mein. Oh, and it looks like they gave me steamed rice anyway. So, there’s your starch.” Donny chuckled and popped all the containers open. “Do you have plates, or do you want to eat out of the containers?”
“I can get plates.” Roland clicked the latch on Pete’s carrier and let him out, setting him carefully on the floor before rounding the island to pull plates from a cabinet near the sink. He set them on the counter next to Donny, then pulled two forks out and placed them down as well.
Donny scooped food onto each plate and grabbed them both, gesturing toward the living room. “Please tell me you eat at the coffee table.” Donny grinned at him, and he nodded. “Did you want to grab drinks, Roland?”
“Oh, sure. What did you want?” Roland asked, backtracking to the fridge.
“What do you have?” Donny set the plates on the coffee table and sat on the floor, his back against the couch, and extended his legs in front of him.
Roland cracked his fridge door open. It was expectedly empty.
“Water and vodka.”
Donny laughed, so loud it echoed around the living area like a gunshot. “Do you have any mixers?” Donny pushed off the floor and leaned over the back of the couch to meet Roland’s eyes.
“No mixers.”
Donny raised an eyebrow and let out a low whistle.
“Water is fine then.”
He poured Donny a glass of water and opened the freezer. He stared at the bottle of vodka. He grabbed a handful of ice and dropped it into Donny’s glass, then a handful of ice into his own glass. Roland’s head throbbed from his hangover, but he pulled the vodka from the freezer and topped off his glass anyway. He joined Donny in the living room, setting both glasses down on the table.
“Damn, Roland. You don’t fuck around, do you?” Donny gestured to Roland’s completely full glass of booze.
He shrugged, “It’s just vodka.”
“Yeah, but everything in moderation. You’ve heard that before, right?” Donny took a bite of Mongolian beef and chewed thoughtfully, watching Roland from the corner of his eye. Roland’s cheeks heated under his beard and he immediately turned defensive.
“I don’t think you know me well enough to judge my drinking habits, Adonis.” Roland’s voice spewed from his mouth like fire. He took a large swallow of his vodka, setting it back down on the table with a dramatic flourish.
Donny swallowed and raised an eyebrow. Roland met his stare with angry eyes.
“Well, that’s the first thing I’ve learned about you.”
“What? That I drink? Lots of people drink.” Roland picked up his fork and gripped it so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Donny shook his head, “That you don’t like to have your motivations called into question.” He took another bite of food, this time the chicken. “I like the chicken better than the beef, what about you?” Donny asked, effectively changing the subject, and the look on his face challenged Roland to try and backtrack to his argument.
Roland stabbed his fork into the chicken. This, right here, was why he hadn’t dated anyone after Cody. It was too much work. There was always so much posturing, and speculation, and conversation, and judgement. No one was interested in just letting Rolandbe.
When he’d been involved with Cody, he’dtriedto find a medication that worked. Something that let him sleep, but not too much, and didn’t make him lose his appetite, or conversely, want to eat his way through an all-you-can-eat buffet twice. Then, just when Roland was starting to feel normal again, Cody left him.
Cody left, just like Stewart had left, and Roland tossed the meds in a trash can for good. If he was going to be alone, it would be on his terms. He didn’t need medication to help him. He was fine. He’dbefine. And he was fine, he’d been fine, until a few months ago when he stopped being able to make art.
“Roland?”
