“I think growing up is all about discovering there’s more to the world than when you were a kid,” Ryan said. “That’s why it’s called growing up.”
“Yeah, but most of the people I was raised by and around have carried their same opinions with them through their entire life, and they’ll probably continue to carry them for the rest of their lives,” Graeme said.
“I can’t imagine a worse way to live,” Ryan said, putting on his signal to turn into a parking garage.
“Neither can I,” Graeme said. “Now. But I’m still terrible at being hip and cool and in touch with the modern world.”
Ryan laughed as he sought out a parking space. “Do people still say ‘hip’ and ‘cool’?”
“See?” Graeme argued instead of answering the question. “I don’t even know how to talk like a normal person my age. And I certainly don’t know anything about juggling two men while?—”
He stopped, a sick feeling hitting his stomach, like he’d gone too far. None of them had talked about anything where the swirling knot of feeling squeezing in tighter and tighter on the three of them was concerned. For all he knew, Ryan wanted to keep him all for himself and was plotting ways to get rid of Art. Or, more likely, he’d already had his way with him and was getting ready to toss Graeme aside for his next conquest.
But no, Ryan wasn’t Damien. And neither was Art.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Ryan said with a sigh, finding a parking space and maneuvering so he could back into it.
The statement didn’t make Graeme feel better. He didn’t know what was going on either. All he knew was that he was equally drawn toward two men, but for entirely different reasons. And he wanted to have a sexual relationship with both of them.
It was everything he was raised to believe was not just wrong, but evil.
“It’s incredibly disorienting not believing any of the things you were raised to believe anymore,” he said once they were out of the car and walking toward the parking garage’s stairs. Even though he kept his voice down, it reverberated through the hollow, concrete space, somehow giving those words more meaning.
“I guess I’m lucky I was raised by bohemian parents who have always believed in free love and sexual expression, then,” Ryan said as they headed down the staircase, his words echoing as well.
“Yeah, but you have your own hang-ups,” Graeme said.
Ryan glanced at him funnily as they made it downstairs to the payment kiosk. “I do?” he asked.
Graeme panicked. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Ryan was perfectly at ease with himself and he was just projecting his own insecurities about sex and relationships.
But he didn’t think so.
He shrugged, trying to channel Art and play it cool. “I don’t know. It’s just something, a feeling, I’ve had.”
Ryan grunted and focused on paying for the parking.
Nothing more was said on the subject, which kind of made Graeme feel he was right. He’d thought he was being like Art, but if Art were there instead of him, he would pester Ryan until he confessed why he was so cagey at weird times.
One way or another, the conversation was effectively over once they entered the wholesale fabric shop. Graeme had never seen anything like it. Bolts and rolls of fabric packed the space like it was his gran’s closet times a million. There were splashes of color and eye-jarring patterns everywhere. The whole thing seemed to be organized into sections by type of material, but the names, damask, chenille, Georgette, and more, were complete mysteries to him.
Graeme had a thousand questions, but he bit his tongue as he followed Ryan up and down the aisles, watching him think. Every once in a while, Ryan would stop and pull something out of the stacks, running his hands over it before either setting it aside or putting it back. He seemed drawn to shades of rose, green, and gold, which seemed to fit for a spring collection. Graeme licked his lips subconsciously a few times at the tenderness of Ryan’s touch as he fingered the fabric. When Ryan pulled a roll of something silky from a table and stroked his hand up and down the cylinder, Graeme had to turn away for a second to stop his thoughts from going places they shouldn’t.
“I don’t know,” Ryan sighed after a while, sagging to lean against a table piled high with what looked like suit material. “The more I try to force creativity, the more of a block I feel.”
“So it’s not going well?” Graeme asked, heart going out to his lover.
Ryan shook his head. “I have to make this work. This is my last chance to have a career as a designer, despite what Art says.”
Mentioning Art felt like striking a match for Graeme. “What did he say?” he asked, deliberately leaning against the table directly across the narrow aisle from the one Ryan leaned against, his feet on either side of Ryan’s in the center of the aisle.
Ryan was looking down, maybe at their feet, and glanced up at Graeme with a spark in his eyes. “He said, more or less, that this spring show was a foot in the door and that I didn’t have to throw my whole shoulder against the door and bash my way into the room with trumpet fanfare.”
Graeme smiled. “That sounds right to me. And don’t you already have a name in the fashion world? Don’t people know all the work you did when you were working for George…what was his name?”
“Giorgio Esposito,” Ryan said, glancing away.
Graeme didn’t think the avoidance was accidental. It really wasn’t any of his business, but boy did he want to know the full story of what had happened with Ryan and his ex-boss.
