“And men,” I remind him.
Drew rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I kind of assumed that much. But still…he gets grossed out if he evenhearsthe word ‘vagina’. He must really love you if he’s willing to watch porn with naked girls in it.”
I’m hit with a pang of guilt, because this is something I was already aware of. I know Skyler’s under the assumption that I make the same sacrifice for him, but that’s not exactly true. I might not be attracted to the men in the videos we watch, but I’m not repulsed by them either. I’m pretty neutral about it, to be honest. And compounding the guilt further is that I’m also pretty neutral about the women in the porn we watch. Truthfully, porn is something that confuses me. I don’t know why I can get aroused and jerk off when I don’t even find it that sexy.
“He does really love me,” I say simply. It’s a well-known fact, so I’m not sure why Drew’s even questioning it. “Which is why I need to get a really good new job present.”
Evidently giving up on getting back under the Lexus for the time being, Drew clambers off the creeper and gets to his feet, brushing himself down. “I don’t know why you’re asking for my help,” he says. “I love the guy, but our relationship is based around sitcoms and a shared respect for Bernie Sanders. You know him inside and out and back to front—surely you can think of something?”
“Yeah, but I want it to be special,” I insist.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be twisting my brain around like this. Skyler’s not a particularly difficult person to buy for; he’d be just as happy with a selection of SpongeBob boxer briefs as with a Rolex. But this is a little different.
“Special as in sentimental?” Drew asks. “Or special as in expensive?”
I consider the question for a moment, tapping my fingers against the surface of the Porsche. Even if I could afford the expensive option, I doubt that would be the way to go. Skyler knows how to dress the part, but in reality he’s not particularly materialistic.
“Sentimental.”
Drew shrugs. “Well, my knee-jerk response isThe Golden Girls,but you can’t exactly give that to him, can you? I mean, do they even sell DVDs anymore? And where would you play it?”
“Not exactly the kind of sentimental I was going for,” I say with an eye roll. “And my mom still has a DVD player.”
“That sheuses?” he asks incredulously.
I nod. “She gets them second hand from junk sales and eBay and stuff. Her collection’s huge now—you walk past her bookshelves and it’s basically like you’re in a real-life Netflix catalogue.”
“Yeah, but with Netflix you don’t have to get up to change the disk after a few episodes,” Drew points out. “It just keeps playing.”
I give a wry shake of my head and turn back to the Porsche. I think I’ve wasted enough time chatting; Skyler’s present will have to wait.
* * *
“What are you thinking?”Drew asks, hanging between the two stainless steel doors of the enormous fridge that sits inside the enormous kitchen in the enormous apartment he now shares with Sullivan. He studies the contents with the same assessing frown he always wears when inspecting the damage on a car, his tongue poking out to flick at his lip ring. “Looks like there’s microwave pizza, or…microwave pizza. Fuck, we really need to get some groceries.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have microwave pizza,” I say dryly. “Or we could order an actual pizza?”
Drew snaps the doors closed and turns to me, one eyebrow arched. “I thought you were tired of take out?”
And I hadn’t lied. It’s been a busy week for both me and Skyler—him in particular—so we’ve pretty much been living off pizza, burgers, and Chinese food. We will definitely be doing a proper grocery run tomorrow. Or at the very least order an Amazon Fresh drop off.
“Yeah, well, I said that before I realized Old Mother Hubbard was inviting me over,” I grumble. “You’re engaged to a billionaire—how do you not have any food in your fridge?”
“Engaged in theory,” Drew corrects, prompting me to roll my eyes. “And there’s food…if you’re interested in quinoa and cranberry salad? Or cauliflower rice? Or curried vegetable patties?”
My brows creep up in curiosity. “What the hell is all that doing in your fridge?” I’ve known Drew for ten years and I’m pretty sure if someone was holding a gun to his head demanding that he spell “quinoa” he’d be dead before he actually got it right.
“Technically, it’s the freezer. Sully never has much time for cooking, so he gets Mirabel—that’s the housekeeper—to make up those side dishes and put them in the freezer, and then he just cooks a steak or some chicken or something to go with it,” he explains.
“But you’re here now,” I point out. “And you like cooking.”
Drew shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s nice not to have to do it every night.” He opens one of the fridge doors again, retrieving two beer bottles. Then he stalks over to the living room and hands one to me, before collapsing in the armchair opposite to where I’m seated on the sofa.
“Are you ever going to let Sully out of his misery?” I ask him. “You’re clearly happy here.”
Drew and Sullivan have been “engaged in theory” since November; it’s some lame-ass term Drew thought up based on something he saw on that old tv show with Ryan Reynolds—Two Guys and a Girl—and is apparently used when someone is freaked out about the massive commitment they’re making. Although, from memory, the blonde girl only made Nathan Fillion wait a few days, whereas Drew’s been holding out for months.
But to be fair, he and Sullivan didn’t have the most conventional, or romantic of courtships considering the whole thing started out as a complete ruse. Drew didn’t even realize he was attracted to men when Sullivan hired him to pretend to be his boyfriend for his sister’s wedding weekend. Somehow they came out of that weekend as not simply pretend boyfriends, but pretend fiancés. And things just kept going from there…
