After they left I stood in the kitchen, tense as a drum, while Andre poured himself a bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal. For all his culinary abilities, he still had a healthy appreciation for junk food. He sat down heavily at the table. I didn’t want to start the morning with a fight, especially in his current condition, but he had some explaining to do.
“Have fun last night?” I asked.
He shrugged. His reluctance to speak frustrated me to no end. An explanation seemed obvious enough to me, and the fact that he was withholding it made me suspicious.
“You want to talk about it?” I persisted.
He shook his head, still staring at his bowl. I wanted to pry open his mouth with his spoon and force his tongue to wag, but something told me it would only make him retreat further into his shell. Was this Andre’s fatal flaw, an inability to communicate?
“I was really worried about you,” I said, trying the guilt-trip approach, “as your boyfriend.”
He glanced up, a look of mock surprise on his face. “Now you’re my boyfriend?”
I recoiled from his anger, which seemed to come out of nowhere. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He threw up his hands. “At work, when we’re out, with your art dealer friends, I’m just your friend or your roommate, or Jesus, the guy you met at work. You never call me your boyfriend. It’s like you don’t want people to know we’re together.”
I sat down at the table, going over it in my mind. He was right. To Nicky and his company, I never even introduced him at all. And when we were out, I tended to keep a low profile. It wasn’t because of him, though. I was afraid of what people might think of me, dating a man as young and attractive as him.
“That’s not it,” I said.
“I know I’m not all artsy and schooled like you and your friends, but I am in all your paintings. And we’re fucking every night.”
“Andre, it’s not you. You’re perfect.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” I wracked my brain to see if I’d ever introduced him as my boyfriend. Not once. Even though it was obvious enough when we were out together. Or was it? We weren’t big on PDAs, but when I thought about it, was that because of him or was it because of me?
“Your boy Nicky was hitting on me right in front of you, and you still didn’t say a word. What the fuck, Martin?” He gestured broadly with his hands. I always knew when he was worked up about something because he’d start conducting.
“I don’t know. I’m such an idiot, Andre. I’m really sorry. Is that why you went out and got wasted last night?”
“I didn’t mean to get so drunk.” He did look like he regretted it.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
He shrugged. “I was pissed. I handle shit on my own, you know? I don’t want to be a little bitch about it. Or make you feel bad on the day you got an art deal.”
I smiled at the way he said art deal, like it was a recording contract. I thought I had this whole boyfriend thing down, but maybe this was a learning curve for me too.
“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced you properly to my friends,” I said. “That was shitty. I do wish you’d let me know where you’re going when you go out. And call me when you need me. Despite my dick behavior, I am your boyfriend. And I’m proud of it.”
He nodded. “Then you better start making it known, Martin, ’cause a guy like me don’t stay single for long.”
That was exactly what worried me.
“You’re not single, Andre. You’re mine.” I kissed the back of his neck and rubbed his shoulders. “And I’m yours.”
I made him a Bloody Mary to counteract his hangover. We spent the rest of the morning in bed where I serviced him every which way. It wasn’t a sacrifice; his pleasure was my pleasure. He fell back asleep in my arms, and I stroked his hair, a sensation that was so comforting to me and also so familiar.
Maybe it was me who had the fatal flaw.
13. My Boyfriend
AFTER THATI told everyone Andre was my boyfriend, beginning with Nicky when he asked about him the next day while picking up the last painting.
“Where’s your handsome roommate?”
