I knew he didn’t say it to wound me. And yet, the pain was still sharp. The Abercrombie catalog danced in my mind. A parade of hot young things strutted by, taunting me.
“Did you think of me?” I asked. “When you were with them?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he licked his lips as he nodded. “Every time.”
Of course I wanted him to take it back, to tell me he hadn’t been with anyone since me, but the only way this could work was if he felt comfortable telling me his secrets. He was confessing. My penance was to listen.
“Did you learn anything new?”
He almost smiled, then shook his head, lowered his eyes bashfully. “Nothing I didn’t already know. You’re a good teacher.”
There was so much I’d yet to teach him. If it were up to me, he’d be mine right now. We’d go back to my apartment and we wouldn’t leave for weeks. We’d do everything under the sun, twice.
But this wasn’t only about my wants and desires.
“What do you want, Andre?”
He glanced again out the window. I studied his profile. He was trying so hard to be strong, but I knew when he was clenching his jaw, trying to keep a blank face.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. His gaze returned to me, and I sensed he was at war with himself, over what he wanted and what he thought was best for him.
“Are you worried I’ll hurt you again?”
He stuck out his lower lip and nodded.
I worried about that as well. I wished I could promise him I wouldn’t, but who knew? I probably wouldn’t make the exact same mistake, but I was likely to make others.
“I’m worried you’ll disappear again,” I said. Andre in flight, in more ways than one.
“I’m worried you’ll get sick of me,” he said in a voice so low I almost didn’t hear him.
“Why would you think that?” Even now, there was so much about him I still didn’t know, and he was always surprising me. I could spend a lifetime excavating him.
“Your friends are all… rich and successful. They talk about things like art and film.”
“You mean, movies?”
He looked at me. “No, I don’t mean movies, Martin, I mean films. Big difference.”
I laughed. “First off, I hate films, and the art world is pretentious as hell. I just like to draw and paint. The rest of it is a dog and pony show. And I have plenty of friends to talk about art with. I just want someone who makes me laugh and feeds me.” I paused. “And other things.”
He grinned. “Other things, huh?”
“I’m trying to keep this PG, okay?”
We were silent for a moment and I said, “I’m worried that someone richer or more handsome or younger than me will scoop you up.”
He frowned. “I don’t see that happening, unless I was unhappy.”
“I’m worried I’ll make you unhappy.”
He lowered his eyes, and I studied his every curling lash.
“You’re very… intense, Martin.”
“That’s why I need you. You make me better, not so uptight all the time. I like who I am with you.” He gave me peace, made me feel calm and at ease. He made me laugh, for Christ’s sake.
“I’m not moving back in with you,” he said. “I got my own place, my own job. I’m not your kept boy anymore.”
