“I’d like that.” I squeezed his arm. I wanted to hold on, wrap him up, and make him stay, but Arden was like a butterfly. To grip him too tightly would crush his delicate wings.
Later, he called to tell me he’d have to work late, and even though I didn’t care about the time, he insisted on not disturbing me. He didn’t say whether he’d be spending the night at his own apartment or at Matteo’s penthouse. I didn’t ask, and it bothered me that I felt like I couldn’t.
On the dateof the party, we met at a bar in the Upper East Side—Franco, Liam, and I—to have a drink before we ventured the rest of the way to Matteo’s on foot. My friends were curious about Arden’s relationship with Matteo and, like myself, perplexed that we’d been invited to what I presumed to be an extravagant sex party. My nerves were a bit frayed, and this seemed already too much to manage.
“Will Arden be working tonight?” Franco asked with uncharacteristic delicacy.
“In an event coordinating capacity.”
“I don’t know how you’re able to compartmentalize it, Michael.” Liam said, his own bafflement apparent on his face.
“It’s not easy,” I admitted. Especially with Arden arriving home late every night this past week with the scent of another man’s cologne on his shirt collar. I wanted to discuss it—our long-term plans and just how patient he expected me to be—but I was waiting until this party was out of the way.
“It’s too bad Marquis had to work tonight,” Franco said.
“And make me the fifth wheel?” Liam huffed.
“You could have brought your stud.”
“You’re dating someone?” I asked Liam. His trysts were few and far between. Liam was picky about who shared his bed, partly due to his discriminating nature as well as his family’s foolish expectations.
“It’s not serious,” Liam said.
“What’s his name?”
“Travis DeWitt.”
“Do we know him?”
“Doubtful. He’s not from around here.”
“Where’s he from?”
“The South.”
“That’s a large geographic area, Liam. Want to narrow it down some?”
“What does it matter? It’s not going to last.”
“Liam,” Franco chided. “Don’t be so negative.”
“I’m just being pragmatic. We’re nothing alike. He’s practically monosyllabic.”
“More room for you to wax poetic,” I teased, and he scowled at me. “Where did you meet him?”
“Carousel,” Liam said. “Well, before then, I suppose. On the street outside your apartment. He’s working on that housing project going up across from you.”
“Can you get them to pick up the pace?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of pull. Not yet at least.”
I recalled Liam arguing with someone at the bar, a man of significant stature. I asked Liam if it was the same one.
“Yes, he tried to get me absurdly drunk, and I brought him back to my place to make sure he didn’t suffocate on his own vomit, which was my first mistake. Now, he keeps inventing reasons to come over.”
“What kind of reasons?” Franco asked, as though he might use the trick himself.
“The smoke detectors need new batteries. The garbage disposal needs fixing. He’s practically rewired the electricity in my apartment.”
