“Oh, trust me, I’m living that reality.”
And the irony isn’t lost on me. I told Andrew that secrets were corrosive, that the longer you left them, the more damage they did. And I was right about that. What I hadn’t anticipated was how much you want to cling to a secret when the alternative means changing the way someone looks at you.
“The Revenge Club hasn’t turned out quite like either of us expected, has it?” Andrew says.
I give a dry laugh. Because I still remember Andrew’s and my initial discussion about getting revenge on our nemeses.
“Revenge plots have a way of changing everything, Leo. I should know,” Andrew continues.
“Oh, trust me, I’m aware of that fact. My revenge plot has somehow led to me wearing an inflatable dinosaur costume while six-year-olds critique my dance moves.”
Andrew snorts out a laugh. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
“I’m sure Archie has secretly filmed it, and it’ll appear in public at some point.” I rake a hand through my hair because I’m acutely aware of how there wasn’t a trace of irritation in my voice as I said those words.
Only affection.
And as Andrew and I collect drinks and head back to our seats, my eyes find Archie’s. He scrunches his nose playfully at me.
The moment I sit down, Archie’s hand finds my thigh.
“Hello again,” he murmurs.
“Hi.”
His fingers press lightly against the fabric of my pants. Not moving. Just…there. A point of contact that’s impossible to ignore.
I’m suddenly very aware of my own heartbeat.
“This play has given me ideas,” he says.
“That sounds ominous.”
“I’m just thinking it might be time for some Shakespeare-inspired themes for my children’s parties,” he says. “How do you feel about playing Hamlet’s ghost in a bedsheet while toddlers throw plastic skulls at you?”
“I feel like my death would be insufficiently tragic for an audience raised on video games.”
“You underestimate yourself. You have excellent dying potential. Very theatrical eyebrows.”
“My eyebrows are theatrical?”
“Extremely. They convey volumes.” He tilts his head, considering me. “Right now they’re saying, ‘I’m pretending to be annoyed, but I’m actually charmed.’”
I try not to blush. “They’re saying nothing of the sort.”
“They’re saying exactly that. I’m fluent in eyebrow.” He gives me a grin.
And I suddenly realize that this is what I crave the most about Archie’s company.
It’s not just the physical chemistry between us that burns so bright. It’s that interacting with him is like a mental chess match. He forces me to stay quick, stay present, stay engaged.
No one has ever made me work this hard.
No one has ever made me want to.
I chew over everything during the second part of the play.
At some stage, Archie’s hand starts to move up the inseam of my thigh. His hand moves slowly, inch by excruciating inch, while his eyes remain innocently fixed on the stage like he’s completely absorbed in the tragedy unfolding before us.
