Nicki reaches out almost as if he intends to pinch Andrew’s cheeks, but he takes a step back before he can, glaring at him. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Hold onto that anger, it’ll be fun.”
Anger isn’t fun. Anger is stressful. Anger garners the kind of attention Andrew has spent a lifetime avoiding, or trying to divert towards his brothers whose emotional needs surpass his own. He’s always been the calm, reliable one, and he likes it thatway. He knows he can be difficult and particular at times, so he’s always done his best to minimize himself when he can.
“You and I have very different definitions of fun.”
“I know you’re going to have fun,” Nicki replies. “We can bet on it. One thousand dollars says you’ll have a good time tonight.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being stupidly cocky right now or just stupidly rich.”
“You scared, highness?”
“I’m not scared, I’m just not going to make illogical wagers for your dick measuring contest.”
“You can measure it any time,boyfriend.”
“No, thank you,” Andrew replies.
“I bet you want that, too.” Nicki looks Andrew up once and down in what is possibly supposed to be sexy or something but just makes him look slightly unhinged. “I’ve seen how you look at me.”
“And how exactly do you think I look at you?” Andrew questions, prevented from dying of embarrassment by his own needless curiosity.
“Like you wonder what I look like naked.”
“Oh.” Andrew laughs, thinking of just how much he’s seen on Nicki’s social media. “I don’t have to wonder. I’ve seen your photo shoots.”
“Then you like what you see,” Nicki simpers, as if Andrew admitting he’s attractive is some kind of victory and not simply a fact. Which is strange because Nicki clearly knows he’s sexy. Why it matters if Andrew thinks so is beyond him.
“Don’t take it too personally. I also enjoy the way an alphabetized spice cabinet or a perfectly balanced bank account look. There are a lot of things I find pleasing to the eye, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It always means something.”
“It doesn’t,” Andrew challenges.
“It does.”
“It really doesn’t,” Andrew insists, crossing his arms.
“Everyone who looks at me like you do wants to fuck me.”
“Were you born just saying everything you think, or was that a side effect of being raised a rich, cis white man?” Andrew asks.
“Fuck you,” Nicki grunts.
Relief settles in Andrew’s gut at the familiar barb. This is fine. Nicki is just, well—being Nicki. He flirts and he fucks, and he seemingly has little regard for the destruction he leaves in his wake knowing money can fix any problem he creates. His behavior towards Andrew is nothing more than his attempt to regain his own perceived loss of control.
If he needs to huff and puff and feel like a big man Andrew can let him. Maybe then he’ll tire himself out and go home and leave Andrew in peace.
“You ready?” Nicki asks, nodding his head towards John who is waiting in the corner for them with an array of safety gear.
“I would be more ready if you’d told me what we were doing tonight so I could’ve researched what to do.”
“You break shit.”
“I did surmise that much. I still would’ve preferred to know exactly what to do.”
“What else is there to know?” Nicki balks. “You wear the required safety gear, and you break as much as possible until your time is up or you feel better, whichever comes first.”
