“I’m not working right now. My move to the U.S. was a chance for a fresh start, and I’m taking some time to figure out what’s next for me. As far as what I do all day, it’s nothing very interesting. I work out every morning. Later on, I read, or run errands, or go for a long walk or a drive to explore the city. I’ve also been trying to learn to meditate and do yoga, but I’ve discovered I’m pretty high-strung, so it’s not going well.”
“When did you start working out?”
“When I was a teenager. I was a shy, pudgy kid with glasses, and I got picked on a lot. Around the time I turned sixteen, I decided to become someone people thought twice about harassing.”
“You totally transformed yourself.” He sounded impressed.
“It helped that I had a huge growth spurt in my late teens.”
“You obviously work hard to stay in shape, though. No wonder you’re so ripped.” He sat up and grinned as he tried to wrap his hands around my bicep.
All this talk about my leisurely lifestyle made me feel guilty, given how hard he worked. I felt like I needed to explain myself, so I started to say, “I know I seem really idle right now. I just need to figure some stuff out, like I said…”
“Of course. There’s nothing wrong with taking some time for yourself.”
He traced my jawline and kissed me again. Everything sped up after that. We stripped and caressed each other, in between feverish kisses and licks and little nibbles. I loved how comfortable Armando seemed, and how confidently he explored my body.
We ended up in a tangled sixty-nine on the rug. It was quick and urgent, almost like there was a time limit and the clockwas about to run out. I came first, and he shot down my throat maybe half a minute later.
Armando shifted around and rested his head on my chest as both of us caught our breath. “That was so hot,” he said. “I’d fantasized about doing that pretty much all of my adult life.”
“I wish I’d known that. We could have taken our time and?—”
“No, it was perfect. I’d had that so built up in my mind that I needed to dive right in and just go for it. Otherwise, I would have gotten nervous and overthought everything I was doing.”
His eyelids were getting heavy, so I suggested moving to the bedroom. We both got to our feet, and when he wavered a little, I scooped him into my arms.
I carried him down the hall, stepped through the first door we came to, and flipped the light switch. The small bedroom was crowded with overflowing bookshelves, a desk and drawing table, and a tiny twin bed. The walls were completely covered with sketches of clothing designs.
“This is my son’s room,” he murmured, as he snuggled against me. “Mine’s at the end of the hall, past the bathroom.”
It turned out his bedroom was as sparse as the other was cluttered. All it contained was a medium-sized bed, a nightstand, and a chair, which held a pile of laundry. The white walls were empty, aside from a few faded drawings that must have been done by his son as a child. They were clustered beside the window, which was covered with lopsided miniblinds.
Armando and I climbed under his dark blue blanket, which turned out to be wonderfully soft. As he burrowed into my arms, he mumbled, “I just need to rest for a minute. I’m not going to sleep.” He proved himself wrong by drifting off about two seconds later.
I kissed his forehead and sighed contentedly. All week, I’d felt like I was adrift. But now, finally, I was right where I belonged.
8
Armando
I woke up at five a.m., same as always. But this time, there was a warm, cuddly man in my bed. I curled up at Tory’s side and went right back to sleep.
When I opened my eyes about three hours later, I was alone in bed. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the apartment, and I could hear pots and pans rattling. I got up and pulled on a T-shirt and sweats from the pile of clean laundry on my chair. Then I stopped off in the bathroom before going to see what Tory was up to.
I rounded the corner at the end of the hall and paused to admire the view. He was in my kitchen, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt that fit his muscular body like a second skin. The kitchen window was open, and as he whipped something in a bowl, he shook his hips and hummed along to the Celia Cruz song drifting in from one of the other apartments.
I grinned and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched him. I’d had a hard time imagining him in my shabby apartment when I’d invited him over. He was just so elegant and sophisticated, the kind of man you could easilypicture on a yacht, or running a meeting in a board room. Yet somehow, he looked like he was right at home.
For the first time, I let myself imagine a future with him, one with countless mornings just like this one. But it was way too soon to think about stuff like that, so I pushed those thoughts aside and went to join him.
As soon as he spotted me, Tory’s face lit up with a glorious smile. He put down the whisk and the mixing bowl and grabbed my hand, pulling me to him as he said, “Dance with me, Arie.”
We both tried to lead and burst out laughing as we bounced off of each other. I said, “Follow me,” and showed him the few salsa steps I knew. He picked up on it right away, and we danced around my little kitchen like we were at the hottest nightclub in town.
When the song ended and something slower came on, we let go of each other and smiled self-consciously. Then Tory gestured at my crowded countertop and told me, “I’m making us breakfast. I hope you don’t mind. I had some groceries delivered, because I didn’t want to use your stuff without permission. And I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I’m making… well, pretty much everything I could think of. Whatever we don’t eat will keep, though. I probably made enough for you to have breakfast for a week.”
As he poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me, I told him, “I feel like I’ve been transported to a fancy café. What did you make?”
