I let the words linger in the air as I reach into one of the boxes and grab a stress ball.
“What are you trying to say?”
I cast him an annoyed look but he ignores it.
“Didn’t look very work colleague-y to me.”
My wrist goes into overtime squeezing the ball as I make my way over to the couch while Harrison flicks through the TV channels. I stop when I stand in front of him, blocking his view.
“First of all, he’s straight. If that’s what you’re implying.” Marco has not explicitly told me, but he confirmed he had a long-distance girlfriend on the drive to Alexander’s. “Secondly, my car broke down, and I didn’t have time to wait around for AAA to come and fix it. And third, me having someone help bring the last of my stuff to the house is very different from having someone walk around the house naked or get into my bed and try it on with me.”
The last comment wipes the smug look from Harrison’s face.
“And anyway, shouldn’t you be at Alexander’s event?”
“I’m not interested in all that stuff.”
Harrison waves me out of the way as he lands on ESPN.
“Right,” I say, shaking my head.
The conversation over, I quickly hit the shower, change, and order an Uber to get to the party.
“I’m sorry, I only managed to catch the last song.”
I finally reach Alexander, passing through all the tables. His skin is glowing from the spray tan he got last night, making his ocean-blue eyes stand out even more than usual.
“How did it feel to perform again?” I ask, squeezing his arm.
“It was nerve-racking with all these artists watching me, but it’s a small room. I can’t imagine what Sunday’s going to be like at the Grammys.”
His body starts to shake and sweat circles start to form under the armpits of his blue shirt.
I grab a napkin from the table next to me and hand it to him.
“Here,” I say and then motion him to follow my breath and ask him to tell me five things he can see. Alexander reels off the chandeliers, the twenty circular tables, the drum kit on the stage, the wait staff coming round with more drinks for the table, and the red drapes on either side of the stage.
A photographer approaches and stops right in front of us, his camera held up to his face.
“Can I get a picture?”
“Could you come back in a few minutes please?” Alexander takes a sidestep away from me and dabs at his forehead. “I want to freshen up if that’s okay.”
A pang hits my chest.
I can’t help but feel rejected by the way he stepped away. As if I’m not good enough to be seen with. I know what I’ve signed up for, but given that he just took a photograph with Sabrina Carpenter before I got to him, it feels kinda personal.
“No problem.”
The photographer lowers his camera and walks away.
“Will it always be this way?” I ask.
“What way?” Alexander asks, turning his attention from the stage to me.
“Not being photographed together. Having to keep our distance so as not to arouse suspicion anytime someone who doesn’t know about you passes by.”
“You knew this. You agreed to this when we got together.” His tone is curt as John approaches. “Plus, with so much of my life out there in the public eye, there are some things I’d prefer to keep private. Between us.”
