Chapter Ten
FOR THE FIRST half of June, Xander existed in a hazy, Skylar-filled dream.
He never did upgrade his phone, but he did let Skylar sign him up for six different social media sites. Initially Xander balked at this, since he was only required to prove he was active on three, but Skylar insisted he needed to get himself out there.
“Most of them end up duplicating themselves anyway, so they’re not extra work, but they are extra followers. You want the sites like DeviantArt, though, and Tumblr, because they’re how people will learn about you.”
“Don’t you mean steal my art?” Xander pressed his lips together and shook his head as he scanned the acres and acres of amateur art. “Honestly, who is going to come here to find my work? How will they see me in the middle of all this garbage?”
“Because I’m going to teach you how to get noticed, how to showcase yourself. How to stand out.”
“Yes, because you know how much I love drawing attention to myself.”
Skylar grinned and nudged Xander with his elbow, making Xander’s skin break out in gooseflesh. “We’ll draw attention to your work, so you can sell it and buy more marker refills.”
“And oil paint. And canvas. And ramen.”
“All of these things, yes. But the first step is logging into the account. Which now you’ve done. Let’s celebrate with lunch on the hospital hill. My treat.”
Xander let Skylar buy him lunch that day without argument, mostly because he was shaken from the thought of all those online presences floating around, existing. It didn’t help that when they went to his apartment afterward and Skylar made him log on again, he discovered exactly no one had friended him, anywhere. Not even Zelda had accepted his Facebook request. So much for their promise.
“This is pretty much how it’s going to go, you know.” Xander glowered at the screen. “You’re going to be the only one who friends me. In real life and online.”
“Not true. Not for long, anyway.”
“Where exactly are you going to get these friends for me?” It was a point of order that had been bothering Xander for some time now. “I’m not kidding when I say I don’t have any.”
“But you keep mentioning this Zelda. Are they not a friend?”
Xander shrugged, averting his gaze. “I suppose. They’re…an aggressive friend, but I imagine I have to count them. Probably I have to count the staff of Lucky 7 as well, but I think they mostly tolerate me.” He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling too exposed and awkward, but there was nothing to do but continue his confession. “People don’t want to be friends with me. It’s always been that way.”
Skylar was quiet for a moment. He’d taken control of the laptop, fussing with the keys. “Were you bullied in high school, Xander?”
The question was somehow both unexpected and inevitable. Had anyone else asked, or even if Skylar had asked any other way, Xander would have refused to answer. But leave it to Skylar to find the right pitch and tone to lure Xander into a reply.
Except Skylar was going to find, he suspected, Xander’s answer wasn’t what he expected either.
“I was. And it was pretty brutal. But that’s not why I don’t have friends.”
Skylar glanced up at him, curious. Inviting. Patient. “What do you mean?”
Xander uncrossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “I was bullied, online and off. I was gay, and people knew. I didn’t advertise, but people assumed, and they were right. It was a small town. People were bored and eager for a pecking order. Plus, my stepfather was shitty to me. You’re an easy target when there’s no one to protect you.”
Pain flickered across Skylar’s features. “I’m sorry.”
Xander shrugged, trying to be breezy, but he felt wooden. He pivoted away from his family and back to hazing, which was so much more pleasant. “High school wasn’t great, no. But I got through it. I survived. I retreated into my art, and it saved me. And now I’m fairly decent at art, so it’s not a bad trade. That said, I didn’t have friends even before the bullying. I’ve just never been the guy people hang out with. People annoy me. They get in my way. They want things. They misunderstand me. They mock me. They’re arrogant and full of themselves.”
Skylar raised an eyebrow. “And yet you like cats.”
“They’re honest about their arrogance and self-centeredness, at least. People lie about it. They want you to pretend it’s an even exchange, but it never is. They want you to play this game of nice, and I hate it.”
“So what about me? Do you hate being friends with me?”
Xander blushed and looked down at his lap. “No. You’re different.”
“Why? How?”
“I don’t know. You just are.” His blush became so hot his face felt like flame. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Xander sensed Skylar’s hesitation again, and he knew another heavy question was coming. “About your parents not protecting you…it’s not the same for me, but I feel like I understand that.”
Xander’s first instinct was to retreat into himself, but when he glanced at Skylar, saw the flush of his face, the echoes of pain, he couldn’t. “You mean…with your dad?”
Skylar stared at the computer, though Xander suspected he wasn’t seeing it. “It’s not that he doesn’t defend me, exactly. But he doesn’t…” Skylar rubbed his cheek. “I feel sometimes as if there’s nothing I can do, nothing in the world to get him to tell me I’ve done a good job or acknowledge I exist. Not even in a bored, disinterested way, let alone a proud way. And I can’t stop trying to please him, no matter what I do.” His gaze darted to Xander as he blushed. “Sorry.”
Xander thought about letting it go. He almost did. It was his muscle memory, pushing people out. But…it was Skylar, asking to be let in.
Xander brushed his left thumb over the back of his right hand, and he kept his gaze there in his lap as he spoke. “My birth father left my life so long ago I never really knew him, but that’s never stopped me from wondering what was wrong with me, what about me made it so he didn’t want anything to do with me. Then my mom remarried, and my stepfather treated me like Cinderella, especially as my mom gave him new sons. He looks at me like he can’t wait for me to be gone from his life.”
“Doesn’t your mom object to that?”
The question made the tight ball in the center of his chest swell. “She…doesn’t like confrontation. She wants everyone to be happy and get along. It upsets her when we fight. I try not to fight, because they can’t seem to understand me anyway, but that just means I lose.”
“I’m sorry.”
Xander shrugged. “I don’t need any of them. I can make it on my own.”
“But you shouldn’t have to do that. I know you said you don’t like people, but you should have some people.”
“All they do is let me down.”
“I won’t let you down.”
The vow hung in the air, poignant and slightly awkward. Xander ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway. The social media stuff is set up.” His glance fell on his bookshelf, and he seized on the distraction. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. What manga have you read?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. I mostly watch anime.”
Xander pursed his lips. “You need to fix that if you’re going to write it. Have you read Fullmetal Alchemist?”
“No, I haven’t. But wait, what do you mean, write? I can’t write anything.”
Xander waved this objection silent as he rose and crossed to his bookshelf, coming back with his box set of the twenty-seven volumes of Fullmetal. He plunked the heavy case on the table beside the laptop. “You need to read this. If you’ve seen the original anime, it’s different. Even if you’ve seen the second version, Brotherhood, reading the manga is not the same as watching the anime.”
Skylar opened the box set and ran his fingers down the spines of the volumes. “I haven’t seen much of the anime. I saw parts of the early version and episodes of the Brotherhood one on Crunchyroll, but I wondered if I needed to finish the first one before I got into it.”
“Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is the version that sticks true to Hiromu Arakawa’s manga. The one that ran congruent to the manga’s publication in the early 2000s is vastly different. I’ve seen both because Fullmetal is my favorite story and Hiromu Arakawa is a hero of mine.”
Skylar grinned. “Hiromu. That’s where your cat got her name.”
Xander nodded. “Yes. She’s a genius. Which is why I want you to read the manga, because while they’re her ideas in the anime, you’re not experiencing the art and story in her preferred medium. I have the art books too, which I could stare at for hours. I wish I could meet her. I have so many things I want to ask.” He pulled out the first four volumes and handed them to Skylar. “Here. You can borrow these to get started.”
“Oh—I don’t want to take your books. I mean, I’ll read them, but I’ll read them here, or on the hill when we go to lunch. Or when you draw me.”
Skylar was supposed to be studying, Xander thought, but he wasn’t going to bring that up. “There are twenty-seven volumes. It’s going to take you some time.”
“But it’s manga. It doesn’t take me any time at all to read.”
Xander recoiled as if Skylar had just dropped the books into mud. “You have to take your time and look at the art. It’s not just about the words.”
Grinning, Skylar held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, sir. But you see, that’s all the more reason for me to read in your presence. How will I learn to appreciate the art if you’re not there to show me?”
That’s what Xander ended up doing. On sunny days they sat outside, sometimes on the hospital hill, sometimes at the state park. On rainy days they stayed in Xander’s apartment on the couch, Xander sketching while Skylar read, except Xander kept stopping to point out particular panels, commenting on shading or composition. Skylar did read fast, too fast in Xander’s opinion, but he did seem to appreciate the art as much as the story. Though he was absolutely into the story.
“I love this idea of equivalent exchange,” Skylar said one day when they were at the state park. He’d led Skylar through the back trails to the ridge to show him the view. They were seated on the grass, overlooking the valley below, Skylar across from him, reading as Xander sketched him. “Everything about this story is that you give up something to get something. And it’s true, that’s how life works. Which is why you drive me crazy, because you don’t let me give you things back.”
“It isn’t always how life works.” Xander kept his gaze on his paper, but he was hyperaware of how Skylar sat, where his arms and legs were, how pretty his mouth was. How exquisitely beautiful all of him was, how soft and comforting he felt in Xander’s sacred space, the place he’d never shared with anyone before. “Sometimes we give and nothing comes back. In fact, most of the time that’s how it happens.”
“But I’m trying to give to you, and it’s like pulling teeth to get you to accept. You want to be the only one who gives, and it’s not fair.”
Xander shrugged, being especially careful not to look up now. “I don’t like to be in people’s debt. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“So you want other people to be in yours?”
He paused, arrested by the thought. “I don’t consider them in my debt, though. If I give someone something, it’s simply given. I don’t expect anything back.”
“That’s hard on other people, Xander. When you give to people—to good people—they want to give back, and you need to let them. It hurts them when you don’t let them give to you. Or help you. They want to interact with you.”
Xander huffed and opened his mouth to say, Nobody wants to interact with me, but before he could, Skylar spoke again.
“I want to interact with you.”
Xander’s pencil stuttered across the page, and the rush of hot embarrassment felt like it engulfed his whole body. He picked up his eraser and cleaned up his mistake with a shaking hand.
“Fine,” he replied, voice trembling. “You can give things to me. But just you.” Somehow that felt worse, more exposed than anything he’d said yet. He cleared his throat. “Be quiet so I can draw you.”
“All right,” Skylar said with a gentle smile.
THE FUNDRAISER WAS looming ever closer, and Skylar still hadn’t chosen anyone to take as his date. His mother’s secretary had called him twice, wanting a name for the guest list, offering to pick someone for him, but Skylar couldn’t bring himself to select anyone or turn over the task. He had a list of suitable women—from Benten and elsewhere, ones who understood the rules, who could play the game. They would fit the bill and then some. Whatever date appeared on his arm wouldn’t assume they would associate beyond that night, though they’d likely be open to it if he suggested otherwise. Cool and practical. He had a list of interchangeable dolls, ready to be at his side.
His gaze fell on the painting on the other side of his room, and he thought, I don’t want cool and practical.
Grabbing his wallet and his keys, Skylar left his phone on the desk and headed for his car. He needed to take a drive.
He hadn’t intended to go to the state park, but once he was there, the rightness of the move seeped into him like water. A walk would do him good. He wasn’t exactly wearing hiking shoes, but he didn’t care. He wanted to go to the place Xander had taken him the other day. Ten minutes with the view from that bluff and his head would clear, he was sure of it. Then he could do what he needed to do.
Except finding Xander’s hideaway was more difficult than he’d bargained for. He tried to get there via the main paths, but after twenty minutes he realized that route would never take him to the top of the bluff. He had to cut through the hiking paths, which were winding and circuitous, and it didn’t take long for him to realize he was lost. Never mind where the bluff was—where was he? Was this even a path?
Why, exactly, had he decided to do this without a phone?
He didn’t see the branch until it was too late. One moment he was walking, the next he’d pitched forward, landing face-first in moldy leaves. Pain shot up his right leg. His face was full of earth, his hands too. His whole front was mud-caked, and after he spit out dirt and brushed his hands clean enough to function, he sat back and examined his shin.
Blood. The whole of his pants leg seeped with it, the tan fabric torn and blood-stained, and when he pushed the fabric up with a hiss, beneath it his skin was scraped raw, a long cut dripping steadily down to soak his sock. The sight alarmed him at first, and he worried he was trapped in the middle of nowhere, injured and unable to move, but when he pressed on the wound with a clean section of his sleeve, it seemed to slow, and as he tested weight on it, he thought he would be able to hobble to his car, provided he could figure out where it was.
He sat there first, waiting for the bleeding to subside, wallowing in his misery. And as he did so, thoughts bled out along with that coming from his cut.
I don’t want to take any of those women as my date. I don’t want my mother’s secretary to pick anyone, either. I don’t want to go to this event at all.
The only way I want to go is if I can take Xander with me.
That confession hurt inside his chest, and he shut his eyes. Xander would never go with him. He shouldn’t even ask. Xander would hate going to that kind of party.
He climbed to his feet, unsteady, but he managed to move. Slowly now, he headed east, using the sun to guide him. If he kept going this way, he should find the parking lot.
It would be fun to take Xander. The long car ride. They could talk about so many things.
He came to a stream—not a large one, but wide enough he couldn’t leap over it, and deep enough that it came to his knees as he forged through it. It felt cool against his injured leg, and he hesitated in the middle, letting the water wash over him as he stared up at the sky.
The forest was beautiful. It had tried to kill him, but it was still beautiful.
He wished he’d asked Xander to come with him. Xander would have.
He would go with you to Connecticut. Ask him.
Skylar shut his eyes. What if he didn’t want to? What if he said no?
What if he said yes?
Skylar opened his eyes again, staring up at the canopy of the trees. “This is dangerous.”
Yes, it is, the trees seemed to whisper back to him.
He found the path soon after that, with signs clearly pointing to the parking lot and his car. The answer to his dilemma, however, lay firmly beyond his reach.
“THERE’S SOMETHING I need to ask you.”
Xander glanced up from his drawing. Skylar had sounded funny, and he looked stranger. Embarrassed and nervous, which wasn’t like Skylar at all. Xander wondered what was going on. “Sure,” he said cautiously. “What do you need to ask me?”
Skylar rubbed his chin, and Xander couldn’t help noticing he’d allowed a tiny bit of stubble to poke through. “I have a feeling I know what you’re going to say, and it’s fine, really, but…well, there’s this thing. I wanted to know if you were interested in going to it with me.”
Xander knew Skylar wasn’t asking him out, but he had a thrill all the same. “What’s the thing?”
“It’s a fundraiser of my mom’s. A lobster bake at our beach house. My dad won’t be there, but a lot of important political people will, and she feels like it’s better if family is there.” Skylar wasn’t just fidgeting now, he was blushing. “She asked me to bring a—someone.”
Xander was blushing too. If this were manga, there’d have to be two panels, and they’d each have the crosshatches on their cheeks.
The fuck if that didn’t sound like a date, actually.
“If it’s not your thing, I understand—”
“It sounds great,” Xander blurted out, overriding the 90 percent of his brain that was trying to make him scream, No way in fucking hell, rich people baking lobster, are you kidding me, they’re going to laugh me off the beach and you’re going to lead the pack once you see how out of place I am! But the 10 percent that seized control couldn’t bear the thought of going to sleep that night. It honestly sounded like he’d been asked out.
By Skylar.
To a lobster bake.
What the fuck.
Now that he was committed, though, the panicked part of him began to hedge his performance in advance. “I didn’t even know you could bake lobster, though. Also, I’ve never eaten it. Or been on a beach. Or to a fundraiser. It’s possible, maybe probable, you’re going to regret this ask.”
Skylar still blushed, but he smiled now too. “Not a chance. And I hate to tell you, but the lobster comes in catered. If you tell me you want to order sandwiches and eat them in my room, I won’t mind, and I won’t tell a soul.”
That was one worry down. “Okay.”
“As far as the fundraising aspect goes, you don’t need to do anything for that.” He grinned. “Probably dress—what was it? More magazine ad. But mostly you can follow my lead. It’ll be a good dry run, I thought, for the kinds of things you need to do for your BFA party.”
Idiot, this was what he meant. Stop letting your fantasies bleed over. “Totally. Thanks for having my back.”
“Plus you were my first choice when she told me to bring a date.”
In the manga, Xander would have Xs for eyes and puffs of smoke over his head, he was so embarrassed.
Except Xander was also totally confused. It wasn’t so much that Skylar was sending mixed messages, more that Xander didn’t understand how to read him. Or maybe it was that his own idiot lust was in the way. He reminded himself daily it didn’t matter, that Skylar was a good friend and that should be enough, goddammit, that what Skylar didn’t know about Xander’s masturbatory fantasies was—well, it was fucking crucial at this point that Skylar not know about those—but even when Xander was able to keep his feelings in the friend zone, Skylar pulled shit like this. Xander couldn’t tell if the guy was gay baiting or just that clueless, or if there was something else going on.
He tried so hard to ride it out, to bury his angst in his painting and let his unrequited emotions and his confusion feed his art. But when Skylar casually dropped that, by the way, they’d be staying overnight, and would that be a problem with the cats, because if so he’d spring for a sitting service—it was then that Xander caved and called Zelda.
They didn’t answer, of course, but after the message Xander left, he knew he’d be getting a phone call soon enough. It took them about ten minutes, and they didn’t waste time with a greeting.
“What do you mean, you need help deciding if Skylar Stone asked you on a date or not? What in the hell is going on down there? Jesus Christ, I can’t leave you alone for ten fucking minutes.”
Xander settled into his sofa, whereupon Hiromu immediately settled onto his chest. He stroked her fur as he tried to figure out how to start this conversation. “Hi. How are you? Summer good so far? How’s the restaurant?”
“Fuck my summer. Tell me what the hell is going on with you and Frat Boy. Why do you think he asked you on a date, and why is it unclear? Why did you not turn him down on his fascist ass?”
“Because he’s not a fascist.” Xander was no longer amused. “His family is liberal, you know.”
“I do know, thank you. Trust me to do my homework, please. The Stones are those kind of liberals.”
“A quick reminder that if you mention Hillary Clinton, we’re going to have an argument, I won’t get my question answered, and I won’t speak to you until Labor Day.”
“Listen, this time it’s germane.”
“It isn’t, in fact. Because believe it or not, I haven’t once discussed politics with Skylar and never intend to. I don’t discuss politics with anyone.”
“Well, then what did you want to talk about? Because I don’t want to talk about your potential relationship, and if you even sigh in a sexual manner, I’m hanging up.”
Xander shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have called. I knew that, but you’ve been gone awhile, and I let myself pretend you were someone I could hold a conversation with where I didn’t want to run screaming into the woods afterward.”
“For fuck’s sake. I know you love a good mope, but this is intense even for you.” They paused. “Oh. I get it. You really are torn up about this.”
“Which is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“All right. I’ll overlook the fact that his family is part of the cancer eating the world because I love you and want to see you happy, even though I don’t understand how a Stone could ever make you happy.”
“How generous of you.” Xander settled deeper into the couch, earning a disapproving glare from Hiromu. “Though maybe that’s a good place to start. I don’t know that he’s a very good Stone. I’m serious,” he said, when Zelda snorted. “There’s a side to him you don’t know.”
“If only you could see how hard I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.”
“Shut up. He’s…he’s really different, more than I would ever have thought. For one, he fanboyed me over Hotay & Moo. And I mean he all but squealed. Made me sketch him something on the spot. He knew all about the secret shrine stuff and the seven lucky gods history. More than I did.” He refused to bring up the potential shrine in the frat house, though he still burned with curiosity.
“So he likes art. That doesn’t mean—”
“And then there’s the Pygmalion thing. And the day he came over in his sweats and we ended up talking forever, and this whole time it was like I kept seeing this ghosted version of him. I even heard this voice in my head, like I had this mystery clue about him but I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe I’m crazy, but—”
“Slow down. What Pygmalion thing? You were watching the movie? Reading the play?”
“No. He wanted to teach me how to be social, like I was his Eliza Doolittle—”
“Oh my fucking Christ—”
“And then I said I didn’t want to be remade. I just needed help with a few apps. But he said I could give him curmudgeon lessons, which, the thing is, I think he was serious. Except those aren’t the lessons I’m giving him. I’m teaching him about art. And he’s always telling me about how he used to write stories. Then I mention how maybe he could write again, and he backtracks hard and says oh no, he could never, but you can tell he wants to. Then ten minutes later he’s telling me about writing again. And we’re always together. We’re supposed to be doing this social media thing, and we’re doing it, kind of, but there’s not much of it to do, and let me tell you how I’m not getting any Pygmalion lessons, either. I’m just drawing him manga doodles for sandwiches.”
“You’re—what?”
“It doesn’t matter. The point is, I don’t know what we’re doing or why he’s so interested in me. Obviously he likes me as a friend. I keep telling myself that’s all it is. But every time I have myself convinced, he does something like invite me to his mom’s beach house lobster thing as his date because I’m the only person he could think of asking.”
Long pause. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. And I get a lot of smiles. And blushes. And a couple of times I think there’s been unnecessary touches, but I may have imagined it.”
“A reminder you’re asking the wrong person about this. I’m not even one of those aces who enjoys reading about romance or sex. It just doesn’t do a damn thing for me.”
“Yes, but you have brain cells, and you know how to use deduction and problem-solving. Help me. Why would he be doing this? Why would I be so unable to tell if I’m in the friend zone or not? And why do I keep hearing that voice?”
“What voice? You mentioned that before too. Are you hearing things? Are you painting without proper ventilation again?”
“No.” Xander buried his free hand in Hiromu’s fur. “I don’t know how to explain it. There’s just…sometimes when I’m with him, especially when it’s kind of…well, a moment, and in the movie version of my life I’d lean over and kiss him or he me or whatever, he doesn’t look at all like that’s on the menu, and meanwhile I’m sitting there dying because Jesus fucking Christ it’s like I’m on a tractor beam and I need all my faculties to resist the pull. And sometimes when that happens, I hear this little voice. I mean, obviously not literally. But it’s like when I’m painting, and I hear a voice that tells me to add red to the sky or put a figure under the tree, or don’t add leaves, or keep working color into that sky because something interesting’s going to happen—that kind of voice.”
“Instinct, you mean?”
“Yeah, I guess. But instinct that gives good directions. And I always follow it. Except this is the first time I’m getting driving instructions about a person. And it’s a weird direction.”
“Well, what does your driving instructor tell you to do with Skylar? They probably have better advice than me.”
“They tell me to wait. To be careful with him. And whenever I want to kiss him, they tell me not to. I know he doesn’t want it, either. I don’t think. Except sometimes maybe I think he does. It’s…I don’t know. It’s like I’m holding spun glass in my hand. Which, okay, but I don’t understand. I just…I wish I knew what was happening.”
“I suppose it’s out of the question that you do the obvious and ask him?”
“I’d rather go downtown to Scrugg’s during happy hour, get naked, and do six rounds of karaoke.”
“That’s a hard no. Okay. Shit, dude, I got nothing. Except that I want one of those backseat instinct drivers. Sounds handy.”
“I need some help figuring out how to play this. Do I keep bumbling forward the way I am?”
“Except didn’t you call me because you couldn’t stand doing it that way any longer?”
Fair point. “Okay, so…what else is there to do?”
“Besides doing the obvious thing and go talk to him?”
“Besides that, yes.”
“Well…I’d say what’s left is unpack this instinct voice thing.”
Xander sat up straight, eliciting a yowl from Hiromu. “That’s it.”
Zelda brightened. “It is? Really? Cool. I was totally bullshitting. I had no idea what to tell you to do.”
“No, really, that’s exactly what I need to do. What I get stuck on a painting or drawing, even sketches for Hotay & Moo, I try to focus my instinct like an antenna. I’ve never used it for something like this, so it might take me longer, but…that’s a great idea. Thank you.”
“I literally did nothing, but you’re welcome.” Zelda sighed. “I’m going to have to hustle my ass to town. There’s no telling what kind of trouble you and Frat Boy are going to get up to by the time I get back.”
“He got me on social media, which you’ve been after me to do forever. And you haven’t friended me.”
“Because you look corporate slick already. It’s gross.”
“It’s my grade.”
“It’s your soul. The welfare and wellbeing of the planet. The universe.”
“My soul wants to be able to afford its next meal once my stepdad cuts off my stipend after graduation. As for the planet and the universe, I’m not entirely sure how my having a slick social media presence threatens its existence, but I’ll shorten my shower and stop using plastic bags at the grocery store to compensate.” He glanced at the clock. “And with that, I need to get going to work.”
“Work with Skylar?”
“No, my actual job, thank you. And I really am going to be late, so I’m hanging up on you now.”
Pamela was there when Xander got to the garage, but she didn’t seem upset that he was a few minutes late. “Busy with your project again? Though I didn’t see your friend’s car, so I wasn’t sure.”
The subtle emphasis on the word friend made Xander fidget as he tied his apron on. “Skylar has to study for his LSAT. Besides, my boss is a hard-ass.”
She chuckled. “Hmm, yes. But he’s easy to look at, isn’t he, that one?”
Xander poked at the bucket of brushes. “He’s my friend.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t. Only pointed out he made for nice scenery. You should sketch him. Better yet, ask him to pose nu—”
“Would you look at that, these brushes need to be cleaned,” he said too loudly. “I’ll just take them to the utility sink and wash them, shall I?”
He didn’t wash them, but he did splash water on his face, cold water, hoping to dispel the image of nude Skylar from his mind. It did not. He was still shaking, both from his imagination and the cold water, when he came back into the main room.
“You didn’t used to react so badly to my teasing—good Lord, child, did you soak your head? You did, didn’t you? Well, I’m sorry. You really are worked up over that boy, aren’t you?”
Xander gave up. “I’m trying not to be. It isn’t going well.” He sat on a stool and used the hem of his apron as a towel. “I feel like a perv. I mean, shouldn’t I be able to find someone attractive and not act on it?”
Pamela gave him a serious look. “Are you telling me you’re making unwanted passes at him?”
“No. I mean, I can’t stop thinking about him. Romantically. I try to keep it just friends, but my head won’t play along.”
“Silly. It’s not your head that’s the trouble. It’s your heart. You’re in love with him.”
Sick fear spread across Xander’s chest. “Yeah, well, he’s not with me, so I’m fucked.”
Then there it was, that instinctive voice inside him whispering, I’m not so sure, at the same time as Pamela in real life said, “Hmm. I’m not so sure about that.”
Xander snapped his gaze to hers, his heart skipping a beat in hope. “What—what do you mean?”
She put down her brush and leaned against the wall of the garage, gazing at the reclaimed wood she was painting. “Well, I don’t pretend to understand young people the best. But some things are the same no matter what the generation. That young fellow has affection for you of some kind, and it’s not because you’re helping him with a project.”
Oh. Xander deflated somewhat. “He likes my art, is what I think you’re seeing. And I think he has an artist’s soul of his own, if he’d only let it out.”
“That’s clear as day, and good for you for pushing him out of his suits and into his passion. This is something else though, honey. His art isn’t what’s kindling the light in his eyes. Or, rather, it doesn’t really matter what’s lighting those fires. It’s where the headlights are aimed. They’re looking at you, always.”
Xander held up his hands, managing to limit his blush to the tips of his ears. “Okay, but why does that have to mean he’s interested in me? Maybe it’s nothing more than a deep friendship. Like all those men with their asses sticking out of the hood of a car in Life magazine photos. Best friends, brothers-in-arms, that kind of thing. Maybe I’m polluting something pure.”
“First of all, you know some of those asses were gay in those magazines. Second, if you’re going retro, remember they had a different concept of sexuality back then. Rigidly defined roles and no blurred lines. My generation went through a lot of effort to mess those up so that yours could do things such as bring about marriage equality with a sudden wind and send transgender and nonbinary issues after it like a brush fire.” She sighed. “Not sure how women got skipped over in all that, but I suppose in a patriarchal culture this was a better approach. I wouldn’t have minded having a woman in the Oval Office instead of the nonsense we got instead, but then, while I was disappointed, I can’t say I was surprised. But you hate it when we talk about politics, so let’s get back to your shy suitor.”
For once, Xander would rather talk about politics. “I honestly don’t think he’s my suitor. I think…I think he’s not used to having a friend like me, maybe. For me, yes, it could be more, but not him. He’s—straight.”
God, but the word tasted like shit in his mouth.
And he didn’t know why, but it felt false too.
Pamela clucked her tongue. “Straight boy like him dates a lot, does he?”
Xander’s cheeks stained, and he picked up the bucket of brushes again, holding it against his body as he fussed with the bristles. “He’s very busy.”
“Makes a lot of comments about pretty girls? They catch his eye when they pass him?”
Xander stilled. “No.” He turned to Pamela. “He doesn’t look at guys though, either.”
Pamela seemed pleased as punch now. “Because he’s looking at you.” She scratched her chin. “I wonder what blood type he is? I can’t quite pin him. I’ve thought both B and A.”
Xander had no idea what blood type Skylar was, but Pamela was wrong about how Skylar looked at him. Dead wrong. There was a difference in the way Skylar looked at him and the way guys looked when they were cruising you.
Men looked. Whether they were dating or not, looking for a partner or not—they looked. It wasn’t cheating or offensive, or it wasn’t intended to be. It simply was. Xander would lie on hot coals for one kiss from Skylar, one brush of his fingertips on his naked chest, but if the right guy walked by post-workout without a shirt, it would take willpower not to steal a glance and file images away for the spank bank.
Skylar never looked at Xander that way, ever. He didn’t find him attractive. There were those flickering moments when they were doing art or something together, but that was a different look altogether.
Of course, Skylar never really looked at anyone, not like that, not to cruise. Xander rewound through every public trip he’d taken with Skylar, every walk to the sandwich shop, trying to find an instance where Skylar had glanced at someone. Anyone. He couldn’t find anything. Granted, there hadn’t been many times they’d been in public, because he was such a fucking hermit. But the few times they had been…
Was Skylar that much of a gentleman? Was that possible?
Or was he like Zelda—simply not interested in looking…at anyone?
The bucket of brushes clattered to the floor, startling him and Pamela both. “Heaven’s sake,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t wait for her permission, and he didn’t go to the bathroom. He went up the stairs to his apartment, but he didn’t go inside, only paced back and forth on his balcony, muttering to himself and pushing his hands into his hair.
“Idiot. You’ve spent weeks telling yourself you should be happy being friends, and now the idea he might be an ace makes your stomach empty into a pit?” Zelda would kick his ass, and they’d have every right to.
That wasn’t it. It was that he was so confused. That’s what was making his stomach twist. If he knew Skylar was asexual or somewhere on that spectrum, he could place him in the same mental headspace as Zelda and everything would be fine. Well—not the same mental headspace. No one could be Zelda but Zelda. A similar concept, however. Once he knew, or even had a firmer assurance, everything would be fine.
Of course, Skylar might not be aromantic, like Zelda. He could be demi, too, or some other amorphous point on the gray spectrum.
Or he might be cisgender straight, Sly Silver Stone after all, and you’re making shit up because it suits your narrative.
At this point Xander didn’t care what the truth was: he simply wanted to know it so he could accept it and move on. The trouble was, how to get to the truth?
Then he realized—the lobster-bake thing. Perfect opportunity. Not only would there be enough men and women for Xander to be a proper judge of who Skylar flirted with and didn’t, there was enough chance for him to see if, God save him, Pamela was right, and the whole thing had been Skylar’s slow-burn romantic setup for Xander. He sincerely doubted that, but anything was possible.
He still wasn’t looking forward to going to Skylar’s family’s beach house. He still feared he’d end up facing some amped-up version of his worst nightmare, or a remix he hadn’t known to be terrified of. Thinking of watching who Skylar may or may not be flirting with made him queasy.
But the idea of knowing if Skylar was attracted to him, or anyone, heartbreak or no, was better than this chaos in his head.
He had to believe it, anyway.