CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

 

Thursday afternoon I found myself on the street across the road from Eli’s place of employment. A printing business I really had no need for going to, just a burning curiosity and a healthy dash of jealousy.

Well, maybe jealousy was a strong word, but I wanted to know what attracted Andrew to Eli. They met in a grocery store, which was the stuff of chick-flicks. A little too cliché? I wasn’t sure. But Eli moved in with him. They had a history. An intimate history. Eli had touched Andrew in ways I wanted to but couldn’t. Andrew had taken him to bed, kissed him, fucked him. And I wanted to see why.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I crossed the street and walked through the front door. A bell chimed to announce my entrance, and not a moment later, a woman came to the counter. I recognised Terri from the Facebook photo and then at the bar where she’d had birthday drinks and invited Eli to go with. Her name tag confirmed it. “Can I help you?” she asked brightly.

The foyer was kind of old but clean. There were product deals plastered on the walls. “Yeah. I’m just looking at the moment, but I have a business convention coming up I could need some marketing products for.”

She went into a spiel of mail-outs, flyers, online ads, and I went along with it, nodding thoughtfully. She explained minimum numbers, maximums, payment options, and a whole lotta other crap I really wasn’t interested in. “So, what’s your target market?” she asked. “What kind of convention?”

I said the first thing that came to mind. “Tattoos,” I answered, like that explained everything. “Could I have example art printed on canvas? Or framed even. I want an executive look, high-class. I want it to look like pieces from a photography studio.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh yes. Hang on, I’ll just grab Eli. He’s the man you want for that.”

She disappeared and a sick nervous feeling twisted in my belly. He wasn’t the man I wanted at all, but whether this was a good idea or a really fucking stupid idea, it was too late. Because Eli walked out from the staff-only door. Terri led the way. “This is Eli,” she said. “He does all the prints like you’re talking about.” And she left us alone. Just me and him.

Eli was about my height, kind of handsome with his dark hair and dark eyes. He looked like a normal guy, just like the photos I’d seen. I hated him. Irrational, I know, but whatever. His eyes flickered with something when he saw me, and if he recognised me as the guy with Andrew from the bar the other night, he didn’t say.

“Hi,” he said, offering me his hand.

I shook it a little harder than normal, but whatever. If he was waiting for me to give him my name, I didn’t.

“So, you’re after framed prints?”

“I think so. I’m just getting prices at this stage.” As much as I totally didn’t care about wasting ten minutes of his time, I didn’t want to waste the company’s money thinking this was going anywhere. “How much time do you need, say for ten prints, sixty inches squared?”

He prattled on about prices and products, clearly trying to sell me a deal. Some would think he was good at his job. I, on the other hand, thought he was smarmy. I didn’t care how good he was with the products he sold, he’d been with Andrew, and that made him a dick to me.

By some grace of God, my phone rang. It was Lola. I made a somewhat-apologetic face to Eli. “Sorry, I need to take this.” I didn’t wait for a reply from him, I just hit answer. “Hello.”

“I’m at the shop. Where are you?”

I pretended to be disgruntled. I pressed my fingers into my eyes. “You’re there now?”

“I just said that,” she said. “Does spanking the monkey make you deaf?”

I choked on a laugh. “Right. Well, that’s what he said.”

It took her a second. It wasn’t the first time I’d needed her to bail me out of a situation. She was pretty quick with these things now. “Oh. You’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, talking to someone you shouldn’t be, aren’t you?”

“That’s correct.”

“Does this have anything to do with Andrew?”

“Yes.”

“You went and checked out the ex, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Is he right in front of you?”

I sighed loudly. “Yes. Okay, I’ll come straight back.”

Lola chuckled in my ear. “You haven’t done anything straight in your life, Spencer.”

I pursed my lips together so I wouldn’t smile, ended the call, and slid my phone in my pocket. Eli had gone back to the counter to give me what privacy the small foyer allowed, but he looked at me expectantly. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I have an issue back at work I need to sort out. Do you have a card I can take?”

He handed me his business card, and I told him I’d be in touch.

 

* * * *

 

When Andrew called me that night, I knew I had to tell him. “I saw Eli today.”

There was only silence. Then, “You what?”

“I went into his work and made enquiries about tattoo posters I don’t need.”

It sounded like he changed the ear he had his phone to, then it sounded like he fidgeted. “Did you tell him who you were?”

“No, of course not.”

“But he’s seen you with me.”

“I know.” I tried to play it cool. “I’m not sure if he recognised me. He never let on.”

“Jeez, Spencer. You could have blown the whole thing.” He was obviously pissed with me, and probably rightfully so. “What did you do that for?”

“I was kind of hoping he did recognise me. I think he did, I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But what I did was just pretty much guarantee us a reaction from him.”

Truth be told, I was making things worse. I knew that. Eli was either going to push harder to get Andrew back, or he was not going to care at all. That selfish part of me was hoping for the latter.

And it had been a long time since I’d hoped for anything.

I was tempted to give him excuses and apologies, but I didn’t. I needed him to speak first. It took eight long and heart-racing seconds. “And?” he asked.

“And what?”

“What did you think of him?”

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see. “He seemed nice.”

“God, you really suck at lying.” He huffed into the phone. “And considering you do it for a living, I would expect better.”

“Ouch.”

He laughed. “Well, it’s true.”

“I can lie convincingly to other people,” I admitted. “Just not you. For some stupid reason.”

I don’t know how I knew, but I was pretty sure he was smiling. “Well, for that, you can buy dinner tomorrow night.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Pizza and a movie. Seven o’clock.”

“You’re so bossy,” I said. I’m surprised I could actually talk with how much I was grinning. “And anyway, how do you live on takeout and have the body you do?”

He laughed quietly. “I told you. I work out for an hour every morning before I go to work.”

“Do you wear tight gym shorts and muscle tops? Because I would totally get out of bed to see that.”

He chuckled into the phone. “See you tomorrow at seven.”

“So you told Eli no to the date tomorrow night?”

“I told him I couldn’t,” he answered. He cleared his throat. “You know, treat ’em mean to keep ’em keen.”

I couldn’t stop the stupid smile on my face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just was picturing you wearing tight gym shorts and a muscle top. What were you saying?”

He snorted. “Good night, Spencer.” He disconnected the call, but I was still smiling at the mental images of Andrew in his gym clothes.

 

* * * *

 

Friday dragged. Like really dragged. I helped Emilio and Daniela in the shop for a while, made arrangements for when and where to see my next client on Monday afternoon. I cleaned my apartment, I read, I ate, I did all those things, and then I spent a good few hours getting ready and picking out clothes while the clock ticked down like its battery was dying. Because I was losing my mind.

But, like a good boy, at seven o’clock, holding a pizza as requested, I knocked on Andrew’s front door. I heard what sounded like him coming down the stairs, the rattle of the lock on the door, and then he swung the door inward and smiled.

And like some cosmic shift, time was good again. “Oh good,” he said. “I’m starving.”

“Hi, not bad. Yourself?” I joked at his complete lack of greeting. “Cab here was okay, but I don’t think the cabbie appreciated the smell of pizza in his car.”

Andrew laughed. “Sorry. Hi, how are you? That’s good. How was your cab ride here?”

I handed him the pizza box. “You’re welcome.”

He walked through the living room, slid the pizza onto the table, and went straight into the kitchen. “Beer or soda?”

“Beer’s good.”

“Yes it is,” he replied, came back out, and handed me one. He was wearing jeans and an old button-down shirt that looked well-worn and soft. Jesus. His feet were bare. I couldn’t remember ever telling him that I found jeans and bare feet hot, but damn.

“They don’t smell bad,” he said, wiggling his toes. “Promise.”

God help me. I totally got caught staring at his feet. When I glanced up at him, he took one look at my face and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Oh.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled and clinked his beer bottle to mine. “So? Pizza? Or do you wanna stare at my feet a little longer?”

Ignoring him before I died of embarrassment, I rolled my eyes and sat at the table. I opened the box and took a slice. “So? Anyone at work giving you a hard time about the photo we posted on your Facebook?”

He almost bit into his first slice but stopped before it got to his mouth. He groaned. “It’s been painful,” he said. “All week.” He took a mouthful and hummed appreciatively. “Mmm, this is good.”

He devoured four slices to my two. “Didn’t you eat today?” I asked.

He shook his head and washed his food down with a mouthful of beer. “Nope. I’ve been avoiding the lunchroom because, well, because the latest game around the department seems to be ‘Let’s ask Andrew 101 questions about his new boyfriend.’”

“New boyfriend, huh?” I smiled. I liked that way more than I should have. “What’s he like? Bet he’s handsome.”

A rush of heat coloured his cheeks and crept down his neck. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

I picked at the label on my beer bottle. “I’ve been called worse things.”

His smile faltered. “By jealous ex-boyfriends?”

“Actually, more by the client,” I admitted. “The guy who I’m trying to help. Clearly I’m not their type, and they find my boredom at city gala openings or nights at the opera a little uncouth.”

“Really? You had to go to gala openings and the opera?” He frowned. “And they belittled you for it?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said softly. “They’re paying me to do a job, I guess. They treat me the same way they treat the people who dry clean their clothes or wash their car.”

Andrew nodded slowly, and there was a brief look of hurt on his face before he replaced it with a tight smile. He cleared his throat. “You must think it’s terribly boring to have a Friday night of pizza and a movie then.” It wasn’t a question. More like a confirmation to himself. “I’m not much into going out.”

“Are you kidding me? This is perfect. Pizza and a movie is my kind of night. Sure, getting all frocked up in a suit is cool every now and then, but that shit gets old.”

He smiled somewhat more genuinely, but it was still a little forced. “Frocked up?”

“You know, dressed up?” I shrugged. “I swear, everyone I know should take a lesson in Australianisms so I don’t have to keep explaining these things.”

“Or I could just book myself in for an elective lobotomy…”

I gaped at him. Literally. My mouth fell open. He roared laughing and put his foot up on the table. “Here, look at my bare foot.”

“Fuck you.”

That only made him laugh some more.

“You suck.”

He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Yes. Yes I do.”

I groaned, in part because his pun was lame, and in part because now I was thinking about him sucking dick.

“Shut up and put the movie on.”

Still chuckling to himself, he took the pizza box into the kitchen, then he joined me in the living room. He handed me a full beer and was still smiling as he put the DVD in.

“What are we watching?” I asked. He tossed the cover to me. It was How to Train Your Dragon 2. “Seriously? We’re watching a cartoon?”

He stood up, looking honestly offended, his smile well and truly gone. “I um, well, I, we don’t have to. I just thought…”

“Did you have that lobotomy already?” I asked with a smirk.

Now he glared. “You’re an ass.”

“Thank you.”

He collected his beer from the coffee table and planted himself on the sofa, not right next to me, but not at the other end either. He stretched out his legs and put his feet on the coffee table as the movie began, so I did the same.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, are you alright there, making yourself at home?” He was staring at my shoes.

“Yes, thanks,” I said with a grin, not taking my eyes off the television. I was pretty sure if I looked at him, I’d grab him by the face and kiss him until he came. Fuck. Now I was thinking about that. I swallowed hard. Jesus, the air in the room was suddenly heady and I could feel how close he was without looking. “So, um,” I coughed and nodded toward the screen. “Which shots of this have you drawn?”

So as the movie played, Andrew told me about different scenes he’d done, what parts he liked, which were difficult, which were his favourite. But then something happened. In the movie. And it came from nowhere, and I wasn’t expecting it. I had no clue and no time to prepare myself. It was a kid’s movie for fuck’s sake.

The father died.

In the movie. The father died. And a wave of memories and emotions hit me, like being crash-tackled from the blindside. I certainly didn’t see it coming.

I took some deep, quiet breaths, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I stared at the wall and realised I was staring at drawings from this very movie, and that didn’t help at all. So then I stared at the top of the TV screen. There was writing about screen definition, and I stared so hard at it, trying to deliberately not watch the movie, that I must have stared too hard because my eyes started to water. I let out the slowest breath I could manage, but Andrew was too close, and he heard how shaky it was. He turned to me and started to laugh and was no doubt about to say something about crying in a kid’s movie.

But then he saw my face.

He sat up and fumbled with the remote before clicking the whole TV off. I shot up off the sofa and went into the kitchen to catch my breath. Oh, fuck. The burn in my chest was as vivid now as it was years ago.

Andrew was right behind me. He put his hand on my arm. “Spencer, I’m sorry. I should’ve known… I gathered something had happened. I didn’t even think about the dad.”

I shook my head and put the heel of my hand against my sternum to counter the pain there. “It’s okay. You weren’t to know.” I took another breath. “That just came from nowhere. I’m sorry.”

He had a hand on either arm, his face was etched with worry. “Don’t apologise. It’s me who should be apologizing. Your dad?”

I let my head fall back, and I let a shaky breath out at the ceiling. “My father…” Andrew moved his hands from my arms, but before he could take a step back, I snatched his t-shirt. I fisted the material, keeping him right where he was. I needed him to stay close. I wanted to tell him what happened. I wanted to tell him why the four blackbirds were tattooed on my arm, but I couldn’t. I never spoke about them. I wore those inked reminders like armour, but I couldn’t form the words.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

I shook my head.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s okay.”

He put his hand to my face, and I leaned into it. I fucking leaned. And like he knew what I needed—what my heart and soul craved—he pulled me against him.

I’d never felt anything so good in my life. He was warm and strong, he was safe and right. I buried my face into his neck, and I might have held on a little too tight. But he smelled so perfect and his arms went around me like they were meant to do just that.

I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to kiss his neck, I wanted to lift my face and kiss his lips. I wanted to know what he tasted like. I wanted him to hold me, and take me to bed, have his way with me.

And when I pulled back, he stayed right there. He looked into my eyes and licked his lips. He was going to kiss me…

Then my stupid hand was against his chest, keeping him at a safe non-kissing distance. Fuck. My head was swimming, my heart was hammering and aching, my stomach was in knots, and I was a fucking mess.

Then my stupid mouth said, “I should go.”

He blinked and shook his head, as if startled from some kind of stupor. “Yeah.” I stepped away, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Spencer?”

I looked at him, fighting every fibre in my body that wanted to fall back into his arms, to kiss him.

He looked torn apart. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” Of course I’m okay. I’ve been okay for years. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll come around four?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I turned and walked out as fast as my stupid feet would take me.

 

* * * *

 

Of course sleep didn’t come easy. Hell, it barely came at all. I finally managed about two hours shut eye after the sun made its way over the horizon. The sound of screeching tires on the street below woke me up, and so I didn’t lie around all day thinking about stuff I didn’t want to be thinking about, I put on some running clothes and hit the pavement.

I ran all the way down to Venice Beach. It was a warm Saturday morning, so it was packed. There were people walking dogs, roller blading, cycling, jogging. Some looked a million dollars, some looked like they were doing the walk of shame. But the crowd, the smells, and the noise was everything I needed to distract me. I loved this place. It was actually the first place I’d came to when I’d arrived in LA and, after doing the tourist thing of checking out Abbot Kinney Boulevard, I’d found myself looking through a tattoo shop window. I’d walked in and started chatting with the owner. He’d introduced himself as Emilio, and the rest is pretty much history.

It was Emilio who had done the four blackbird tattoos that now graced my right forearm. I’d come to America with just one shoulder inked. Emilio had helped me better than any therapist could have. There is something cathartic about having your scars inked into your skin.

Maybe that’s what I needed. Another tattoo. Some pain on the outside to ease the pain on the inside. Yes, that’s exactly what I needed.

With a new mission, I jogged back home. I hadn’t run that far in a long time and my legs and lungs burned. The pain was welcome. I considered not going up to my apartment and just going straight in to see Emilio, but I knew he was busy and probably wouldn’t have appreciated a sweaty me in his tattoo shop. As I made my way to the back stairs, Daniela and Lola were at the back door talking. It wasn’t uncommon for them to sneak out the back and have a laugh or a bitch session or whatever it was they talked about.

“Hey,” I said in greeting.

They both looked me up and down. Lola spoke first. “You okay, Spence?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Um, you’re running,” Daniela answered.

“Needed to clear my head,” I said, taking the stairs on shaky legs. I got to the top and turned around. They were both watching me. “You don’t know if Emilio’s got a free session today?”

Daniela shook her head. “I can find out for you. Who wants some work done?”

“Me.”

They both just stood there, looking up at me. Neither said a word.

I opened my door. “I’ll be down in a bit.”

“What time are you meeting Andrew?” Lola asked.

“Four.”

She looked at her watch. “Um…”

“What time is it?”

“Just after three.”

“Shit. Where did today go?” I raced inside and went straight for a shower. By the time I was dressed and ready, I found Lola at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.

She looked me up and down. “Jesus, looking good Spence.”

I flashed her a smile. “Thanks.”

“Come on,” she nodded to the car park. “I’ll drive you.”

I knew it was coming. I was actually surprised it took her three blocks. “Tonight’s the big night, huh?”

“Yep.”

“You okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

She looked at me for a beat too long. “Spence.”

“I’m fine, Lolz,” I said, knowing that name would stop her. She hated it. She pulled a face, and I pointed up ahead at where Lola needed to turn and gave a few directions. I used the break to change subjects. “How’s Gabe’s nipple piercing going?”

Her eyes sparked with mischief. “Oh, he likes it.”

“He likes it, or you like it?”

“I like what it does to him.”

That made me laugh. “That good, huh?”

“You should get one,” she said, swerving in and out of lanes. “Actually, I’m surprised you don’t have any piercings.”

I gripped onto the dash, trying to sound like her driving didn’t scare the bejeezus outta me. “Something I could work on, you reckon?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “You’ll be surprised at how good they feel.” Then she said, “You’re thinking of getting more ink?”

“Yep. Just need to find the right piece.”

“Cool.” I knew she wanted to say more, but thankfully, she let it go.

“Just up here,” I said, pointing to Andrew’s place.

“Nice,” she replied.

It really was. “Yeah.”

“Look, Spencer,” she said, pulling the car up to the kerb. “I know you’ve got a job to do here tonight, but I think if you talked to Andrew beforehand—”

“Lola, I’ll be fine. Thank you for the lift.”

And with that, I got out of Cindy Crawford and made my way up the path. I waved her off, pretending not to see the sadness on her face and pressed Andrew’s intercom button. He opened the door and gave me a smile that made my heart trip over. Though he eyed me cautiously. “Hey,” he said, letting me in. “You look great.”

I had put on my best pants, a blue waistcoat that matched my shoes, and my white sleeves were rolled to my elbows. My hair was styled up, my beard trimmed, and I’d even put on some cologne because, well, smelling good was a man’s secret weapon.

I didn’t want him to feel bad about my freak out last night. Hell, I didn’t even want him to mention it. “Get your laundry done today?”

He chuckled. “I did.”

“And the gym?”

“Yep,” he said, walking into the living room. “Am I that predictable?”

“No, not at all,” I replied. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Okay, so maybe just a little.”

His smile slid away, and he put his hand through his hair. I waited for it. He was going to say something like ‘Look, about last night,’ and it was the last thing I wanted to talk about, so I changed subjects completely. “Can you teach me to play something on your piano?”

My request stopped him, and he spun to look at his piano. “Oh. Um.” He exhaled loudly. “Sure. I guess.”

I walked over to the piano and sat on one end of the bench seat. It really was a beautiful piece of furniture, instrument, whatever. Not that I was any kind of expert in grand pianos or anything, but it really was special.

Andrew sat beside me, our thighs and arms pressed together, and he lifted the lid. “Have you played anything before?”

“On the piano? No. God, I struggled with the triangle.”

He smiled at that. “That surprises me. I would have thought with how musically inclined you are, that you could play something.”

“I can,” I said proudly. “I can play records.”

Andrew chuckled and put his fingers to the keys. He explained the chords and octaves, but lost me when he added in the black keys, and if I was being truly honest, I started thinking about how long and elegant his fingers were and how they’d feel on my skin… Damn, I bet he could play me like a song.

“Spencer?”

“Oh. Sorry. Got side tracked by your fingers.”

He chuckled. “Put your fingers like this, right index on F.”

I did that, then he lifted my hands and moved them down a few keys. “Oh, that F.”

His shoulders shook as he laughed, and he taught me which keys were which, and we were soon playing the most masterful Chopsticks ever played. Well, to me it was. Andrew probably last played it when he was four.

I gave up in the end, declaring myself pianocally challenged.

“That is not a word.”

“Yes it is.” I grinned. “Play me something.”

“What?”

“Play me something. Anything. Your favourite,” I said. “Moonlight Sonata or whatever it was called.”

He looked back at the keys, then to me. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

So he did. And oh my God. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful. Ever. He closed his eyes and he lost himself in each note. He didn’t need sheet music to read from; he knew it by heart. It was perfection.

The last note hung in the air like some ethereal entity. His hands fell to his lap, and he finally looked at me, all vulnerable, like he’d shown a part of himself to me not many people ever got to see.

I should have given him some intelligent accolade, but all I could manage was, “Wow.”

He let out a nervous breath, his lips curled into a smile. “You liked it?”

“Loved it. Now play me one of your jazz-funk songs.” Then remembering my manners, I tacked on, “Please.”

His whole demeanour changed. His eyes sparked with light and his smile was a cheeky one. He put his hands to the keys and played the funkiest piano solo I’d ever heard. I could picture people from the 20s dancing in some swinging jazz bar to this song. His whole body moved when he played; he put all of himself into the music. It was easy to tell this was what he loved. Sure, he played Beethoven like he respected it. But this, he played jazz because he loved it.

When the song finished, all I could do was sigh. “I could listen to you play all day long.”

“Really?”

“Hell yes. Why does that surprise you?”

He shrugged. “It’s just that it used to bug Eli.”

I stared at him. “It what?”

“Bugged him. If he was reading or whatever. I guess it’s loud and annoying.” He made a face. “I used to play when he was asleep.”

I couldn’t believe it. The more he told me about Eli, the more I wanted to punch him in the throat. “Was he crazy? You playing the piano is like my most favourite thing.”

Andrew’s cheeks heated to a beautiful pink. “Oh. Thanks.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe he would say that. What a wanker.”

Andrew looked down the keyboard and never replied.

“Sorry, that was out of line,” I said quietly. I was sorry I was out of line. I didn’t say it because I was wrong.

Andrew stood up from the piano. “Well, I should probably go take a shower and get ready,” he said. “Do you mind? I was going to shower earlier but lost track of time.”

“No, it’s fine.” Whether he was going to shower now just to freshen up or to jerk off, I wasn’t sure. I hoped for the latter then had to stop the mental images that caused my dick to stir. Then I spotted his laptop. “Hey, can I borrow your computer for a minute?”

“Sure. Help yourself.”

“Can I check your Facebook? I want to see what Eli’s been up to.”

He blinked. “Um. Oh, okay. I guess.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Just don’t comment or private message anyone pretending to be me. Don’t get into any conversations with my mother, and don’t invite my sister over for dinner.”

I laughed. “Deal.”

Andrew went upstairs, and I took his laptop to the sofa. I wanted to check out Facebook to see what comments were on the photo we’d uploaded but didn’t want to without his okaying it first. So I decided to see what I could dig up on Eli.

The guy was a douche, and what Andrew ever saw in him, I couldn’t even guess. Maybe he was hung. Maybe Andrew had a thing for guys with big dicks. Well, he should like me just fine. I snorted and looked around the room like someone might have seen me.

Andrew had a few comments and notifications, which I ignored. None were from Eli, so they weren’t any of my business. I searched up Eli and scrolled through his timeline until I found some photos. With the help of a right-click and ‘search Google’ prompt, I was trawling the web for dirt on Eli.

Nothing out of the ordinary came up. Even with an image search and using the location feature, nothing weird showed up. From what I could gather from my ten minutes with Detective Google, he wasn’t leading some double life or anything creepy or sinister. He was disappointingly normal. Still a douche, but a disappointingly normal douche.

Going back to a general web search, I typed his place of employment in, along with his name, and used keywords like education, degree, and address. And it really was shocking what information was readily available on the Internet.

Eli Masterson had applied for a job at Fujifilm in the graphics department. I didn’t know exactly what he did at his printing job and maybe it wasn’t such a stretch to move from one to the other, but I had to wonder if Andrew knew.

Did Andrew suggest it? Did Andrew try and get him the job?

“So,” I hedged when he came back downstairs. I ignored how good he smelled and how he looked even better with wet hair. “How did you start working at DreamWorks?”

He seemed surprised by my question. “Um, I got my Bachelor of Fine Arts in Character Animation. When I was doing my Masters in Experimental Animation, I actually worked with them as part of my internship.”

“Oh, so it’s incredibly difficult,” I said, rather stupidly. “All you had to say is ‘you need to be the best in the industry’.”

He smiled at that. “Why?”

“No reason exactly,” I said. “What degrees did Eli have?”

Andrew’s eyebrows narrowed. “Why?”

“I’m just wondering why he would have applied for a job at Fujifilm, that’s all,” I told him. “Was he qualified?”

Andrew stared at me in a way that told me, in no uncertain terms, he knew nothing of the job application. “What?”

“Was he a cartoonographer as well?” I asked. “Or maybe he applied for a different division? Something else entirely, maybe?”

He shook his head slowly. “He wanted to do…” He stopped talking. “What do you mean he applied for a job there? When?”

“It only gives the date of publication. Three months ago.” I turned the laptop on my knees so he could see the screen. “But it’s got his name and your address, so it was when he was living here.”

He took a few tentative steps over, then sat beside me. He never took his eyes off the screen. I handed him the laptop and he read the information I’d found. Admittedly it wasn’t much, but it was clearly news to Andrew.

After a long, silent minute, he asked, “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fujifilm have just opened a 3D art division at Universal Studios in Singapore,” he said, brows knitted together. He shook his head. “He doesn’t even have a portfolio for that kind of application. Even in the printing industry, he’d need examples of his work.”

“Andrew,” I said gently. “I don’t know much about how these things, but did he have access to your work?”

He stared at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and the colour drained from his face. “Oh no.” He bolted off the sofa and took the stairs two at a time. I followed him as he ran into his closet and he pulled his favourite print off the wall. He turned it over and clawed at the back of the frame, lifting those annoying little metal tabs until he pulled the back of the frame out. He was looking for something. He sighed, pure relief, and held it up. His signature was clearly there, even the ink bleed on the canvas. It was the original.

Then he took another one off the wall, so I did too, and one by one we opened each frame. By the time they’d all been checked, we were sitting on the floor in his closet surrounded by drawing boards and empty frames. Andrew leaned against the wall and sighed. “These are all original,” he said. Though we both knew Eli worked at a printing company. The lady he worked with even said he specialized in framed prints.

Then his eyes went wide. “My dragons,” he mumbled and scampered to his feet.

Oh hell no.

He ran back downstairs and into the living room. He stopped in front of the three framed drawings, like he couldn’t bear to know if those weren’t his originals.

“I’ll check them,” I told him. I gently lifted the first frame off the wall and laid it facedown on his dining table. I undid the metal tabs and pulled the backing off, and there in all its original glory was Andrew’s signature. “It’s yours,” I whispered.

He visibly sagged and put his hand to his heart. “Oh, thank god.”

I checked the other two, and they were the original pieces. “Andrew,” I hedged. “He could have copied them.”

“He’d need original pieces for authentication,” he said. He put his hands to his forehead and barked out a laugh. “God, I almost panicked.”

“Almost?” I asked. If that was almost, I’d hate to see a full-on panic. “I was ready to kill him.”

He laughed, his relief clearly evident. “I feel kinda bad now for doubting him.”

“Andrew,” I said softly. Cautiously. “It doesn’t change the fact he applied for a job in another country while he was living here and didn’t even tell you.”

He looked like I’d slapped him. It took him a while to answer. “Eli might be a lot of things, but he’s not a thief.”

And there it was. He was still defending him, even if he’d thought him capable of stealing just a minute ago. A reminder that he had feelings for him, and I was fucking delusional to think otherwise.

I strangled down my emotions and put on my best front. “Okay,” I swallowed hard. “We better get these all put back together before we head out. Dinner first? I’m kind of hungry.”

He stared at me for the longest moment. “Yeah. Of course.”