Legal Bindings

15. Nick

Nick didn’t knowwhy he’d picked a fight over nothing. Again. Especially after he and Evan had shared something akin to a pleasant morning. Yet there he was, causing trouble where trouble didn’t need to be caused and letting his day of mixed emotions dictate how he dealt with other people.

It was the same sort of thing he’d have done to Ben during the troubled days of their marriage. Find a problem and blow it out of proportion—that was Nick’s strategy. Always had been. It made him feel in control even when the situation was unpleasant. If he made the accusation, then nobody could accuse him.

Only he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been accusing Evan of, and Evan hadn’t kowtowed and backed down the way Ben used to. Evan had fought back before walking away, and Nick felt like an idiot as he shut the front door behind him and leaned against it to let out a sigh. Honestly, the whole fight had been the fault of the guy in the fancy sports car. Or—well, not really, but seeing Evan climbing out and exchanging waves with someone young and cute had pinged a weird jealous radar in Nick. Sure, the emotion was unwarranted—Evan didn’t owe him shit and had no idea he’d become Nick’s masturbatory fodder the evening before—but it was there all the same, green-eyed and angry and creeping up his spine to settle, bilious and awkward, in the bits of gray matter that controlled his worst impulses.

“Stupid ass,” he muttered to himself as he stalked toward the living room, where he picked up his laptop and stared at the blank screen because it was something to do—a way to pretend he was working to justify the lie he’d told Evan to cover his ass.

Above him, something scraped across the floor. It was followed by heavy footsteps, like Evan was stomping intentionally. That was stupid, though. Evan was just walking, probably, and Nick was projecting his own guilty conscience onto his movements.

Nick sat with that guilt for another ten minutes, accomplishing nothing, before deciding that he could be the bigger person for once in his life. He and Evan had to live together, after all, and just because Nick was having some weird crisis around whether he found Evan attractive didn’t mean he had to make things weird. Maybe that was growth.

He headed to the attic, taking the stairs two at a time, and stopped just out of view to knock on the doorframe. There was no response, though he could hear movement. Frowning, he mounted the last couple of steps and found Evan sitting with his back to the entryway, a pair of neon-green headphones covering his ears as he daubed paint on a canvas.

The painting was good, in Nick’s opinion, though his eye didn’t count for much. Dreamy and unsettling, the piece contained two unfinished figures—one male, one female—having an argument. Or at least, it looked like an argument. Nick stepped closer, but as he did so, his shadow fell over Evan’s shoulder and onto the canvas. Evan jumped then twisted around, one hand over his heart.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed as he pushed the headphones down and around his neck.

“Sorry,” Nick said, taking a step back. “Sorry. I knocked. You were just…”

Evan, cheeks flushed, cut him off. “What do you want?”

Nick’s first instinct was to respond brusquely and meet Evan where he was. But that wasn’t why he’d come upstairs, and if he wanted to pick a fight, he could just as easily have done it the next time they were forced to awkwardly dance around one another in the kitchen. “I, ah, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for snapping at you about the door.”

Evan’s fingers, still curled around his brush, relaxed, and his tight expression softened. “Oh. Uh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

Nick waved a hand, language and grammar deserting him in one fell swoop. “I could have asked… nicer. More nicely. I—”

Evan’s lip curled into a grin. “They let you defend people in court?”

Nick nearly bristled, ready to put those defensive skills to use, before he realized Evan was teasing, the softness around his mouth a telltale sign. “Very funny.”

“Yes, it was.” Evan extended his free hand with a grin. “Anyway, apology accepted. Should we shake on it?”

Nick found a smile threatening to spread across his face in return as he reached for Evan’s hand, which was smaller and softer than his own—delicate even. That probably helped with painting. Detail work, things like that. So Nick assumed, anyway. He hadn’t exactly been renowned for his art skills in the mandatory class he’d been forced to take during high school.

Several awkward seconds passed before Nick realized he probably ought to say something, and he pulled his hand away with a stuttered “That’s interesting. The painting.”

Evan turned to survey his work with a shrug. “Thanks. It’s fine. I’m a little sick of it—I can’t get the juxtaposition of the two of them quite right.”

“What’s it about?”

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not sure. I thought it was about the structured confines of suburbia, but there’s something else that wants to creep in there. Some undefined notion of repression and an undercurrent of deviant behavior.”

Nick was out of his depth, and he could feel the tips of his ears going pink the way they often did when he was faced with a level of sophistication he couldn’t hope to match. “Oh. It, um, I just thought it looked interesting. And I’m sure you’ll get there. With the, uh… repression.”

“We’ll see.” Evan turned back toward Nick, a curious little smile playing across his features. “Say, you wouldn’t have half an hour to spare, would you?”

Once more, instinct urged Nick into a first defense of contrariness, instructing him to tell Evan he had work to do then disappear downstairs into the comfort of his deception. But Evan looked so damn hopeful.

“I… I could take a break,” Nick said.

“Great. I could use a new subject.”

With that, Evan was on the move. Nick watched with a sinking stomach as he dragged a chair close to the front window, where the afternoon sunlight was casting short beams on the floor. He positioned it just so then beckoned Nick over and instructed him to sit.

“Are you… painting me?” He sat, already thinking of excuses for why this was a bad idea. After all, he was no model, and Evan was a professional.

“No. I’m sketching you.” Evan pursed his lips and studied the scene. Something about the jut of his hip suggested that backtalk wouldn’t be appreciated, so Nick shut his mouth while Evan issued instructions. “Turn about fifteen degrees into the light. Yes, just like that. And lean your arm back… Here, I’ll just show you.” He reached out to touch Nick’s shoulder, pushing it how he wanted it before sliding his fingers down to cover Nick’s own, splaying them against his thigh. “Just like that.”

Nick stiffened—how could he not?—and nodded. “Got it.”

“Great.” Evan gave his leg a squeeze then stepped back. “That’s a picture.”

Scarcely daring to breathe, Nick willed the threat of his libido into submission through sheer force of will. Evan did this all the time, and Nick wasn’t going to be some creep who spoiled their fragile peace by popping a boner while helping out his… not friend, exactly, but not enemy either.

Evan picked up a sketchbook and pulled his chair closer to Nick. He sat, then opened the book and stuck a pencil between his teeth. “Won’t take long,” he said before beginning to work.

Nick hoped that was true. He sighed, flexing his fingers against his thigh and looking out the window, where a bird was building a nest in a tree. He watched, lulled by the repetitive movements of the bird as it flew away to find new material then returned, adding its findings to the nest. The sight was soothing and, when matched by the soft sounds of Evan’s pencil against paper, sent Nick into a meditative state.

He could get used to posing, he decided. Holding a position and breathing. Letting himself drift in the service of something bigger than his own selfish desires. It reminded him of submitting—of sinking so deep into subspace that he almost couldn’t find himself on the other side.

“That’s it. I think I’ve got it,” Evan said, the timbre of his voice slicing through the pleasant fuzz of Nick’s mind like a paper cut.

Nick blinked then shook his head. “Oh, I—”

“Told you I could be quick.” Evan closed the sketchpad and grinned. “Thank you—this could be something, maybe. I don’t know yet. But anyway, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Nick nodded. He got to his feet and cleared his throat, feeling strangely disconnected from the room and reality. “Have a good afternoon, Evan,” he said, his tone too formal by half.

Evan regarded him from his perch then smiled. “Of course. Thanks for being my muse.”