Legal Bindings

24. Evan

“Is this too much?”Evan asked, fussing with the silk scarf he’d tied into a pussy bow around his neck.

“On anyone else, I’d say yes.” Kelly glanced up from the mirror on her desk, having used it to reapply her lipstick. “On you, it’s perfect.”

Evan smiled but still spent a few more minutes smoothing out the bow and fiddling with the ends to make them match. The rest of his outfit was simple—low-heeled boots and stacked jeans paired with a shoulder-padded blouse he’d found while thrifting—but the bow bothered him. Was it a step too far into kitsch, perhaps? Or was he just overthinking things and letting his nerves run the show?

“You look wonderful.” Kelly came to stand behind him, putting one hand on his shoulder. “And remember, you only have to be aloof and vaguely charming. Your work will speak for itself.”

“Sure.” That was apparently the only word left in Evan’s usually prodigious vocabulary. “You said Reed Barton was definitely coming?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Right.” Evan took a deep breath then reached for the Murphy Brown–esque blazer that would cap off his outfit. “I’ve never been this anxious about an opening before.”

Kelly shrugged. “You’ve never had work this good either.”

Evan wasn’t sure whether that helped, and he gave her a weak smile before sliding the blazer onto his padded shoulders.

A buzzing filled the room, and Kelly glanced at the notification on her watch. “That’ll be the caterers. I’ll let them in through the back. Why don’t you go make yourself useful and share something about the show?”

Evan posted something pithy and informal, accompanied by a photo of the gallery that showed just enough without giving everything away. But the task only ate up five minutes, leaving him with fifty-five more to kill before the official start of the opening. Plus, art people always showed up late, meaning it could be sixty-five, seventy, even ninety minutes before he knew whether anyone was coming.

A knock sounded at the front door of the gallery, and Evan looked up to find Nick on the other side, standing in the drizzle and pointing to the locked handle. Some of Evan’s nerves ebbed away. These days, being around Nick was like playing with one of those tiny Zen sand gardens, in that he didn’t know why it made him feel better, but it always helped.

“Hi!” he said, opening the door and grinning like a lovestruck teenager. Which he wasn’t. At least, not the teenager part. The lovestruck part, he normally kept tightly under wraps lest he disturb the fragile peace of their friendly arrangement. “You’re early!”

“I had to work late, so I didn’t have time to go home and change,” Nick said, stepping in and unbuttoning his raincoat, which was dripping on the parquet floor. “I figured I’d just come straight here. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Evan said, waving it off and studying Nick’s face. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes and a new worry line on his forehead. The exhaustion had crept in since he’d started his new job, and while Evan wasn’t going to say anything, it had him concerned.

Nick nodded, his lips curling into a moue of distaste when he saw the wet floor. “Shit. Is there a coatrack?”

“Yeah, in Kelly’s office.”

“Perfect,” he said, focusing his attention on the floor once again. “Lead the way. I’ll follow your feet—I don’t want to see your stuff until the show actually opens. Oh, and…” He held out a plastic bag. “Surprise.”

Evan suppressed a smile, looking inside the bag to find a giant resealable pouch of Peanut Butter MMs, as well as a liquid eyeliner pencil and some mascara. “Um…”

“I wanted to get you flowers or something,” Nick said, pushing a hand through his hair. “But I didn’t have time for that. Ergo, candy. Because you like candy.”

The candy meant more than any flowers, because it meant Nick had been paying attention to Evan’s preferences, and boy if that didn’t do something funny to his insides. “Thank you, Nicky. What’s with the makeup?”

“Oh. I thought, you know, if you wanted to, uh, make me look more like an artsy person? That would be cool.”

A tsunami of affection broke over Evan, threatening to sweep him away. Since the drag show—and only in bed—Nick had occasionally asked him for things that experimented with gender presentation. Not too much and not too often and never in public, though that was poised to change. Nick was trying, and “better late than never” applied when it came to growing comfortable with one’s sexuality.

“Absolutely. Follow me.”

Kelly was still presumably dealing with the caterers and other crises, so Evan told Nick to sit in her desk chair while he broke open the cosmetics and went to work giving Nick’s eyes a subtle black rim, which he paired with a careful sweep of mascara.

“Gorgeous,” he proclaimed when he was through. “Take off your tie and unbutton your top two buttons. Lose the jacket too.”

Nick’s mouth twitched, and he raised a brow, threatening to mess up Evan’s careful work. “Is that an order?”

“Yes. And don’t think I won’t punish you if you don’t.”

That made Nick laugh, but he did what he was told. “Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it, big eyes. You’re very tempting.”

“Big eyes,” Nick scoffed.

Evan smiled, reaching out to wipe away an errant smudge of mascara. “Well, they are. Big, pretty eyes. That’s kind of your thing, because you look unapproachable, but when someone gets close enough, they’ll see that your eyes are… you know. Kind. And pretty.”

Nick snorted. “Thanks. I think. How do I look?”

“Positively coquettish, darling,” Evan said, taking a step back to look at the finished product then reaching for the mirror on Kelly’s desk. “See for yourself.”

Nick studied his reflection, his expression inscrutable. “I used to get so mad.” He shook his head and placed the mirror back on the desk. “When I was in school. I used to watch the girls in my class play with makeup and clothes, and they looked like they were having so much fun. And I didn’t—I don’t—really want to wear skirts or anything like that. But I remember thinking, how come I can’t have fun like that? Or if I do it, how come I’m going to get the snot kicked out of me for it?”

Evan reached for Nick’s hand and pulled it up to kiss the back. “Take it from the kid who did wear makeup in high school—the snot-kicking part sucks.”

“Well, exactly.” Nick scowled. “It’s this damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t thing. So I got resentful. Now? I don’t know. I guess I’m brave enough to wear mascara to your art opening because you’re wearing a Delta Burkeblazer, so, like, nobody’s gonna be looking at me.”

Evan burst out laughing then leaned up to kiss Nick’s cheek. “Baby steps. And you know you can do whatever you want, right? There’s nobody keeping score.”

“Yeah. Just sometimes, I need permission to try.”

“We can work on that,” Evan said, liking the way the we sounded.

“Evan!” Kelly stuck her head in the door. “There’s a reporter from the City Arts beat out here. I think you should come say hello. And… hi there.”

“Kelly, this is Nick. Nick, Kelly.”

“Pleasure, I’m sure. Evan, let’s go.”

Nick grinned then gave Evan’s shoulder a light punch. “Duty calls.”

“Apparently. Put a pin in that conversation, though, okay?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Bending down, Nick kissed his cheek. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Bolstered by the kiss, Evan squared his shoulders and went to work.

* * *

The City Arts reporter had a lot of questions, as did the three other reporters who came after her, one of them from a contemporary art magazine based out of Los Angeles that had a nationwide reach. Evan, dutiful and diligent, spoke with each one as the gallery began to fill with guests who were—shockingly—on time. Surely, it was just the allure of the open bar…

While Evan knew Nick was in the crowd somewhere, he’d only caught fleeting glimpses. Twenty minutes into the event, and he was already exhausted from the small talk. A drink would help, so he headed for the bar, only to run headlong into a former client, Simon Vessey—Colin’s Simon, to be specific—who turned away from a painting and stepped directly into his path.

“Holy shit,” said Evan, at the same time Simon said, “Sorry. Oh, Evan, hi!”

“Simon!” Evan embraced him then leaned up to kiss his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“Colin told me about the show. He’s around somewhere.” Simon craned his neck, his height giving him an advantage.

“Thanks for coming. It’s really good to see you,” Evan said. Simon had been a client, sure, but Evan had liked him more than most—enough to sub for him, even. He wouldn’t have pushed Colin toward him otherwise.

“You too. This is incredible work. I never knew you were so…” He gestured at the painting then smiled. “Talented.”

“One of my many skills,” Evan said just as Colin appeared at Simon’s side along with Max, who’d slipped in without Evan seeing him. “Hey, you.” Evan gave Max a hug. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“I’m stealthy. But hey, this is awesome.”

“I owe it all to you,” Evan said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“I mean, obviously. I’m your muse—” Max’s face fell, and it took a second for Evan to realize why. Nick had come from behind Evan to join the circle, and only when he and Max were facing each other did they realize who they were dealing with.

Fuck.Evan honestly hadn’t thought about the fact that he’d invited both Max and Nick to the opening. Clearing his throat, Evan touched Nick’s arm, desperate to keep things light. “Um, Nick, I think you know Max. And this is Colin and—”

“Simon, hi.” Nick stepped forward, extending his hand, as stiff and formal as Evan had ever seen him. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hello, Nick,” Simon replied, returning the greeting with no small amount of wariness.

Right.Because Nick had been married to Ben, who was now with Max, who was Colin’s friend, and Colin was with Simon, who knew Nick because… actually, Evan was drawing a blank on that particular connection.

“How do you two know each other?” Colin asked, blessedly guileless.

“Ben,” said Simon. “He and Nick were married. We met a few times, back then.”

As if things couldn’t get more awkward.Evan grimaced. Seattle’s queer scene was proving as tiny and incestuous as ever.

“Small world,” Max muttered into his drink then glanced up, his eyes widening. “Oh fuck.”

Oh fuck, indeed.Ben had arrived on the scene. Evan’s heart sank, and he stood, frozen, as Ben saw Nick and Nick saw Ben. Of course Ben was there. Evan was such an idiot—he’d invited Max, and Ben and Max were practically married.

“Wow. Nick,” said Ben, facing off with his ex-husband as Max wrapped a possessive arm around his waist.

“Hi, Ben,” Nick said, his voice faltering as the color faded from his cheeks.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I invited him,” Evan said because he felt as though he ought to say something, considering this was his mess. “He’s—we’re friends.”

“Yes, Max told me you were roommates.” Ben’s shaggy brows furrowed. “I didn’t expect to see… well, anyway. How are you these days, Nick?”

“Fine. I’m… look, about last time—”

“Is that eyeliner?” Max asked.

Nick’s cheeks went from pink to chartreuse, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Uh. It’s dumb, I know.”

Evan took a step forward. “It’s not, actually. You look great.”

“No, obviously, it’s fantastic,” Max said with no small amount of sarcasm coloring his tone.

“Max,” Ben said, and though it sounded like an admonishment, he was smiling. “Glad to see you’re branching out, Nick. And sorry if I’m intruding on your night.”

“Everyone got the same invitation,” Evan said, desperate to cut through the mounting tension.

“Right, yeah.” Max scowled. “I just didn’t know you guys were, like, friends.”

Nick shrank back, and it made Evan’s heart hurt to see it, considering this was all his fault. “Nicky,” he said, reaching for him.

Flinching, Nick twisted away from the touch. “I’m gonna go.”

“Nick, don’t…”

But Nick was already gone, breaking away from the circle, leaving Evan with no choice but to follow, calling after him, “I want you here. It’s fine. I wasn’t thinking, but it’s fine!”

“It’s not, it’s—”

A woman stepped away from the nearest painting, nearly colliding with Nick, and he turned to avoid her, which put him in line with Evan’s big, bold Nick-stravaganza of a painting. Evidently, Nick hadn’t made it to that one yet, and when he looked up, he did a double take, inhaling on a knife’s edge. “Fuck. Is that me?”

Evan shook his head. Then he nodded and reached for Nick’s hand. “It’s not… I mean, it’s…”

God damn it.He was fucking everything up. He ought to have shown Nick the painting—ought to have prepared him in advance—because the model was Nick, but it also wasn’t. Evan had used his original sketches of Nick to start, but it had turned into something else—glimpses of their life together, in the capture of the crinkles by Nick’s eyes or the way his hands curled around his newspaper when he held it in the mornings.

The result was a twisted tableau of domestic bliss. The painting had two people in it. One was a man in full Donna Reed drag, wearing pearls and a fifties-style dress, running a vacuum cleaner. The other was a man in a dark blue suit sitting on the sofa behind him, a newspaper pulled up to cover half his face. Nick and Evan, unmistakably.

As Evan watched, panic mounting, Nick’s eyes began to water. “This was a mistake,” Nick said, gesturing to the painting before swiping a hand across his face, smearing his makeup. “I’m going home.”

“Nicky, please don’t.”

Nick turned on his heel and headed for the door. Evan followed, but he was waylaid by Kelly, who appeared out of the crowd and grabbed his arm to pull him around.

“There you are! Come meet Reed—he’s dying for a chat.”

Panicked, Evan pushed her hand off and forced a smile. “I’ll be there in two seconds, Kelly, I promise.” He turned in the direction Nick had gone, only to find he was already halfway out the door.

Putting on a burst of speed, Evan caught him just outside the gallery and took him by the elbow. “Nicky, come on. Just come back inside.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped, stiff and cold. “I want to go the fuck home. And you have people to see.”

Evan took a deep breath and willed himself not to panic. Nick was upset—he’d been startled by his ex-husband, and he hadn’t expected the painting—but upset didn’t mean they were over. Or whatever over actually meant for their weird nonrelationship.

Forcing angry people to talk only led to ruin, so Evan acquiesced, taking a step back. “Okay. Um. I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah,” Nick muttered, leaving the shelter of the building’s awning and stepping into the rain.

Evan watched, his heart thumping hard as Nick trudged up the street, his shoulders slumped and hands jammed firmly into his pockets.