Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Blake
Blake rose to consciousness slowly, smiling at the warm, heavy weight of Ethan’s arm on his chest. He opened his eyes slowly, letting in the greyish morning light.
“Good mor––”
His eyes sprung open and his breath caught.
Creamsicle was sitting on his chest, watching him with an unblinking stare, his whiskers twitching.
“Hi?”
Creamsicle stretched his paws out and kneaded Blake’s chest, inching upward until one sharp claw kissed the sensitive skin at his throat.
“Ethan…” Blake held himself as still as possible, afraid a sudden movement might cause the cat to pounce on his face.
From the other side of the apartment, Ethan called, “Creamsicle! Leave Blake alone.”
In a blur of orange fur, the cat lunged forward and headbutted Blake’s chin. While letting out a low growl reminiscent of a rusty hinge, Creamsicle rubbed his cheek along Blake’s chin, then jumped to the floor and scurried under the bed.
“Sorry about that,” Ethan said. “That’s about as affectionate as he gets.”
Blake let out his breath in a whoosh. That was a truly terrifying display of affection. When he was upset, Creamsicle must have been the stuff of nightmares.
He slipped on his underwear from the night before and ambled toward the studio’s kitchenette, enticed by the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
Ethan was leaning against the tiny counter, dressed for work in a Heyday T-shirt and jeans. He looked up from his phone and smiled.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nope. I slept like a rock.” Blake yawned and scratched his armpit.
Ethan handed Blake a mug of coffee and gave him a peck on the lips. “Good morning.”
“It is now.”
After cupping Blake’s balls and giving them a little squeeze, Ethan took a seat at his compact dining table. He pushed aside his laptop and beckoned for Blake to join him.
“When was the last time Virgil updated the club’s website?”
“Website?” Blake asked, his voice cracking. He squeezed his mug to conceal the tremble in his hands. He’d completely forgotten about the club’s website. Were there pictures of him captioned Dirk Slocum?
“Yeah, I was checking it out this morning. Looks like it hasn’t been touched in at least ten years. There’s not even any pictures from your show.”
Blake sent a silent thank you to the universe. For once, Virgil being out of touch worked in his favor.
That crisis averted, Blake took a seat at the table and sipped his coffee. It was delicious. Dark and rich, it went down smooth… until Ethan said, “What about Instagram?”
Blake’s sudden jump sent hot coffee hurtling down his windpipe. Coughing violently, he covered his mouth to prevent coffee droplets from spraying everywhere.
Ethan peered over the top of his phone. “You okay?”
Blake gave him a thumbs up while trying to suppress a few more coughs.
“No Insta.” Ethan furrowed his brow as his thumbs moved over his phone screen.
“Facebook? Twitter?” After a few more minutes, the deep lines on his forehead were joined by a frown.
He set his phone down on the table and rubbed his temples.
“How can a club in this day and age have no social media presence?”
Blake dried his hands on his underwear and offered a nonchalant shrug to disguise how relieved he was. Stumbling across some random social media post tagging Blake as @DirkSlocum would be the absolute worst way for Ethan to find out about his porn career.
Of course, he was going to explain everything to Ethan – eventually. But they’d had such a beautiful night together. It seemed like the wrong time to talk about his experiences on the set of Workin’ Stiff.
Although Ethan had taken the news about his dancing really well, there was no way to predict how he’d react to hearing that cameramen regularly zoomed in on Blake’s butthole.
Once Ethan had visited the club and met the other guys, he would see that they were all regular people. Maybe if he got to know actual performers in the adult industry, it would clear up some of his misgivings.
That was a big maybe, though.
Blake knew he had to tell him soon. The longer he waited, the more likely it was Ethan would find out by accident. Blake was lucky this morning, but his luck would run out eventually.
Hoping to change the subject, Blake reached for the small statue of a werewolf near Ethan’s laptop. “What’s this?
“One of my hobbies.”
“Wow.” Blake studied the statue, turning it in his hand so that he could appreciate every detail. The fur on the face had been meticulously painted with shades of brown and grey, and the piercing eyes had sickly yellow irises. “You made this?” Blake asked with genuine awe.
“Not exactly. I didn’t cast it, but I painted him. Part of my collection.” Ethan pointed to his bookshelf where three other statues were on display: a vampire, a Frankenstein, and a character Blake didn’t recognize – a cross between a man and a fish.
“They’re so cool.”
“They go with my stories.”
Blake set down the figurine and turned it slowly to face Ethan, making a low rumbly growl. “What stories?” he intoned in the voice he’d created for the werewolf.
Ethan chuckled. “I write horror retellings. I take classic monster movies, and give them a modern twist with gay characters.”
“Why horror?”
“When I was little, if my dad was home on a weekend, we’d watch the Sunday afternoon Creature Feature. We saw all the classics together. We’d turn off the lights, and curl up on the couch with popcorn and soda. Afterwards, I’d always tell him I wasn’t scared. That I was brave.
“But once it got dark, I would jump at shadows, and convince myself that every sound was a monster coming to get me. When it was time to go to sleep, my dad would come to tuck me in. Without saying a word, he’d check the closet, under the bed, behind the door, and inside my toy box.
Then he’d kiss my forehead, and say, ‘Sleep well, my brave boy.’ It gave me a lifelong love of horror. ”
“That’s cool. Your dad must like your stories.”
With a wistful sigh, Ethan said, “I’m not sure he knows why I chose to write horror. He thinks it’s lowbrow. Clearly, those afternoons made more of an impact on me than him.”
“Do you want to publish your books?”
“Someday. Right now, I’m doing it more for me.”
Ethan hopped up and crossed the room to his bookshelf. After waggling his fingers over a line of thin, black three-ring binders, he selected one and brought it over to Blake.
“This is my modern take on Frankenstein. It’s about an aging gay man in West Hollywood, who’s obsessed with youth. He wants to create the perfect man so…” Ethan flashed a smile. “So he harvests parts from beautiful men and sews them together to create his ideal sexual plaything.”
Blake raised his eyebrows. He had a hard time believing a story like that lived inside sweet, innocent Ethan.
Fascinated, he paged through the manuscript.
The blocks of neatly typed text were intimidating, but he wasn’t going to chicken out.
He wanted to experience this world his boyfriend had created.
“Can I read it?”
Ethan bit his thumbnail. “Um… sure. No one has ever read my work, not even Zane. So, you know, go easy on me.”
“I’m sure it’s amazing. I’ll let you know what I think.” Blake closed the binder and laughed self-consciously. “I have to warn you, though, I’m a very slow reader.”
Ethan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Can I ask a personal question? Have you ever been evaluated for dyslexia?”
“I’m not dyslexic. I don’t see the letters backwards.”
“There are different types of dyslexia. What’s it like when you try to read?”
Blake bristled, suppressing his impulse to shout, “Try to read? I can read.” But reading wasn’t easy for him, and he hated admitting how much he struggled with it.
“The words get blurry and I lose my place,” Blake said, staring at his clasped hands.
“Sometimes, like with the chalkboard at the diner, I can’t see the letters clearly and mix them up.
Sometimes reading gives me a headache. You really think I might have dyslexia? ”
“Maybe. My cousin Kyle is dyslexic. I see a lot of similarities between you two. It wouldn’t hurt to be evaluated.”
Blake had no idea what that would entail, but he might not have to face it alone. “Will you come with me?”
“Absolutely. We’ll make an appointment this week.
” Ethan glanced at the clock near his door.
“Shit, I gotta head out or I’ll be late for work.
” He gulped his coffee and pulled on his light blue hoodie.
“Sometime today can you talk to Virgil and set up a time for us to visit the club? I’ll need to examine the physical plant and chat with Virgil about operations.
It can be in the morning before the club opens. ”
“Okay, sure. I’ll set something up.”
“Thanks, babe.” Ethan leaned down and kissed Blake goodbye.
The new pet name, and the comforting press of Ethan’s lips, made Blake warm and gooey inside.
“Feel free to take a shower before brunch if you want. See you in a couple hours.”
As soon as the front door closed behind Ethan, Creamsicle emerged from under the bed, his paws clawing the floor in slow motion like the ghost from a Japanese horror movie. He stalked toward Blake, his tail tracing sinuous shapes in the air.
“Hi buddy,” Blake said, steeling himself for an attack.
But when the cat walked by, he dragged his cheek along Blake’s calf, letting out another of his grating purrs.