14. nathan
14
nathan
"So, what’s the plan?" Caleb claps his hands together as we step out of the pub and onto the sunlit street.
I insisted on paying for lunch. He’s been throwing money around since we teamed up, and while I appreciate the generosity, I don’t want him thinking I can’t handle myself. Even though... I haven’t exactly shown otherwise.
"Let’s check the performance areas. If she stopped for lunch like we did, she’ll probably hit a few more shows before heading inside."
"Good thinking. I think I heard people marching that way." He nods left, and I fall in step beside him.
But my mind drifts back to the conversation we had over burgers and beer.
I glance at Caleb moving ahead through the crowd. He’s so confident, easy, the kind of guy who’s always known who he is. I picture him in bed with someone. The way he might press their wrists down, control the pace—slow, hard, deliberate.
Fuck. What is wrong with me?
***
We reach a field by a park where a crowd’s gathered around a small stage. A drag comedy show’s underway. Laughter echoes through the open air.
I pull out my phone and check Sarah’s stories. She just posted.
"Look," I tilt my phone so Caleb can see. He leans in.
Sarah’s at someone’s house, posing in a mirror with two outfit options for tonight’s event. She added a poll. Yay or Nay?
So, she’s not here anymore.
"Okay, so this was a bust," Caleb mutters, sliding his sunglasses down and running a hand through his hair.
"At least we know she’s going out tonight," I offer, half-hearted.
"We don’t even know where."
"Maybe she’ll post later," I shrug.
Caleb side-eyes me. "You’re being weirdly optimistic." He smirks.
I roll my eyes. "We’ll find her. We’re obviously hot on her trail. Any moment now."
"You’re right."
I blink. "Wait, what did you just say?"
Caleb laughs, low and warm, and my stomach flips. I want to hear that laugh again.
"Nope. You only get one 'you’re right' a day. You’re officially cut off." He throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me with him into the crowd.
***
The show’s hilarious. At one point, a performer named Areola Grande, drags Caleb on stage and buries his face in their giant fake boobs. I caught it all on camera and I will be replaying that for him later. I lose it laughing, and Caleb’s still raving about it on our walk back to the hotel.
We decide to chill for a bit—get out of the sun, catch up on Brooklyn 99 , maybe nap before tonight. Sarah’s clearly off-grid for now.
Caleb convinces me to try something other than my usual chicken fingers. I settle on a Caesar wrap.
"That’s just chicken fingers in a tortilla, dude." He laughs.
Somehow, somewhere between yesterday and now, I stopped hating him so much. As much as I hate to admit it, the line’s getting blurry.
I keep side-eyeing him as we eat. He’s sitting on the floor, topless, biting into his burger like a wild animal. His shoulder blades shift with every bite, muscles tensing and relaxing. His dark hair falling around his face every time he goes in. He moves his hand up and threads his fingers through his hair, flipping his hair over to one side.
A wave of confusing, intense feelings crash over me. I’ve got to distract myself.
"What do you do for work?" I blurt out.
He pauses mid-bite. "I work for my dad."
"Ah, Edward. How’s Mr. Brown?" I lean back, trying to play it casual.
He shrugs. "Fine, I guess."
His tone doesn’t match his answer.
"Just fine? Could’ve fooled me with the way you toss money around." I laugh.
But Caleb doesn’t. His expression dims.
"The money’s great. The expectations... not so much."
Okay, got it. Touchy subject.
"So tell him that."
"It’s not that simple. Since Mom left him, I’m all he has. If I turn my back on the grand plan, I disappoint him…and that’s not something I can risk."
I shift closer, setting my plate down. My fingers sweep crumbs from my shorts, just something to do.
"He's your dad. He might be disappointed for a while, but he won’t stop loving you. That’s not how parents work. Not real ones."
Caleb gives me a soft smile. "It’s cute that you think you know my dad."
"Maybe I don’t. But I can’t picture him just... giving up on you. You’re his kid."
He nods, slowly. Then turns to fully face me.
"What about you? What do you do?"
I shrug my shoulders. "I work for a pretty high-performing investment group as an Administrative Assistant. Been there for about a year."
Caleb studies me. Like he’s trying to peel something back. I feel the nerves creeping up my spine. The truth gnawing at me and scratching my skin.
"Okay, I fucking hate it," I blurt out. I haven’t said that out loud and it feels like a whole weight just drops off my shoulders.
"Knew it. So, then why the hell are you there?"
"It pays well."
"You ever think of doing something with art? I remember your sketchbook."
I blink. "You do?"
"Of course. You were really good. I always thought you’d get into graphic design or something."
He props his arm on the couch beside my leg—so close. I feel his body heat. Or maybe it’s just my imagination.
“That’s actually…” I hesitate. I’ve never really admitted this before. “That’s actually what I’d love to do. I mean, one day.” I shrug.
“Can I see them?”
This takes me back. “What?”
“Can I see your sketches? You must’ve brought them here with you.” He says looking beside him on the ground. He spots my suitcase across the floor and makes his way to unzip it.
“Caleb, what the fuck–” I say jumping up. But by the time I scramble to him, I’m too late.
He’s already got my sketchbook, that I stupidly left on top of all my clothes, flipped open.
I sit on the floor behind him. My cheeks heat as he flips through the pages.
“You can’t just…” I nibble at my thumbnail. “You shouldn’t go through people’s things–”
“Nathaniel…this is…” he continues staring at my artwork. He zones in on a particular page, and I look over his shoulder to spot what’s got him so caught up.
My eyes widen. He’s staring at a sketch I made back in school. I knew I should’ve thrown it out. After everything but I just couldn’t.
You wouldn’t know it was of him if you just saw it. It’s a charcoal sketch of a young man, holding a microphone. He’s on stage, hair in his face, looking down like nothing matters but him and the stage. With blurred lines, and harsh lines, it’s a wonder if it was made with love or hate. Honestly, I could never tell.. After all, I created it after Prom.
Caleb swallows deeply, his fingers lightly grazing over the sharp lines drawn on the page. “Really…you’re incredible,” he mutters under his breath. “I always thought so.”
I’m not sure if he wanted me to hear that. But damn, it feels good that he does. He really was the only one I shared my art with.
“Let me know when you start selling these. I call dibs on this one.” He winks, holding up the page.
I roll my eyes. It’s all yours, I want to say. But, I don’t. Instead, I just look away. Waiting for this moment of vulnerability to pass. I feel too… close to him.
He clears his throat, clearly picking up on my energy. "So, keep going. Tell me why you’re choosing to stay, if you hate it so much."
I tug at a loose thread on my shorts.
"The work’s okay. Co-workers are decent. Like I said, the money helps."
"What about your boss?"
The heat in my chest climbs up my neck. Shit.
"Well, I work closely with the Executive Assistant, James. He's... a little touchy."
Caleb barks out a laugh. "Touchy? Are we talking creepy uncle touchy or weird-dad-joke touchy?"
"He keeps rubbing my shoulders. Caught him full-on checking out my ass at the copier the other day. I don’t know what to do." I groan, running my hand down my face.
Caleb’s smile falters. Something shifts in his expression.
"Is he not attractive?" he asks, quiet.
"I’m not gay." The words come out too fast. I immediately regret them.
"Okay, that’s fair. But also…how do you know?"
I narrow my eyes. “How does anyone know? You just know.” I can sense the lie between my teeth and it makes me feel squirmy. It’s like he can sense how unconfident I am in my answer.
"Yeah, I guess. But I mean, I know you only were with Sarah in high school, and by the sounds of it, you didn’t experiment much in college either.” Caleb nibbles on his bottom lip. “So, I guess what I’m wondering is if…you’ve ever been the slightest bit curious…"
His eyes search mine, and my heartbeat picks up.
"Well, no…I don’t know…did you?" I ask, voice tight.
"Did I what?" His smirk returns.
"Experiment with guys. Jesus, Caleb, do I have to spell everything out for you?"
My irritation rolls off him like water. He just looks... curious.
"No, but I’ve done something else."
His eyes gleam with something I can’t name. It makes me feel nervous and…excited?
"What was it?"
He leans a little closer, his voice low, steady.
"Do you trust me?"
His smile turns sly. Dangerous.
Oh god.