Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
B efore I know it, it’s the end of the day, and time to finally meet Arran Wilson face-to-face. Despite the fact we’ve been talking for a couple of years now, and what with the weird parasocial relationship systems of social media kinda consider him a friend now and not just a writer I really admire, I’m still filled with a timorous sense of trepidation. I think Hank has more than a little to do with that.
“You’re meeting with Wilson today, right?” Hank asked as he abruptly appeared next to my desk earlier in the day.
“Uh, yeah, Mr. Wolowitz. I’m picking him up from JFK at around 8pm actually. Going to do a little guided welcome tour of the city, seeing as it’s his first time,” I forced a smile across my face, hoping it gave an impression of confidence that frankly was just not there.
Instead, Hank leaned in, placing a hand on my shoulder, his face near my ear. He was so close I felt the heat from his breath, and I swear the prickle of his stubbly beard too. “Please, Jesse. I told you. It’s Hank. We’re all friends now. You make sure he has a fantastic first night, kid. We got a lot riding on him officially signing on for the book.”
He straightened up, marching away from me, throwing another confidence-devastating remark over his shoulder to me. “Get him to sign the dotted line, Jesse. If not, you’ll definitely be back to calling me Mr Wolowitz.”
My throat worked hard as I watch him stalk away, his broad, thick shoulders making him look like an ominous slab of concrete in my path. As I finally let my eyes slide off him, I caught sight of Anna watching from her office, biting her lip. Her eyes met mine, and she returned her face to a blank, and gave me a curt nod.
That was hours ago, and now I find myself standing at Arrivals in JFK Airport, holding a makeshift sign with Arran’s name scrawled on it, like something out of a movie. I only enjoy the pop cultural reference for a moment, as my mind starts thinking about all the ways this could go wrong: what if I got the wrong flight? Maybe he’s been in the city for hours, lost and annoyed to be stood up by me? Or maybe I’m super early, and I’m going to be here for hours still.
I check my phone for the twentieth time, and see the clock reading back at me at 8:03pm. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to let go of all the weird, made up scenarios in my head.
I asked Cal if he’d want to join me, as he’s a big fan of Arran’s too, and figured he’d love it.
“That would be so frickin’ cool, Jess, but I’m picking up an extra shift at the cafe tonight, straight after the store closes. I need as much extra cash in hand as I can get to help me cover next weekend.”
Cal is one of the most hard-working people I know. I struggle with the internship and a bar job, but he’s out there working three jobs, as well as picking up the odd commission here and there. And yeah, spending time on his own writing too, more than I ever manage to anyway. I can’t help but feel a little shamed and intimidated by him sometimes.
The reminder that New York Comic Con is just next weekend too doesn’t help. I feel like there’s so much left to do to be ready for the show. Aside from general comic con prep work, I’m still checking over lettering placements on two issues that are due to hit the printer early next week, and obviously there’s the exhibiting part of my weekend too in Artists Alley with Cal.
Not to mention making sure Arran Wilson agrees to be part of the Excelsior Pride issue, my main job if Hank’s pressure is to be believed.
As if on cue, Arran finally passes through the large doorway from luggage pickup into the Arrivals area of JFK. I watch as he puts his phone away in his pocket, and looks around the large concourse, lugging a large lime green plastic suitcase beside him.
I wave and get his attention. As he waves back, he gives me a big smile and starts moving in my direction, and his eyes lower seeing the sign I’m holding.
“Oh my god, it’s like something out of Love Actually ,” he laughs.
“I know right, I always thought this was just something that happened in the movies.” I put out my hand for him, just as he motions in for a hug. We’re hugging already? I match his actions, but he matches mine, putting us in a role reversal as his hand goes out to meet mine, but my arms are thrown wide to accommodate his own broad shoulders.
We both laugh at our shared awkwardness. Trying again, I put my hand out to shake. “Hi, Arran. I’m Jesse. It’s so nice to finally meet you in person,” I give him a big smile.
“Hi Jesse, it’s an absolute pleasure,” he answers, taking my hand in his. But then he pulls me in close, my other hand holding the sign dropping to my side as my eyebrows shoot up to the top of my skull. He wraps me in a big bear hug. “Sorry, I’m a hugger these days, it seems. Thank you again for coming to meet me.”
Awkwardly, I try to return his hug, patently aware that I’m leaning in, my lower half pulled back away from him because, well, the unexpected contact has kind of caused a stir.
I don’t know if it’s just been that I’ve been too busy to handle things myself this week, or because Arran’s gym journey is clearly working as I feel his biceps flex against me from under his shirt, but it’s definitely having an effect of me that cannot possibly be described as ‘professional’. I tap his back and can’t help but take a breath while I’m wrapped up in his arms, head practically sinking into his hard shoulder, and am surprised to be greeted by a pleasant woody scent of musk and warmth.
He lets me go, and I stand there flushed. My hands drop to just in front of my crotch and I’m wildly thankful for my last minute hastily put together sign all of a sudden.
“Sorry, I must absolutely reek at the moment. That was the longest flight I have ever been on, and oh man I need a shower.” He laughs, and I can’t help but feel completely besotted by his accent. It doesn’t sound like any kind of English accent I’ve ever heard before. Sure, I think I miss the occasional word, but something about the lilt of it, the weird casualness of it, it’s really relaxing.
“Well, let’s get you to your hotel room and get you in the shower then!” I say, and then startle, “Uh, so you can get a shower, I mean. Not that I…and not that you are smelling bad, you actually really smell good actually.” Oh my god, Jesse, shut up!
Arran just laughs. “Okay, then, Jesse. Lead the way.”
“Here, let me take your bag,” I offer, holding out my hand.
“Ah, don’t be daft, it’s fine really. I got it,” oh my god, why does ‘don’t be daft’ sound so cute?
Why am I feeling this heat right now? Oh my god, this is so not professional at all. Eyes on the prize, Jesse! Get him to want to sign on the book on Monday, that’s what you’re here for.
Who knows what that could mean for you.
The ride from JFK into the city is surprisingly pleasant. Arran is looking around at everything with an almost childlike sense of wonder that is actually a little infectious. I’ve lived in the city for so long, that I guess I just take everything for granted.
We make small talk about his flight over, films he killed time with on the plane, and a little about comics. It doesn’t feel right to try and push work stuff right now, he’s just had a long flight, and I’m sure he’ll like nothing more than to feel refreshed. I’ll pin him down then.
My cheeks redden at my own thought, and I cross my legs. What the hell is going on with me?
“I got to say, I’m surprised I’m not absolutely hanging right now. Different time zone, awkward, uncomfortably long flight, you’d think I’d be on my arse by now, but I feel wide awake,” he grins, before looking back out the window as the streets and houses start turning into the lights and sounds of the city proper.
“I gotta say, I love your accent, Arran. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an English accent quite like it,” I’m literally hanging on his every word. Even the ones I don’t understand.
“Ha! That’s because it’s not English, it’s Welsh. Different country, still the UK though. But it would be like calling a Canadian accent American.”
“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” I am ruining this, I’m ruining it!
“Don’t be! I don’t expect Americans to be completely up to speed with the differences, I’ve met enough in my time that I’ve had to point out the distinction. Not like they teach you all the history and geography of Britain in school, anymore than we get taught…well, anything about America.” He nudges me with his shoulder, and it’s like it knocks the nerves right out of me. Though it replaces them with something else.
What the hell is up with me tonight?
We pull in to Penn Station, and make our way out from the subway to street level, emerging out of the Madison Square Garden exit as that’s nearest his hotel when I looked it up.
“Oh wow,” I hear Arran breath it out, under his breath, and turn to see him looking up at everything around him. The sun has almost completely set now, the sky turning a deep blue black, the lights of the city creating almost a bubble of lighter color surrounding the buildings. The closer to street level you get, the brighter it gets.
“It’s like it’s practically daylight, even now,” he says, looking back at me. “Sorry, I must look like a total tourist.”
“No, no don’t be. I mean, you are! It’s actually kinda adorable,” I playfully tap his shoulder, making him smile. “It’s nice actually. I haven’t looked at the city like that in, like, forever. It’s nice to remember I live in a pretty amazing place.”
“You really do. There’s nothing like this back home,” he tells me, and we start making our way to his hotel over in Midtown, just down the street from the Javits Center, which will be really handy for him next weekend.
We talk about the city, and I ask him about Wales, kind of feeling amazed that such a tiny place can have mountains and fields and beaches all in such close proximity to each other. I point out some key points as we go, giving him pieces of local color and advice too. “Avoid Times Square like the plague, man. Honestly, if you have to stop by and get a tourist snap, get there early, before it gets absolutely lousy with mascots.”
Despite the crowds, a mix of people leaving work or coming out for dinner or a show or whatever the start of their evening plans look like on a Friday night, we get to his hotel in about twenty to thirty minutes or so. I stand watching his bags as Arran checks in, which is done speedily, the clerk at the desk clearly being well prepped for the influx they’re going to be seeing over the coming week in the run up to the comic con.
Arran flings his shoulder bag back on, and grabs his suitcase handle. “Okay, I’m going to have a quick shower and change into something that actually looks good to be seen in, and then you can take me out on the town, eh?”
“Sure! Happy to! I’ll just wait down here,” I make to find a seat on one of the many colorful and stylish couches in the lobby. They look modern, to the point of looking more like art than practical seating. I half wonder if I’m even supposed to be using them.
“Ah, don’t be silly, I won’t be long. Come on up, and we’ll head out together.”
I blink. Did he just invite me up to his room?
“Uh, I mean, if you’re sure…”
“Sure, no worries. Like I say, I won’t be a minute. Besides, you follow my instagram, not like you haven’t seen my chest before,” he laughs, and I return his laugh awkwardly, aware of the heat rushing to both my face and elsewhere.
We ride up in the elevator, as I hold a forced grin on my face. I mean, I don’t want to upset him, and I need to get him to sign on the book…but I don’t want to think I had to do something like this to do it. Not that he isn’t actually kinda hot. Pun was right, Arran Wilson is kinda Daddy.
I guess he can sense my awkwardness. “Hey, Jesse, you okay? You seem kind of tense?”
Okay, I can’t hold it in, I have to let him know. “Yeah, I guess I am. I mean, look, I’m really happy to show you around, and you know, you are totally hot, like, I don’t usually skew older but whatever, and I really do want to get you to sign up for the book, but I don’t know if I can do this ?”
“‘This?’” he says, looking confused for a moment, before his eyes shoot so wide I can see the whites all around his irises. “Oh my god, no, no, sorry, I am not—that’s not what I’m doing, I swear.”
He waves his hands frantically, looking mortified, but then he pauses and just bursts out with laughter so hard he practically doubles over. “Oh my, you thought I was asking you up to—? Jesse, I’m flattered, but I am old enough to be your dad, mate! That’s not why I asked you up, I’m just generally not too bothered and thought it would be easier. I can have a bit of a blind spot to boundaries sometimes, it didn’t occur to me how it would look. And believe me, it took me a long time to get there , but perhaps I overshot and need to remember how things might be perceived a bit more.”
He wipes a tear from his eye, smiling, and then drops his hand on my shoulder. “Honestly, if you’re more comfortable in the lobby, wait for me there. I won’t be long,” the door slides open with a ding as we reach his floor. “And honestly, don’t stress - I’m signing on to Excelsior Pride no matter what. Far as I’m concerned, tonight is just one friend showing another friend around the big city. You done your job, mate. I’m in.”
“Really?” I say, meaning mainly the fact that he’s already happy to sign onto the book, but also a little of everything else. The elevator door goes to close, but Arran steps into the path, pulling his suitcase with him.
“Really. We’re all good.”
“Okay,” I breath a sigh of relief, feeling a ton of tension leave me all at once. I shake my head, a small laugh escaping. “You know what, I will join you and wait.”
We walk to his room and Arran uses his keycard to get us in. Inside, the lights come on, and it’s a nice, comfortable room. Not huge, but enough, a modest but elegant and modern design. There’s a large kingsize bed, and then a comfy looking couch backing onto the floor to ceiling windows, a desk lining the other wall and a 22” TV screen mounted on the wall above it, opposite the foot of the bed. Arran dumps his shoulder bag on the bed, then hauls his suitcase onto it too with a mild grunt, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing, visible even through his shirt. A patch of darker color shows where the sweat from travel and uncomfortable heat has been working on him.
He rummages around in the suitcase, pulling out a small toiletry bag and some clothes, before he nods at the couch.
“Take a load off, mate. I won’t be a minute now.” He smiles, then heads to the bathroom, back towards the front door.
As I hear the water come on in the other room, through the closed door, I pop the TV on for a minute, flicking through aimlessly. What an idiot I was being, of course Arran wasn’t trying to get me in bed within hours of meeting me. He probably has a boyfriend back home, or hell, a husband! I mean, he is really cute in person, his curly hair with not even a touch of grey yet, even if his hairline is showing signs of creeping back a bit, and those shoulders .
I hear the door open and realize I hadn’t heard the water go off, and then out pops Arran with a cloud of steam, tendrils of it clinging to his bare shoulders as he walks back into the room wearing nothing but a towel.
“Forgot my undies, almost ready, Jesse.” He says, turning back towards the bathroom and closing the door, underwear in hand.
I sit there, staring wide-eyed at where he just stood, casually crossing my legs again.