Chapter Sixteen
Liam
"I THINK I changed my mind," I joke, staring at twenty square feet of flashy purple that clearly don’t belong. Although if I'm being honest, it's the purple that stares at me, and it's just…unsettling.
"Is that so?" Xander throws over his shoulder as he unlocks the door at the end of the hallway on the second floor of a small apartment building on the outskirts of the city. I refrained from making a comment when Xander gave the cab driver his address. I knew the area—filled with forests of same-looking buildings, too-small playgrounds and decent enough schools, with rent prices sitting perfectly between Bitch, nobody can afford that and The nearest town is five hours away. It just didn’t feel like Xander, his vibrant and chaotic self seemingly out of place among yards and yards of same-looking doors separating same-feeling lives.
That is until we reached the end of the hallway where Xander has just unlocked the door to his place.
Because Xander's door is purple. "Oh, well.
My bed's too small for both of us, anyway," and before I can respond, he cracks the door open, sneaks inside and shuts it in front of my face.
I try not to smile too much at his antics, as I'm sure he's watching through the peephole, and knock. I don’t hear any footsteps, and it's getting hard not to laugh as I picture Xander on the other side, checking the clock, waiting till a fashionable number of seconds passes, whatever counts as fashionable in this particular scenario.
I glance down to the doormat that reads, Shoo. Haven't had my coffee yet.
"Who is it?" he finally chirps from two feet away.
"A barista."
When the door swings open a second later, I'm met with a warm grin. "Finally."
The second my eyes land on Xander, I'm locked in.
My day fades into nothingness as I take him in, one forearm propped against the doorframe, his other hand resting on his hip.
The graphite suit jacket is now gone, and he skipped two top buttons of his dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up, the cool shade of white contrasting with the golden hue of his skin.
He opens the door wider and steps to the side to let me in.
Unnecessarily. I want him on my route. I need him there.
Sucking in my lower lip, I step inside, my eyes locked on Xander's. God, he looks edible as he slowly, so painfully slowly, takes a step back, and then another, his lips slightly parted, curled into a calculated smile, letting me chase him, pursue him in this slow motion race of—
"Shit, sorry," I mutter when my foot hits something, effectively killing the mood. I glance down to where I just kicked a green bean bag chair. My gaze bounces to an unusually low table. Scattered on the floor around it are several large, round pillows, each a different shade of red.
I blink, take a proper look around and—
"Holy hell. How'd you do that?"
"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents," Xander says while I'm busy doing a three-sixty, taking in my surroundings, my mouth hanging open.
From the neatly placed area rugs, to the abundance of small lamps, to the entire collection of fancy-shaped pillows on the bed, everything in Xander's small studio seems to be curated like it's been competing for the Architectural Digest award, the mixture of intense colors somehow easy on the eye, one item complimenting the next.
"May I?" I ask, and begin my tour without waiting for the answer.
I round the giant green bean bag and head left, where a small but neatly kept kitchenette is filled with fancy, yet unused-looking supplies.
The area is separated from the living space with a love seat, followed by the low table with three large candles in the middle, the large pillows, and the bean bag.
"You done?" Xander asks from somewhere behind my back as I walk past a queen bed, shoved against the wall opposite to the kitchenette, amusement shining through his voice.
"Hardly," I say and I force my eyes off the inviting-looking mattress. "Why? Worried what I might find?"
"Please," Xander strolls to his bed, and plops on the mattress, pillows bouncing up and. "I've no secrets."
He props his palms on the mattress behind him, leaning back, exposing more of his neck that pokes out of his shirt, the burgundy lampshade on his bedside table making his skin appear ever warmer than usual.
I lick my bottom lip before I remember I'm on a tour.
"Everyone has secrets," I say as I give him one last look and turn to—
I halt mid-step when my gaze stops at a wooden desk in a shadowy corner of the room.
Speaking of secrets…
The chair by the desk is a big one, resembling an armchair more than it does an office chair.
There's a laptop crammed in the corner of the desk top, and right in the middle, as well as on either side, there are cameras sitting on tripods, surrounded by ring lights, and there's an additional fancy-looking, although miniature studio lamp in another corner.
I look back at Xander, then the desk, then Xander again. "Xander? Do you do porn for a living?"
His eyes widen just for a fraction of a second before he schools his features, but I don't miss it.
He then traps his lower lip between his teeth and leans back even further until he's almost lying down on his back.
"Well, no, but now that you mention it… You think I'd be any good?
" He rolls onto his stomach, and I do my best not to let his ass, which he bends on purpose, distract me.
I fold my arms and cock my head to the side.
Xander rolls his eyes and sits back up. "No, I don't do porn. I do Tarot readings."
Both my brows shoot up. "You what now?"
"Hey!" He acts hurt. "Don't poke fun at my job."
I raise my palms in a placating gesture.
"I wouldn't dream of it. It's just…" I turn my attention to the desk again, and only now do I notice the many, many half-burned candles scattered across the desk top and about a dozen stacks of cards, all different sizes, lined up near one edge.
"I think I need more explanation than that. "
Xander sighs like it's an unreasonable request, gets up, and walks up to the desk. He grabs two stacks and then turns to face me, propping one hip against the edge of the desk. "Fine. What do you wanna know?"
"Gee, I don't even know where to start." I look around the desk. "Why the cameras?"
"So that people can see me?" He says, and all that's missing is 'duh'.
"See you? See you how? Also, what people?"
"Just people," he says, and after I shoot him a puzzled look, he adds, "On YouTube and stuff."
"On You—" I bite my tongue and wipe my palm across my face to physically stop my grin, because as amusing as I find it, I don't want to be a dick. "I'm sorry. I just never realized fortune tellers moved shop online." So much for not being a dick.
Xander huffs at me for real now. "It's not fortune telling. Come." He grabs a few more items from the desk and walks back to the bed. "You look like you could use some guidance."
Fortunately, Xander doesn't look at me and can't see me fighting a smirk as he, with the utmost focus on his face tosses his knickknacks on the bed, plops down himself, grabs a lighter and what looks like a very slim piece of wood and burns up the tip.
A tiny flame appears for just a second before it dies down, causing the tip to emit a thin string of smoke.
He waves the wood in front of him, next to him and above his head, looking positively crazy.
After he deems his smoke work satisfactory, he puts the slim stick into what I can only assume is a custom…
slim stick holder, takes one deck of cards out of its box and starts shuffling. "Coming, or what?"
Oh, I'm coming, alright. Whatever this is, it looks too hilarious to miss.
Xander puts down the cards as I walk over, and lights up a couple of candles, which I now realize he must be spending a small fortune on.
By the time I'm seated, cross-legged and across from Xander, he's resumed his shuffling.
His eyes are closed and his breaths come slow, deep and deliberate, like he's calming himself down before giving a presentation, creating an image so out of place, yet so oddly fascinating I can't stop myself from scooting closer and taking a better look.
My knee grazes Xander's as I do just that, and his eyes immediately fly open.
"Uh-huh," he says as he jerks his knee away and grabs the smoky stick, waving it frantically in the air between us. "Don't fuck with my energy."
There's no way for me to conceal my chuckle this time, and when Xander gives me a very stern, very serious look, I lose it.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," I say between chuckles, Xander's death stare doing nothing to calm my giddiness.
"It all looks very… professional, and stuff.
But…" I pause to figure out if there's a non-asshole way to ask, but decide there isn't. "You don't actually believe it, do you? "
Xander's eyes narrow, but he resumes shuffling. "Believe what?"
"I don't know. All this." I wave my hand above the assortment of all the weird stuff around us. "That you can read something in those cards. That you can predict the future or something."
To my surprise, Xander doesn't seem taken aback. Instead, he says very matter-of-factly, "I told you, I'm not a fortune teller. I can't see the future, mine or anyone else's. Or the past, or the present, for that matter. Neither can the cards."
I'd be lying if I said I'm not relieved. "Okay. What's all this, then? Why do it?"