Chapter 4 Andrew
Not the type I’d fuck or date.
With a sigh, Andrew steps beneath the spray of the shower, letting it pound down on top of his head.
It’s fine, not like he’s going to relive hearing that sentence for the foreseeable future.
He can just add it to the mental list of things people have said to him over the last decade or so that live in his subconscious, making their permanent residency in his brain known at the most inconvenient of times.
How do you even date if you’re ace?
It’s not fair to me to have needs you won’t fulfill.
You can’t keep anyone satisfied.
You have too many rules, Andrew.
You’re very difficult.
If I’d known what it was going to be like going on a date with you, I would’ve asked your brother out instead of you.
Tipping forward, Andrew thunks his head against the tiled shower wall, reaching up to adjust the shower head so it continues to rain down scalding hot water over his scalp.
Maybe if he stays here long enough, his physical form will cease to exist. Maybe he can cease to exist. Not that Andrew wants to die, far from it, just sometimes being a person feels like too much work.
Sometimes, he wants to be washed away down the drain or swept away with the tide, to just float into nothingness for a while, where no one needs or expects anything from him.
Exhaustion makes his limbs heavy. Andrew blames the urge to cry on that sensation.
Hunching in on himself, he squeezes his eyes shut as water beats down on his body.
Tonight was hard. The kind of hard he hasn’t had to deal with for years.
The kind that required the heavy masking Andrew endured for years in college.
After Denise convinced him to return to the house, he put on a front, pretending things were fine and that he wasn’t sick to his stomach looking Nicholas Whitmore in the eyes and pretending he wasn’t affected by his harsh words and even harsher demeanor.
At this point in his life, Andrew should be used to pretending but some words—Nicholas’s words—hit deeper than others. Hell, Nicholas’s words didn’t just hit deep, they dug up old wounds Andrew has been burying for years.
He’s an asshole, but he has his reasons.
That’s what Denise said when she came to get Andrew out of his car tonight.
It took him longer than he wants to admit to build himself up enough to return to the inside of the house, to pretend that going head to head with someone like Nicholas didn’t make his insides quiver.
Luckily for Andrew, a lifetime of dealing with his brothers’ shit and a society that finds fault in both his sexuality and brain type means Andrew is well-versed at putting on a mask—on pretending to be who everyone needs him to be.
Last night, Amanda and Denise needed him, which is the only thing that got him through the door to tell Nicholas that yes, he would be his fake boyfriend.
Even after an agonizingly long dinner that was both awkward and tedious, he still doesn’t understand why Nicholas needs a fake boyfriend when he can, and has, had anyone he wants.
He asked Amanda over dinner. She insisted it was Nicholas’s story to tell, but Nicholas alternated between being rude or silent and refusing to answer the question as if he thought Andrew might get bored of asking or forget.
Well jokes on him if he thinks he’s going to get out of this one because Andrew wants answers.
Later. Tonight all Andrew wants is to pull on a pair of clean pajamas and burrow into his bed and hide from the world for a little while.
Grabbing the soap from the wall he squirts some on his loofa, scrubbing every inch of his body then standing under the spray watching soap bubbles run down the drain.
Part of Andrew can’t believe Amanda and Denise dragged him into this, that they’d ask him to do something like this with someone like Nicholas.
The other part of him is relieved, proud—grateful to have friends who know they can rely on Andrew for anything.
Even the things that make Andrew uncomfortable.
Still wildly out of sorts, but soothed by how warm and clean his skin feels, Andrew steps out of the shower and dries himself, choosing his favorite pair of pajamas and one of the new pairs of socks he keeps in his drawers for occasions like this where his mental unease can only be soothed by the particular compression that comes from a brand new pair of socks.
Clean, clothed and ready for bed, Andrew flips off his bedroom lights, turns on his white noise machine—setting the volume to loud, so he can pretend he lives close enough to the ocean to hear real waves crashing—and burrows beneath his mounds of blankets.
He pulls them all the way up to his chin and around his head so only his face peeks out.
Safely cocooned in clean sheets with clean pajamas and a clean body, Andrew closes his eyes.
Tomorrow everything will be easier.
Tomorrow Andrew can pretend again.
* * *
Sitting in his car with the engine running and the air conditioner on high to combat the anxious flush in his cheeks, Andrew triple checks the agreement he drew up.
It’s not an official contract since he doesn’t plan to have it notarized and as such didn’t want to waste time or monetary resources reaching out to a lawyer.
Well, that and Andrew isn’t sure he could’ve handled uttering the words fake dating contract to another living soul out loud without needing to drive himself off a cliff.
It’s bad enough he’s continually being reminded he’s the oldest sibling and the only single one.
He doesn’t need anyone else knowing the only way he can get a partner is when someone is so desperate for a fake boyfriend he’s their only option.
Andrew King has pride, thank you very much.
Pride that had him using his research abilities to find out what he didn’t already know.
Luckily, having two lawyers as parents has left Andrew with enough knowledge to have a basic grasp of California contract law.
Even a verbal agreement would be considered binding, but Andrew prefers things to be written out to avoid any potential miscommunication.
It’s why he spent the last few nights working on what he thinks is a pretty solid contract—laying out his own expectations and needs while being just vague enough to leave interpretation for Nicholas.
It would’ve been easier if Nicholas had replied to his email, or any of his text messages, but since he didn’t, Andrew was left to come up with the structure himself.
The only thing he isn’t sure about is what kind of timeline Nicholas is thinking. He hopes to figure that out tonight.
That is, if Nicholas even shows up for dinner.
Andrew made sure to check the game schedule to ensure Nicholas is free, then sent the reservation confirmation to Nicholas’s e-mail, phone and to Amanda just to be sure he got it.
The only person to reply so far has been Amanda who assured Andrew this morning that Nicholas will come.
Andrew doesn't trust Nicholas not to stand him up, but he does trust Amanda.
Somehow that trust doesn’t actually make his nerves abate.
Tonight might be a casual dinner to establish the parameters of their agreement before finalizing it, not even part of their fake dating yet, but Andrew hasn’t been to dinner with a man since his last failed blind date, and his brain seems determined to relive every single second of that in minute detail.
It’s not like Andrew has horrible self-esteem.
He’s a fairly good-looking man, he has an impeccable self-care routine, and while he’s not super fit, he likes to swim in his complex’s pool or the ocean a few times a week, meaning he’s in decent enough shape even if his squishiest parts don’t look like it.
Beyond his looks, he’s organized, efficient, able to work well under pressure and—he’s thinking about himself in terms of a resume listing.
This is exactly why people don’t want to date him.
Rather than make him more anxious, this settles some of Andrew’s nerves.
He doesn’t need to pretend around Nicholas, at least no more than he does with most people.
Nicholas doesn’t want to date him or get into his pants.
Judging by the disaster dinner with Amanda and Denise, he’s not sure Nicholas even wants to be friends, meaning Andrew doesn’t have to impress him or be perfect.
He can just be himself. Particular. Bossy. Boring. The idea is novel.
The only person he’s ever truly himself around is Charlie, and even that has limitations, his desire to be the kind of steady presence Charlie needs sometimes leads Andrew to isolate and retreat during his messiest moments.
He’s not sure he wants Nicholas to see those, but it probably won’t matter if he finds Andrew particular or difficult because he already doesn’t want anything from Andrew.
Most days Andrew lives in crippling fear of disappointing someone—from his brothers to his boss to random strangers on the street who ask him for directions. It’s utterly exhausting to think about what everyone else needs.
Nicholas Whitmore has no interest in Andrew, sexually, romantically, or platonically. For days, this fact has made Andrew morose and melancholy when he should have been overjoyed. The stress of any potential rejection is now off the table.
He can be himself with someone who can’t break up with him, at least not until their agreed upon time. Nicholas isn’t the one with all the power here. Nicholas needs him, not the other way around.