Chapter 10 Andrew #2
A knot of tension winds itself around Andrew’s chest, suffocating the little bit of calm he just cultivated staring at the sea.
The group chat he shares with his brothers has so many new messages it’s capped out notifications, yet the alerts never stop coming.
Part of him wishes he hadn’t stopped to get his phone before letting Nicki show him the house.
A sense of responsibility and guilt at making his family worry made him retrieve it from the car, but the prospect of having to engage in the group chat makes him mildly nauseated and utterly overwhelmed.
He can’t even imagine what they must be thinking right now.
They're probably going to be shocked. Incredulous, definitely. Will they believe someone like Nicki would ever date someone like Andrew? Will they think he’s lying?
Technically, he is lying, but the idea of being called on it, of knowing that they don’t believe someone like Nicki would date him brings up a lot of bad memories.
“Stop looking at that fucking thing,” Nicki gripes.
On cue, several new alerts pop up, most from Charlie. He doesn’t let himself read them, instead swiping away the notification. He can’t deal with them yet, and the guilt is as staggering as the uncertainty about what the hell he’s doing.
“Eyes on me, princess.”
Andrew’s eyes snap up from his phone to Nicki whose dark blue eyes and stern expression are fixed on Andrew. He looks kind of pissed off, but Andrew is learning that seems to be Nicki’s default expression if he’s not bored or sleeping.
“But—”
“No buts,” Nicki argues, grabbing the phone from Andrew’s hand and opening the car door. He tosses the phone on the driver’s seat before slamming the door and locking the car.
“What the hell, Nicki?”
“I’m going to give you a tour of the house.”
“And you can’t do that if I’m holding my phone.”
“Not if you won’t stop fucking frowning at it.”
“I wasn’t frowning at my phone,” Andrew lies automatically, sighing when Nicki arches a knowing eyebrow.
What’s the point in lying to Nicki? He apparently can tell when Andrew is, and really, he’s not someone Andrew needs to impress. They’re stuck together for better or worse until Nicki’s event.
“Fine, I was frowning. My brothers are dramatic and nosy and—they’re not going to believe you’re dating me.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“I think you know why.”
“No, I don’t. Stop thinking about them.”
“As if it’s that easy,” Andrew mutters, eying his phone on the seat. He can see it light up with an incoming call. He stares at it, debating telling Nicki to unlock the door when Nicki’s voice—deep and gravely—washes over him.
“Remember what I said. Eyes on me, princess,” Nicki says, grabbing Andrew’s jaw and tilting his face up. This kind of touch should be uncomfortable, unwanted, yet something in Andrew stutters in confusion because while the act might be aggressive, the way he grips Andrew’s jaw is anything but.
“You are a brute,” Andrew huffs, swatting at Nicki’s hand.
“That’s right. No pretenses here. I know who I am, do you?”
Andrew says nothing, but the answer is loud all the same as Nicki lowers his hand from Andrew’s jaw. For reasons unknown, Andrew keeps his face tipped up towards Nicki.
“Let’s get you inside so you can pick a room. Whatever they want can wait.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Nicki all but growls.
Andrew could argue. If it were anyone else, he would. But does he really want to? Maybe just this once he can let Nicki be in charge, do whatever Nicki wants. Maybe for a little while he can let the rest of the world exist without him.
“Follow me,” Nicki demands, not waiting for an answer before resting a hand at the base of Andrew’s spine and gently pushing him towards the house.
“You this grabby with all your boyfriends or girlfriends?” Andrew asks.
“Sure,” Nicki answers with a shrug.
His indifference is so very Nicki and also expected.
Of course this is just how Nicki would be with anyone he’s seeing.
Nothing about Andrew is special or the cause of this behavior.
Even if their relationship isn’t real, Nicki is bound to naturally revert to his default relationship behavior, which means Andrew shouldn’t read too much into it.
Why that hurts, he’s not sure. He knew what he was getting into when this all started.
Despite the sting, Andrew can acknowledge this is for the best. While it’s a little painful to know it’s nothing about Andrew causing this behavior, it’s a needed reminder of where the lines lay.
Nicki has been nothing but honest with him, both about Andrew not being his type and about what he wants and needs from this fake relationship.
Nicki is using Andrew, with permission at least. There’s no reason Andrew can’t do the same.
They’re not actually together, it’s not like Andrew even wants to date Nicki, but his bearish ways are growing on Andrew.
He’s oddly easy to be around now that Andrew knows him better.
He says what he means and what he wants, and he’s not expecting Andrew to be anything he’s not.
Knowing Nicki doesn’t want Andrew for real stings, but it soothes too. There are no illusions on either side here. He doesn’t need to try and impress Nicki or worry he’s going to get sick of him. There's an expiration date on this already, and Andrew being himself won’t change that.
He doesn’t have to worry about Nicki suddenly deciding Andrew is his type. There’s nothing Andrew can do to make Nicki like him more or less, which is freeing in a way Andrew isn’t used to.
“Are you ready to pick a room?”
Were it anyone else asking, Andrew would say yes, solely because it’s the polite thing to do. But with Nicki maybe he doesn’t need to be polite. Maybe he can just—be.
“No.”
Nicki arches an eyebrow. “No? We arguing about this again, princess?”
Andrew shakes his head, unsure when that nickname went from grating to affirming. He’s not the boss around Nicki. Not a King. Just a princess. One that apparently smashes rage rooms and hides from his brothers and demands what he wants.
He won’t get this again. He knows he won’t. Might as well enjoy it while he can.
“That would imply anything you said could sway me, and it won’t.” Andrew toes off his shoes in the grass, eyes drawn to the top of the staircase at the edge of the property.
“What are you doing?” Nicki asks.
“I’m going to the beach.” Andrew bends down, rolling his pants up as far as they’ll go. Admittedly, that isn’t very far given their slim tailoring, but he manages to get them a few inches above his ankle bone before he takes off, the sound of Nicki trailing behind him making him smile.
The closer he gets to the sea, the less everything seems to matter. Somewhere between his bare feet hitting the sand and the frigid water lapping at his ankles, everything falls away.
Hovering a few feet away in his designer jeans and shoes, Nicki looks entirely out of place, and Andrew suddenly wants to change that.
“Take it off.”
“You’ll have to be more specific, princess. Unless you wanted a full show.”
“Shoes, Nicki.” Andrew rolls his eyes. “Though I’m sure it pains you to hear not everyone wants you naked.”
“One day you’ll beg to see me naked.”
“I very much doubt that,” Andrew replies, wiggling his toes in the sand.
His feet sink slightly as the wet sand molds to his weight.
Later, once he’s done, the sensation of wet to dry sand is going to make him deeply unhappy, but right now his brain is firmly in beach mode, and he’s going to stay here as long as he can, ignoring his real world responsibilities in favor of playing fantasy life with his famous and rich fake boyfriend.
“These fucking shoes were expensive.”
“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be getting them wet. Take them off, now.”
“Bossy,” Nicki grumbles, but that’s the only argument Andrew gets before Nicki’s shoes and socks are left in the dry sand. He moves beside Andrew, letting the water swirl around his jean clad ankles in a way that Andrew could never. He hates the way wet clothes feel against his skin.
“How do you handle conflict resolution?” Nicki unexpectedly questions.
Another question off his comparability quiz. How many times did he read it to memorize it?
“Argue until the other person realizes they’re wrong.”
Nicki laughs, the sound low and guttural and as soothing as the crashing waves. “What if you’re the one who’s wrong?”
“I’m never wrong,” Andrew replies.
“Un-fucking-likely.”
“Nicki.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m never wrong.”
“I didn’t know you were so cocky.”
“Not cocky. Autistic pattern recognition and a deep need to anticipate social and emotional outcomes to prepare for all possible outcomes.”
Nicki’s quiet and far more attentive than Andrew anticipated.
“And if you were wrong about something—or someone.”
“I’m not.”
“But if you were,” Nicki pushes.
“Then I’d admit I didn’t have all the information and reassess the situation.
I don’t refuse to be wrong, I just never am, and trust me, it’s not fun.
It’s exhausting being right all the time, knowing what’s going to happen before it does because you recognize the signs and people’s behavior.
People don’t really like a know-it-all.”
“People are fucking stupid,” Nicki replies.
“You didn’t like me when we first met.”
“Again, I’m fucking stupid.”
“Does that mean you like me now?” Andrew asks.
“I thought you knew everything.”
“About other people, sure, but about me—not so much. Someone told me once I was being purposely obtuse, but it’s hard to explain to other people how I can notice everything and nothing all at once.
When it’s for other people—for my brothers—I know what’s going on and what they need, but when it comes to myself, there’s a blind spot. ”
“And what about me? Where do I fit into all of this?”
“I’m still assessing the situation.”
“Thought you had my number, princess.”
“I do. You’re a rich, famous, entitled, difficult, pain in the ass asshole.”