28. Alexei
28
ALEXEI
I ’m all spaced out and blissed out and smiling into my morning bran cereal when my dad comes downstairs with a cringe expression on his handsome face. He wasn’t home when we tried sex for the first time, but I can’t promise we were quiet during the night when Gage woke me up with a slow handjob, and I rewarded him with my mouth on his cock. He might have even heard the chat we had about his hesitation and inability to trust himself yet. God, I loved that chat! As soon as I sensed a bit of fear from him, I knew it was time to stop, to let him process, to have the talk about it because we’re great at talking.
That chat turned into a chat about condoms. I used one, but Gage bashfully wrote in his journal that he has a clear bill of health and had been tested, and then he wrote the word ‘condom’ with a question mark beside it. I crossed it out, telling him through the journal that I trust him not to use one if we try again. And now I’m daydreaming about being inside him bare. Eventually. Someday. Not today. We decided fantasizing about all of it is perfectly healthy, even if we don’t plan to do any of it yet. I’m so proud of him! So proud of how last night went.
So, to distract my dad from commenting on it, I nod to the wrapped box on the island.
“For me?” he asks, and I nod. “Where’s Gage?”
“Coffee shop. Had to work.”
Dad grunts. “Did he get his meds?”
“I gave them to him, yeah. Open it.”
Dad looks uncertain, but he unties the ribbon and opens the box. Pulling out his new mug, he tries really hard not to let his emotions show, but I’m a goddamn detective and see them all anyway. I was going to give him the one that said, ‘ world’s best shitty dad, ’ but you know what? He’s not the world’s best shitty dad. He’s not a shitty dad at all anymore, and it’s about time I tell him that.
He clears his throat, wanting to read what it says but unable to. Instead, he turns it towards me, and I smile at the inscription. ‘Dad. Superpower: fucking being there.’
“Are we gonna get awkward?” I ask him. “Because I don’t normally feel awkward in typically awkward scenarios,” I remind him.
“Thank you,” Dad says, voice hoarse. “This is… I don’t even… thank you, Alex.”
I smile at him and get up to rinse my bowl out. “You’ve proven time and time again that you’re always there for me. Thanks. For coming so far and working so hard, and never giving up. It’s not unnoticed.” I lean against my dad, not hugging him with my arms but with my body. He’s awkward, so he hugs me back and does a weird back-pat thing, but it only makes me smile more. “And thanks for everything you did with Brian and Becky.”
He nods, clearing his throat again. “Gage, uh, left something for you, too. In my goddamn bedroom because he has no concept of boundaries. Just texted me with instructions and said it was on my dresser.” He grabs a tin can and a small box. The tin can says, ‘Soulmate Blend.’ Inside are tea bags that smell like ginger, fennel, and lemon. Mmm. On each tea bag is a string with a sticker on the end, every single one different.
My turn to choke! I slam the canister shut. “They say nice words!”
“What?” Dad asks, taking it from me and peeking. “Icy blue. Neurotic. Rambler. Blue with black. Secret codes. Instincts, with a winky face. Morse Code. No flirting tax. Attic bedrooms. Blunt blushing.” Dad looks up at me after reading a few. “What do they mean?”
They’re all the reasons Gage loves me. “They mean he really is my soulmate. I told you.”
Dad laughs, passing me the can again. “Open that one.”
“Did he chicken out of giving me these while he was here? It’s not like him to not want to watch my reaction.” I pull the box towards me.
“He just said to give them to you and to make sure you get romantically weird about them.” Dad shrugs. “Said you might need the privacy to feel your feelings.” He shrugs again.
Gage is so romantic. Dad watches over my shoulder as I open the box, finding the mug Gage designed for me.
‘ One hit is all it takes…’
“What?” Dad asks. “Some sort of drug humour? I don’t get it.”
I do. Because when I flip the mug over, I know exactly what kind of drug he’s referring to, and one hit is all it takes…
“Sober dope,” I tell my dad. “It means I make him feel good. That I’m his happy drug.”
Dad grumbles about not liking addict humour, and while I’d usually agree with him, this is different. This is Gage’s way of saying that he’s learned to be happier and healthier, and I’m a part of his journey. It’s his way of saying he doesn’t miss the high of his vices and has learned to enjoy the feeling of being sober and alive and with me. He had his high dope, his drunk dope, and now he’s declaring that he’s reached a level of comfort with his sober dope. Me.
“I love him,” I tell my dad. “Just so you know.”
Dad looks at me, and the smile on his face is the most gorgeous thing. He’s happy for me. “I’m glad you’re finally letting someone get to know how amazing you are, Alex. I’m happy for you. And proud. And here, if you need anything.”
“I know. That’s why I upgraded your mug.”
Back to awkwardness because Dad doesn’t know how to accept praise. I don’t care, though. I’m hugging a mug and sniffing soulmate tea, feeling so giddy and in love, drinking in this moment with my dad here.
I like to think of myself as a pretty stand-up guy. I do my taxes and abide by most rules. People generally like me because I’m superficial enough not to scare them off with my weird ways and lack of social protocol. I give people the benefit of the doubt, don’t cause unnecessary drama, and hardly ever offend anyone on purpose.
Right now, I’m a slinky, sneaky, narrow-eyed spy, and I don’t even care. Because that’s him! Paul. Gage’s ex-boyfriend who allegedly—maybe—wanted to keep my soulmate an addict just to feel important. I don’t like him one bit. I don’t like that he looks so much more buff than me, and I definitely don’t appreciate the way he dresses so smart. Like, what’s a guy need all those colours and buttons for? Who’s he trying to impress? It better not be Gage.
“Nope,” I tell Gage. “I’m putting my foot down. Denying you access. Demanding that you aren’t allowed to go in there.” I slurp a matcha tea frappé through a wide straw. “I don’t trust all that tan! Who wears tan with yellow? He’s obviously a serial killer.”
Gage laughs from the passenger seat of my car, dressed in jeans and a sweater to show that smartly dressed twat that he doesn’t give any fucks about fancy pants. “It’s a legal meeting. I have to go, but I kind of like it when you put your foot down. Do that more often. Especially while I’m naked.”
I turn my rapt attention on my boyfriend, narrowing my eyes at him. “You think I’m joking?”
“Oh, I know you’re not,” he says, trying to hide his smirk. “That’s your angry, serious face.”
“Yes, it is. So let it rule you.”
“One form. A banker and a lawyer. Then I’m done with him forever.” He takes my wet hand, slick with condensation from my cup. “Will you feel better if I take a dig at his outfit? I can make a real snarky comment about tan and yellow.”
“Please do.” Because blues with my blacks is what Gage is supposed to love. Not khaki and sunshine.
“I will,” he promises, laughing. “I’d invite you in, but it’s supposed to be a closed meeting.”
“Gage Rossum,” I say, turning in the seat to face him, “after this one and only time, there are no more closed doors in our soulmateship. If you need privacy, you tell me you’re going to be private, okay? I’ll give it to you if you tell me you need it, but I don’t want any secrets. I want openness. Vast, wide-open, glaringly obvious and sometimes intrusive openness. I should have mentioned that before you kissed me, because that’s what I expect with our level of intimacy.”
He’s not put off. He simply smiles, his brown eyes looking straight into mine. “We’ll take all the fucking doors off our house, complicated. Promise.”
Our house.
As Gage gets out to go settle his shit with the ex in tan and yellow, I sit in my car for an hour trying to envision our house with no doors. Where will we live? Eventually. Because I’m not totally crazy to want to live with him so soon, but since he’s basically my fated mate, it’ll happen sooner or later, and now I’m trying to picture the kind of house we’ll live in.
The stupid, falling-down mansion is all I can picture. How will I ever leave my workshop in the scary basement that doesn’t scare me so much anymore now that I’ve discovered it’s basically a troll’s den of antique treasure?
As I’m snacking on crispy seaweed, a voice memo from Gage comes through. I play it through the car speakers.
“Sorry. I need my sunglasses because of all the yellow.”
I grin, loving my sneaky boyfriend who never breaks a promise.
But, okay, let’s be serious for a quick sec. Because my website gig is starting to feel like a chore, and I don’t know what it means! Do I hate it?! Am I just distracted by making old things new? Am I a cave dweller who feels more comfortable in my basement lair? Why do I suddenly want to start a side business of restoring things? Like, I’m barely green at it, so it’s not like I’m qualified. But I must admit my fireplace grate turned out clutch, and now I’m working on an old set of matching light fixtures that have me all hot and bothered.
Dad thinks I should scale down my website business, not take any new clients, but keep working for the ones I have until I can get a foothold in the restoration business. And while I’m not usually an impulsive kind of guy, a Gage-influenced part of me wants to quit cold turkey and go all in on restoration.
I won’t. Simply because Gage would do it.
I’ll do it better. I’ll ease in. Get my feet wet. Ease out of websites. Smart. I’m so much smarter than Gage regarding impulse control, though he’s been pretty top-shelf at it lately, too. So proud of him.
Looking at the office building’s front door, I see them fly open and Gage runs out. Literally runs, kind of with a skip, beaming a massive smile at me. My windows are up, but he’s yelling something excitedly. When he grabs the door handle, he must miss, because he falls forward and faceplants against the passenger window. So clumsy.
“Did you hear it? Get it? My sunglasses comment?” He climbs in, ungracefully settling onto the seat. “It’s done. Over. I’m $250k richer! HA! It’s almost what I paid for the place years ago, but the appraisal says this is what he owes me, and here it is!” He waves around a folder of papers that I can’t see, but I’m smiling anyway because he’s taken on the neurotic rambler role today. Just more upbeat about it than I usually am. “Alexei!” Papers go flying when he irresponsibly tosses the folder into the backseat so he can smack my cheeks between his palms. “It’s over. Just us now.”
His smile is wide, showing his teeth that should be nicotine-stained but aren’t. Coffee-stained, too. Gah, he gets away with everything. “You look so handsome like this,” I tell him. “Happy and excited and clumsy. Do it more.”
“Yes, sir,” he says right before leaning in to smile-kiss my lips. “Hey, complicated?” he asks.
I get warm everywhere. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for everything. All of it. Being my weird friend and then my slow-moving boyfriend. Now my soulmate. Just, thanks, for meeting me.”
It was fate, but I nod against his forehead and press my lips to his. “You’re welcome.”
“Take me home, Alexei. My sex journal is lacking entries. We gotta experiment and get to the bottom of my trust issues with myself.”
Oh my god. I pull back, open my door, and walk around to his side. When I rip the door open, he looks at me with a ‘wtf’ face. “You can’t just drop that on me and expect me to drive. I’m not that coordinated. Switch.”
When Gage smiles and stands up, he speaks against my lips. “I love that I’m such a distraction.”
“It’s the journalling. Not you,” I lie.