Chapter 12 - Deacon
DEACON
While I don’t feel comfortable going into Evan’s bedroom to check and make sure he and I are really okay, after everything that happened tonight, I feel obligated as his roommate to touch base with him.
But I’m not in any hurry to do it. I’m cleaning the kitchen slowly—cabinets and all—when he comes out to give Apollo his last walk of the evening.
I don’t say anything as he’s leaving with the dog, and he doesn’t do any more than glance at me.
Something like one minute after he leaves, there’s a knock on the door.
I grip the counter, hanging my head. I don’t think I can handle Millie right now. But I don’t want Evan to have to deal with her again tonight, either.
I crack open the door, but make it clear I’m not planning to invite her in. “Hey.”
“Is Evan here?”
“He’s…not.”
She peeks past me. “Is Apollo? I’d like to take some pictures of him.”
I shake my head. “Is Manon not okay?”
“She’s pregnant.”
“But is she sick? She’s doing okay, right?”
“This is hard on her little body, Deacon. She’s not even a year old, and she’s got who knows how many giant puppies in her belly. Her nipples are the size of quarters, and she has to pee every thirty minutes. I had to buy puppy pads. Do you know how much a dog C-section costs?”
“Why does she have to have a C-section?”
“Because that’s how French Bulldogs give birth.”
“Even if they’re not having more French Bulldogs?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I thought it was because they have big heads.”
“And narrow hips. Apollo has a huge head.”
“He’s two years old,” I say. “I’m kinda with Evan here. I don’t see how Apollo could have done it.”
She sighs, exasperated. “Can I come in?”
“No. I’m expecting someone soon.”
She looks at me like I just told her I impregnated Manon. “What? Who?”
“A guy.”
All true. I am expecting Evan to come back eventually.
“Like a date?”
I don’t say anything.
“Are you gay?”
I nod, not sure anyone’s ever asked so bluntly.
“Oh.” This doesn’t seem to bother her. “I love that. But tell Evan it’s forty-five hundred for a scheduled C-section. And eight hundred for a neuter. I asked.”
“Okay.” Message received, but I might hold onto that for now until I know how Evan is doing with all the other bad news he got tonight.
In a rare show of social appropriateness, Millie says good night and goes back across the hall to her apartment.
Evan seems like he’s going to ignore me again when he gets home, but I step between him and the bedroom hallway. Apollo keeps going like I’m not even there, but Evan stops and looks up at me.
I go through his facial tells trying to match them with a corresponding emotion.
He would probably tell me if he’d run into Millie—she’s the topic of most of our conversations, but I don’t think he did.
I would have heard them. He’s not smiling.
No smile doesn’t always mean anything. Most people don’t smile all the time.
He’s got a blank expression. Might be expectation.
Might be boredom. Might be hiding something. Not my favorite.
Intense stare. Bright, bright blue eyes open enough to see the outline of his irises. I don’t know what that means, but it’s almost like he’s trying to push a thought into my head. “Is there anything else you want to talk about tonight?” I ask.
The blankness disappears, morphing into something entirely different.
Same stare, but lines form between his brows and his lips part.
Confusion? I’d rather not guess. I get it wrong more often than I get it right when I try to guess, but in this case, it’s worth a try.
In an attempt to alleviate what might be a lack of clarity in my question, I say, “I only ask because I feel like I did everything wrong at dinner.”
“You didn’t,” Evan says. “You were honest.”
“I know, but—”
“And I was honest, too. Probably too honest. Deacon, there’s nothing else I need to say. I feel like I should shut up for a week or two to atone for some of the shit I said.”
I start to respond, but he holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not expressing myself clearly. This was a lot tonight.”
I frown.
When he reaches out and takes both my hands, small shockwaves move up my arms and re-polarize my brain. The picture of him in front of me comes rapidly into focus. His eyes soften—emotion, caring. He takes a deep breath. Patience. Control.
He squeezes my hands. Intimacy. Connection.
“I’ve always had a crush on you,” he says.
“Kind of a big one. I wish you invited me to that restaurant tonight for literally any other reason, but now I understand why you did, and I appreciate you being open with me about what’s been going on with you.
And Isaac. Obviously I’ll stop messing around with him. ”
I would tell him that’s not necessary—at least not at the moment—but my tongue feels stiff and frozen in my mouth. A big crush?
I’m not surprised I missed it. I miss stuff like that all the time according to almost everyone who’s ever hung out with me, but I’m surprised someone as exciting and outgoing as Evan would ever take a second glance at someone as weird and regimented as I am.
“It was never appropriate to begin with,” he’s saying, my hands still pressed into his.
“Which isn’t to say I think Isaac is a bad guy, and I’m sorry if I implied that earlier.
Just be careful with yourself, okay? And if for whatever reason you decide you want to talk to me about anything, I’m here. No judgment whatsoever.”
“Thanks,” I say, quietly, looking down at our hands.
“I’m sorry.” He moves to pull them away, but I hold them tighter.
“Some people are hard for me, and some people are easier,” I tell him. “Isaac was one of the easiest ones.”
“And me?” he asks.
“You’re somewhere in the middle,” I tell him.
“Then I’ll do better.”
I shake my head. “No, I see it now. This,” I squeeze his hands again. “Helps it make sense. The things you told me help.”
“I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” I ask.
“A little,” he says softly.
“I like you,” I tell him because there was some confusion about that at dinner, too
“I’m glad,” he says after a noisy, shaky breath.
I check back in with his face to see if there’s anything decipherable there. He’s chewing his lip, and his eyes look watery. He swallows and clears his throat, letting me see everything. And suddenly, I do. He likes me. He likes me the way I liked Ryan.
Proving the half-baked theory, he lifts onto his toes and presses his mouth gently to mine. Another brain jolt. This one makes my eyelids flutter.
His lips linger, and I feel the tip of his nose brush my cheek.
“Inside and out, you’re just—beautiful, Deacon.”
My eyes close. I breathe against his soft lips.
I’m shocked. I’m overwhelmed. And I’m—I don’t know.
Emotional? My chest feels tight, and I don’t know what comes next, but I’m not moving.
I don’t think I want to. I don’t know if I want to say anything, either.
I like this. This moment. It feels unusually good. Better in some ways than sex.
Is this friendship? Like real friendship where people want what’s best for the other person, not just what benefits them in a moment? If it always feels like this, that would be sort of amazing. Or is it more than that? Something I’ve been avoiding.
“My therapist would like you.”
He lowers himself back down and lets out something like a laugh. “Thanks.”
“You’ve always been really kind to me.”
“I wasn’t tonight. But I really do like you a lot, and I’m sorry I was an asshole.”
“I don’t understand why you would like me.”
He frowns. “It’s because you’re good.”
“Good?”
“Like…loyal. And patient. And respectful.”
“You’re all those things, too,” I say.
Evan glances up at me. His hair is in his face, but I catch a flash of his watery, ocean eyes again. “You don’t have to say that. I mean, obviously I appreciate it. Again, I need to shut up. Thanks for talking to me. I should probably go to bed.”
“Did you get enough to eat?” I ask. “Because I brought the food home.”
“You did?”
I nod.
He hesitates a few seconds. We’re still holding hands. “I mean, I guess I am still hungry.”
“Can I reheat it for you?”
“You don’t have—”
“Yes, I do.”
On a mission, I let go of his hands and head straight back to the kitchen, turning on the oven before I reach for the fridge handle.
I hear him sit down on the couch, and I let out a sigh of relief. “The food was actually really good.”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t stay long after you left, but long enough to order an entree and taste it. I think you’ll like it if you liked the shrimp.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Do you think Apollo’s going to come back out?” I ask.
“No. He’s probably already in bed. Why?”
“I just wondered.”
“Do you like Apollo?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, unboxing the leftovers.
“Okay. Good. He didn’t get that little dog pregnant. There’s no way.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so either.” The narrow hips thing is what convinced me. I can imagine a lot of sexual positions, but the one required for a hundred and seventy pound Great Dane to get a thirty pound French Bulldog pregnant isn’t one of them.
I add, “If you ever need me to do anything to help with him, I don’t mind.”
“You can do whatever you want with him,” Evan says. “But I don’t think he needs anything.”
“I don’t mind walking him when I get home.”
“Thanks.” He’s gotten quieter. I try to hurry in case he changes his mind about dinner, but I don’t want to microwave the food. It won’t be as good.
“Millie was over here again. She wanted to take pictures of him.”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
I decide not to tell him about the price tag on the upcoming surgery. I pull out a fun fact Millie once told me in one of her rambles. “I think pregnancy grosses her out. She compared it to having a parasite. She said she never wants kids. But also, why does she keep bringing up the dog’s nipples?”
Evan laughs.
I’m in way over my head here. I shift my focus to the food and try to keep the random questions I have for Evan that keep popping into my head from coming out of my mouth.
The more I try to push the thoughts back, though, the harder they fight for my attention. As I put a light pan sear on the shrimp, I’ve actively started picturing what Evan and Isaac do to each other in the office.
I rub at the back of my neck, a sweat breaking out there that I can’t entirely blame on the hot pan.
I’ve been with a lot of men. Men like Isaac sometimes—and men who sort of remind me of Evan, but the Evan type more rarely.
I’m very quick to choke on a cock or flatten myself against a wall and pull my pants down past my ass. Since I’ve been out most weekends, I’m not sure what Evan does with his free time, but now that I know what he does during the weekdays, I’m curious.
“Have you ever been in a relationship before? With a man?” I ask, as I’m plating the shrimp.
“Sure. Haven’t you?”
“Not exactly.”
“I had a boyfriend in college. For three and a half years.”
“You did? What was his name?”
“Hunter.”
“What was he like?”
“I don’t know. Like a horny college kid. He liked to party.”
“Party how?”
“Like he was in a fraternity, and he liked to go to parties at fraternities.”
“Oh.” My friends mean something different when they say party. “Was he out?”
“With his friends. Yeah. He was very popular. I’m guessing he was sort of like what Isaac was like in college.”
“Why did you break up?”
Evan hesitates before finally saying, “It wasn’t really going anywhere. He moved to LA after graduation.”
“Is that the only reason?”
With a heavy sigh, he says, “I think he was bored with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t into the same kind of things he was into toward the end.”
“Like what?” I bring the food over to the coffee table along with silverware rolled into a paper towel and one of his light beers from the fridge. I return to get my own plate since I didn’t eat at the restaurant, either.
He looks over the spread. “Wow. Thank you.”
“Yeah.” I sit next to him. He scoots a few inches away and gives me a look I don’t understand. Then he picks up the napkin and unrolls it to take out the fork. “What kinds of things was he into?”
“You know like…experimenting with other people or whatever.”
“Oh. Like with you or…apart from you?”
“Like with me. Like…near me. On me. He put our sex life on Only Fans. Not any images of himself of course, because he had a big company he was going to inherit.”
“Really?”
Evan nods and shoves a forkful of food into his mouth.
“Were you okay with that?”
“I mean, I didn’t say no at first, but it wasn’t…I didn’t like it. And now, all that shit’s out there, and I’m lucky Isaac is Isaac because I’m honestly not sure who the fuck else would hire me after a decent internet search.”
“It’s not under your name, is it?” I ask.
“No, but with image searches—”
“I can get rid of them,” I say.
“No, Deacon. You can’t.”
“No,” I say more firmly. “I definitely can.”
“You can delete someone else’s videos from an Only Fans account that’s four years old?”
“Yeah.” It would take me an hour. If that.
“How?” Evan asks, looking at me with the intense eyes again.
“I can do almost anything with a computer and some time.”
He’s staring again. He blinks a few times before looking away. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s kind of pointless now.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t even fucking care anymore, and I did some sex work of my own for money online for a while, too. I’m not ashamed of it. It’s more like I just want to move on.”
“I get that. But if you ever change your mind.”
“Yeah, no I appreciate it.”
“So you guys did threesomes, or––?”
Evan coughs on a sip of his beer. I reach out and give his back a rub. His hand shoots out and grips my thigh. “I’m okay.”
He lets go of me fast, and I stop touching him, too. It’s possible I’m being too overbearing. I scoot a few more inches away to give him more room in case he needs it.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m trying.”
“Trying to do what?”
“I’m just…” I sigh. “Trying.”