Chapter 39 #2
I gesture with my arm to my kitchen island filled with the foods Andre and I made this afternoon. "Dinner is served."
I successfully reheated everything and got to use some of the serving dishes he bought for me to present it.
The apron though? That’s all mine.
Around my waist is a short, red, half apron with the words "Eat Me" right over my crotch.
"Did you make this?" Rhys asks as he sets his overnight bag on the floor before wrapping me up in a hug.
His hands slide down to my bare ass and every word of Andre’s food safety standards lecture flies out the door.
I exhale into his touch and kiss him. Our tongues tangle, his inhale spurs me on, and my apron is little more than a loin cloth at this point.
I pull back but immediately go back in to press one last kiss to his full lips. "I wanted tonight to be one you’d never forget."
"I will never forget you cooking for me naked, Duncan." He turns so we’re side by side admiring the food together. His hand feels so fucking good on my hip it hurts.
The sting of knowing he won’t be here when I get home in two weeks burns an additional layer of significance into every touch.
Because he’s leaving.
I mean I’m leaving first, but I’m coming back.
But I won’t get ahead of myself. Tonight, it’s about him. Us. And having a good time together. I refuse to spend our little remaining time together upset.
"Okay, take a seat." I usher him around to the other side of the island where I laid out a place setting.
I’m feeling nervous. I want him to like the food. I think he likes me, no I know he does, but I want him to like me like me, I think.
I’ve lost my mind.
My bare ass hits the stool and it’s cold but I refocus on serving some food onto Rhys’s plate. He picks up his knife and fork and I watch, stare, at him as he cuts a piece and takes a bite.
"Mmmm, yum." He says as he chews.
"Really?"
He nods and swallows. "Yes really. What is the flavoring on the chicken?"
"Fuck if I know. I was focused on not laughing while Andre said ‘rub’."
Rhys laughs and I serve myself some food too.
"How was your day honey?" I ask playfully before I take a sip of my beer.
"Good, I had a call with my producer."
"Lennox right?" He nods. "How’d it go?"
"It’s going to be a lot."
"What do you mean?"
"Well Lennox has an immersive style. Fifteen hour days are common. I’ll be in the booth morning til night. It is definitely going to be an adjustment from the part-time teacher schedule I’ve had the last four months."
"Sounds like it." I guild a bite on my fork. "And, well, not to make it about me, but when will we be finding time to fuck over the phone?"
I chew on my, fucking delicious, chicken but I don’t hear the deep, warm, laugh I was expecting. When I turn towards Rhys, it seems his plate has suddenly become very interesting. "Don’t make me feel worse about this than I already do."
His words are quiet.
"What does that mean?" I struggle to get the words out past the lump in my throat.
He straightens and runs his HOPE hand through his hair. "I’ll of course make time for you when I can but our schedules aren’t going to make it easy."
"I’m nothing but easy." My eyebrows add a playful punctuation to this reminder.
"Duncan." Rhys scolds.
"What?"
"Just, can we have one serious conversation?" His hand flexes and curls back into a fist. "Please?"
Sirens sound, big harumphing warnings.
The fire in his voice set them off. His tone is also laced with pain.
What do I do here?
My instinct is to deflect, lighten, joke but he doesn’t want that.
But, that’s me.
"Serious isn’t really something I do."
"I know."
His words hit like bricks. He knows I don’t do serious and yet he’s pushing it. Why?
I let my fork land loudly against my plate as I stand up. Every muscle in my body is begging for exertion. When I realize I’m flashing my ass to Rhys as I walk towards my living room I just flex my muscles and hope he’s enjoying the show.
I turn around and his eyes dart up to mine.
Busted.
Serious my, ha, ass.
But still, he wants to have a conversation. I can level with him. "I told you months ago. Almost the first day we met I didn’t do relationships. I agreed to be your boyfriend when you asked because I knew it would help you feel better."
"Ouch." Rhys’s chin reels back. "You agreed to be my boyfriend out of pity?"
"No, that’s not. I didn’t mean…" My hands settle at my hips and my head falls forward. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?" He asks quietly.
"Fight with you! Fight with anyone!" The surprise in Rhys’s eyes at my volume is enough to help me rein in it. "I can’t process what I’m feeling while I’m considering what you’re thinking too.
Just when I think I’m going to say something you’ll understand, your reaction is the opposite of what I thought it’d be and…
" My arms fall lightly to my sides and I shrug. "Maybe, I’m not cut out for this."
My chest deflates. I’m standing in a half apron with the words "Eat Me" over my, also deflated, cock. Tonight was supposed to be a fun dinner followed by fucking until dawn.
Not, heavy conversation with an undercurrent of doom.
"So, are we breaking up?" Rhys asks quietly bringing the doom right up to the surface.
Are we?
I don’t want that. But, I don’t know how to make anything more work with him.
I’m just not cut out for it.
But, it did work before. Before we named it. Had labels. Had the pressure of how we’re going to share our relationship with the world.
"Can we just go back to friends-with-benefits?" I beg. I’m not ready to lose him but I’m clearly not ready for a relationship either.
Without a word, Rhys stands from his seat at the counter. I watch as he woodenly cleans off his plate and puts it in the dishwasher. He dries his hands on the towel hanging off the handle and then wipes them down the front of his jeans.
I’m frozen to the spot.
My job is to anticipate moves, to see them coming miles away, and react in milliseconds.
I have no idea what is going to happen next.
Rhys starts to walk toward me slowly and there’s an undeniable urge to curl up in his lap like a kitten and let him soothe the parts of me that feel jagged and sharp.
"I don’t know if I can do that." He finally says as he comes to stand in front of me.
He can’t go back to being friends-with-benefits.
"So then what?" I whisper.
"I guess we’re done." His words are quiet but they shatter what is left inside me like sonic booms.
"Done?"
"Or on pause. I don’t know Duncan. I’m not sure we can be what the other needs right now."
"Okay." The word slips out before I have a chance to reel it in. I’m not okay. This is not okay.
He’s leaving.
He was always going to leave.
This is different.
He’s leaving me.
Rhys pulls me into his arms and we wrap each other in an embrace that does little to fill the gaping hole in my core.
"Take care of yourself Duncan." He whispers against the shell of my ear.
"Yeah, you too Charming."
I slink back onto the arm of the sofa, my hands pressing into the fabric as my arms work to keep me upright. Rhys gathers his things and heads towards the elevator.
I’m underwater, drowning. Sounds are muffled, my limbs feeling a pressure around them as they struggle to move against the air. My eyes stare into space, unseeing, unfocused.
The ding of the elevator snaps me out of it.
"Wait!" I whisper as I stand up. He has to wait.
There isn’t enough air in my lungs as I move towards him. I don’t know what to say to him, I don’t know how to make this better.
All I know is it hurts and he’s both the cause and the cure.
"Rhys." I say as my hand jumps between the closing elevator doors. His head lifts, our eyes connect, and I shoulder my way into the elevator.
"Duncan?" His words are hopeful, but the lingering sadness hangs between us.
My hands bracket his jaw and I dive in. Pressing my lips to his and demanding he open his mouth to me. When he does, my body lights. Sunbeams shoot out of every pore.
"Do you feel it too?" I ask breathlessly as I press my forehead to his.
"Yes, you’re not wearing pants."
I glance down between us and, yeah, my dick is pointing straight at what it wants.
Huffing a laugh, "yes, but also, the, I don’t know Rhys. The connection between us. You feel that too right?"
We’re descending to the lobby.
Time is running out.
"Yes, but sex was never our problem."
"We didn’t have any problems until you labeled it." I say as my fingers play with the collar of his denim shirt.
Rhys is pressed up against the wall of the elevator but he still manages to pull back. Putting more space between us.
"This isn’t my fault." He defends.
"Well it isn’t mine either." I crack back.
His eyes close, he looks tired.
"Duncan, c’mon."
"C’mon what?" I ask as the elevator slows.
Time’s up.
Rhys’s green eyes focus on me for a heartbeat before he slides to the side. My gaze unfocuses and the mirrored wall of the elevator blurs in front of me.
He places a hand on my bare shoulder.
It burns.
But I don’t flinch away, I lean into it, wanting.
"When we met, you said all you could give was one-night. We’ve had months of them now and I thought that meant you could see what I see." The elevator door opens.
"What’s that?
"I see a man who lives for joy, but who doesn’t understand sometimes the pain makes the laughter sweeter."
I nearly collapse to the floor, instead pressing my head into the wall in front of me.
No.
This pain isn’t sweet.
Everything is sour, and dull, and a thick grey fog is creeping in around me.
How will I ever laugh again?
Rhys murmurs something and walks away. He must have pressed the button to send me back up because when the doors close I ascend.
I ignore the evidence of a night gone completely wrong as I shuffle to my bedroom and climb under the covers. I curl into myself and drift off into an empty kind of sleep.