Chapter 4
chapter four
patrice
I had a feeling I was being setup.
Except that was bullshit, because once I found out that the building belonged to Easton, I could’ve just opted out and tried to find something else, but here I was right on time and ready to look at the vacant apartment in his building.
I got my phone out of my pocket to double check the door code he’d sent me. He said someone would be waiting for me right outside the apartment which was conveniently located on the fifth floor directly below his own top-floor penthouse.
Just as I was about to walk in, my phone rang. I saw Camilo’s number and immediately felt in a better mood.
“Milo.”
“Oh my god. I am so hungover.” The amount of drama he could work into seven words was always impressive.
I tried not to laugh at his moaning. “I thought you were at a work thing last night.”
“I was! I didn’t even drink that much, but you know I’m trash for free champagne.”
He was a whore for an open bar.
“How was it?” I asked, already grinning at the earful of foolishness I was about to get.
Instead there was a heavy silence that could’ve meant anything. One never knew with Camilo.
“It was good, great butternut squash soup. I gave a super tall, hot as fuck guy a blow job in a sitting room, and then Ayako and I went home. You know, average Friday.”
I barked out a laugh. “Oh my god, Camilo. The shit you say. At least the soup was good.”
He snickered at my side-step of the blow job. “What are you up to? Are you and Easton going steady already or are you just still acting like you didn’t move up there for his dick?”
I sighed out loud, because I did not want to get into any of this with Camilo.
He’d push me until I ended up saying more than I was ready to deal with at the moment.
I also wasn’t sure how to even talk about the apartment.
If I mentioned Easton, Camilo would get on his nosy bullshit and I did not want to get into the reasons why I was even contemplating renting the place.
“Oh, I’m just looking at an apartment. The one I got is still not ready for me to move in and even though staying with Nes and Jude has been great, I need my own space.”
“I can’t believe they’re still dicking you around with that.”
After punching the code for the front door, I stepped into the vestibule and pressed the up button for the elevator with one hand as I held my phone with the other.
“Yeah it’s a problem. Listen, I’ll call you back, okay? I’m about to get into the elevator.”
“Let me know how it goes. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided my question about Easton. We’ll get back to that next time we talk.”
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Awesome.”
Which just got me a wicked laugh from Camilo.
I ended the call just as the elevator doors opened and looked up to see Easton Archer looking fucking edible in jeans and a white t-shirt.
I didn’t know what I was doing with Easton, but I could not deny he was the most beautiful guy I’d ever been with.
He was just a bit under six feet tall, so I had to slightly turn my head down to talk to him…
to kiss him. I exhaled, trying to tamp down the memories of that lithe body under me last summer, and the way he moaned and moved when we’d been together.
Fuck, I was getting hard.
He extended his hand, and if he was aware of my hard on, he was not going to make a thing about it. He just smiled and beckoned me into the elevator.
I stepped in feeling a little suspicious. Was he going to show me the place himself?
He must’ve guessed what I’d been thinking because he lifted a shoulder and flashed me those perfect teeth.
“I told Freide I could show you the place since I’m already here.”
I was about to ask if he always did that but decided to let it go. So, I just nodded and stepped in.
He was looking at me like he was trying to read my mind. I kept a neutral expression on my face and tried to roll with it. Keep it casual. I was here to see an apartment. Not to flirt.
He didn’t say whatever he was thinking and instead looked down at my feet and smiled. “Nice, I like your Jordans, are those the new Flyknits? I hadn’t seen them yet.”
I snapped my head up to look at him with what I knew was disbelief on my face.
I was wearing the bright red pair of Js I’d bought as a graduation/new job treat to myself.
They were the most expensive shoes I’d ever bought by a few hundred dollars and I still checked the weather forecast before wearing them out.
I fucking loved them, but of all the people I thought would appreciate how dope these were, Easton Archer, who dressed like a preppy poster boy—all the fucking time—was not one of them.
“Uh, thanks.”
He laughed, probably guessing what I’d been thinking. “What, you didn’t think I’d be able to appreciate your kicks?”
I was going to go with something PC but decided to say what I was really thinking. “Umm no, not really, since you’re usually wearing Gucci loafers.”
At this point, the elevator stopped in the fifth floor and Easton extended his hand to me so I could get out. He followed right behind.
We stood in front of the apartment for a moment as he talked. “My mentee, Tyren, is a Jordans fanatic.” The smile on his face was a new one; there was some protectiveness and clear affection there.
“Well, he’s technically not my mentee anymore, although we’re still close.
I mentored him when he was a high school student and he’s at Ithaca College now.
” His face shone with pride when he said that.
“Anyway, Ty has like twenty pairs.” His face was indulgent when he talked about his mentee, and it really fucking warmed my heart.
This guy had me bugging, for real.
He tipped his head down, his eyes back on my feet, “Ty was talking about those.” He rolled his eyes and chuckled, his hands deep in his pants pockets. “He actually convinced me to get a pair a while ago. I have some pretty boring gray ones. Retros, of course.”
He looked a little self-conscious, like he was waiting for me to mock him or something, but I was still stuck on the fact that he had been mentoring a young man for years, and they were still close.
That he clearly cared for this kid. That piece of information, more than anything I knew so far about Easton, broke something open in me.
I was humbled, because I’d made too many assumptions about this man. Nesto was right—I didn’t really know very much at all about Easton Archer, other than the way we could make each other feel.
I tipped my head to the side and pointed at the closed door behind him. “I’d like to see you rocking your Jordans some time.” He beamed at me, as if he hadn’t expected that response. “But for now, can I see this place you’re supposed to be showing me?”
He really was a beautiful man and with that little bit of red on his cheeks, I was having a hard time not reaching out and touching.
We walked into the apartment and immediately, I knew I was going to take it.
Everything looked pristine. It was a loft, open floor plan with high ceilings. There was one bedroom in one corner of the floor and another one in a mezzanine up a spiral metal staircase. The kitchen was completely done in stainless steel, even the countertops, and the dark hardwood floors gleamed.
Easton pointed at the space upstairs. “The mezzanine is deceptively large and it has a bathroom en suite. The one down here is just a shower, but that one has a pretty nice tub.” There was that dirty smile again. “I don’t know if you remember, but I have the same one at my place.”
An image flashed through my head of Easton on his knees inside the enormous tub, hands gripping my ass as I stood with my hands against the wall, looking down as his lips stretched around my cock.
I felt heat rise in my face at that memory.
When I looked at Easton, the flush on his cheeks told me he was probably thinking of the exact same thing.
I cleared my throat, definitely not ready to go down memory lane, and started climbing the stairs.
When I got up there, I instantly noticed the huge bay windows.
We were high enough that I could see the Cornell grounds, the top of the famous clock tower in the West part of campus visible right at the center of the window.
Easton came up beside me as I took in the view. “I have the same view at my place.” He shrugged. “Well, mine is slightly higher up.” He waved his arm toward the bathroom. “You want to see?”
I nodded, brushing past him and into the bathroom, still not saying much. It was huge, all done in slate-colored tiles. The tub and shower also done in a dark gray. It was spacious and comfortable, and right then, it hit me. Being here, looking at this place started to feel monumental.
I could afford this place.
This luxurious apartment, with everything spotless and beautiful, was something I could easily pay for.
I made enough money now to rent it and not have to worry about whether I could afford heat or food with my meager grad student stipend.
All those years of wondering if I was doing the right thing by trying it in a world where people like me didn’t just have a hard time of it but were practically nonexistent.
Even though I still had tenure to worry about, I felt… proud of myself.
Right there and now, for the first time since graduation and the grueling stress of the job market, it finally felt like this was real.
I’d done this, I had finished a PhD in Economics from Columbia University.
A kid who came as a refugee from Haiti as a six-year-old, had done that. Against all the fucking odds.
I glanced over at Easton, who was looking at me like he realized there was something going on with me. Then a really strange thing happened—I wanted to tell him about it.