Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marble and Brass
Just like that, I’m officially dating Luke Shaw. Luke Shaw and I are boyfriends. Boyfriends. God, saying that still sounds so fucking good. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.
While we’ve spent the past few weeks settling back into our routine from before the camping trip, it’s entirely different this time.
In the mornings, we chat with the guys over coffee, acting like we’re nothing more than platonic bros, and no one suspects a thing.
We keep our distance while on the floor, but working so close together makes it easier for us to chat throughout the day without being suspicious.
When lunch rolls around, Luke and I sneak upstairs to the secret office and collide into a supernova of crashing bodies and hands tangled in each other's hair after depriving ourselves of the physical connection all day.
It feels like a release of stardust every time Luke pushes me against the wall or decrepit furniture, and the messy clutter of the disused space somehow becomes more disorganized after our aggressive makeout sessions.
It’s hands down my favorite part of the day, even though we keep it above clothes.
But the scandal of knowing that we’re only a floor away from people who would lose their fucking minds if they saw us adds a bit of spice to the whole thing, and the restraint of being unable to touch him until then drives the urgency higher.
Though when we come down from the initial rush of that touch-starved craze, we do actually sit and eat lunch.
It didn’t take me long to notice that the only thing Luke ever seems to bring is a PB&J, and I have to wonder if that’s by choice or simply because he lacks better options.
When I catch him eyeing my various home-cooked meals with the dejection of a kicked puppy sitting in the rain, I start packing more of my food to give him the extra when I’m ‘full’ without making a fuss about it.
Slowly, it becomes a thing where I make more than enough for the two of us until Luke eventually catches on to my subterfuge and stops bringing the sad little sandwiches.
I think he enjoys my cooking. He doesn’t even have to say anything.
I can see it in the way he closes his eyes as he savors the smell, and the soft sigh he releases after taking a bite.
When he’s finished, he smiles like he’s experienced something truly beautiful.
The flush of pride I feel every time he reacts that way is worth every bit of hard work that goes into preparing these meals, and it certainly doesn’t hurt when he kisses me boneless as an added thank you.
Luke comes with me to the gym after work at least three times a week, and I get to see what goes into maintaining that god-like physique of his.
I didn’t think watching him work out would be as hot as it is, but something about him getting sweaty in his tight shorts and tank top makes it incredibly difficult to focus on my own routine.
I already tripped once while running on the treadmills, nearly flying off the back because I was too busy staring at his ass.
He practically died laughing when he found out.
More often than not, Luke finds an opportunity to push me against the cold metal lockers, giving me another workout with his tongue in my mouth, sending my heart racing.
There’s a level of danger in kissing out in the open like this, especially being so close to home, but it’s hard for my brain to pay attention to the risks while I'm being kissed like our lives depend on it.
Sometimes, it feels like mine does. Like I might fade from existence if he’s not touching me. I didn’t think I could crave the touch of someone's hands as much as I do his, but when they’re absent, it’s palpable.
I can feel myself being drawn into his center of gravity like a comet yanked off course after passing too close to the sun.
I’ll most certainly burn up in a blaze of glory upon entering his atmosphere, but when the alternative is living as a lifeless bit of space rock in an empty void, going out in a show of brilliant color would be worth even my own destruction.
Even when we’re not physically next to each other, Luke and I text back and forth with the same eagerness, as if we can’t go more than a few hours without occupying each other's thoughts. It’s a little juvenile, but I won’t deny how much I fucking love it.
Luke’s messages range anywhere from downright vulgar to gut-wrenchingly sweet, and there’s something of a poet in him that I can only attribute to his thespian heart.
I’ve caught myself grinning like an idiot at his flowery texts on multiple occasions, the words engraving themselves on my very bones, digging out the marrow, taking root.
Outwardly, to anyone paying attention, nothing has changed between Luke and me. And yet, everything’s changed.
But we’re taking it slow. His idea, not mine.
Luke insists that our time apart will make our time together more worthwhile, and he doesn’t want to rob me of the whole ‘first boyfriend’ experience, complete with torturesome pining.
The sentiment is cute, but if I had my way, he’d be at my house every night, curled against my chest, just like he was on our trip.
I’m halfway to being a middle-aged man. I don’t need to experience the soul-crushing tension of distance to make the heart grow fonder. It’s already fond.
Besides, I own a perfectly good house far enough away from prying eyes where Luke and I could be as loud as we want, and we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone hearing us. I would very much like to have that experience.
I think he’s enjoying being a fucking tease.
However, there’s an unexpected caveat to Luke’s schemes that I don’t know how to interpret. He never wants to spend the night.
At first, I think maybe we just haven’t gotten to the stage where staying over is acceptable, but the longer it goes on, the less confident I am that something isn’t wrong.
It’s not like countless opportunities haven’t presented themselves, especially on the nights Luke has been at my house, and we were practically falling asleep on the couch.
I’ve never even once hinted at the idea that I wouldn’t be okay with that, but he always makes a point of getting up and going home rather than letting that happen.
I’m not sure what to make of it.
When the end of September rolls around, Luke tells me we’re going on a date. Doesn’t ask, tells. He has the whole thing planned out, but I’m not allowed to know what we’re doing until we get there. I just need to make sure I dress nice.
Hearing that makes me nervous, but I’m more excited to see what Luke has in store for our first ‘official’ date.
I don’t know the last time anyone went out of their way to plan an itinerary full of activities.
Dinner and a movie out, maybe, but never this extravagant.
I mean, Luke has the whole day blocked off.
I take a nice long shower, trim my beard, and cycle through my entire closet, trying to find the nicest possible outfit I own. Considering the man I’ll be going out with, I doubt I have anything good enough. I’m guaranteed to be invisible standing next to him, but I still try my best.
Ultimately, I pick a pair of black jeans and a caramel-gray cashmere sweater that my mom bought me for Christmas six years ago.
I’d never found a good place to wear it until now, but it’s so soft and comfy.
A little baggy, but not to the point that I’m swimming in it.
When I roll the sleeves up and glance at the mirror, I can’t help but feel like I look kind of… good. Suspiciously good.
Luke pulls up to my house to pick me up—since he insists on driving us in his truck—and comes to the door like a proper gentleman. I’ve never been on the receiving end of such chivalrous things before, and it makes me a bit weak in the knees.
When I see him standing on the porch, my jaw literally drops as I take in his entire outfit.
He’s wearing a black turtleneck sweater with the sleeves bunched up to his forearms and a pair of wine-red trousers that hug his hips and ass like a glove.
It’s like their only purpose is to show off what's underneath the fabric, and I silently thank them for their service. They’re cuffed at the ankle, showing off his skin over a pair of black loafers that look expensive.
He’s also accessorized, with rings on his fingers, his nails painted black, and a shiny black wristwatch.
A single, black, dangling earring in the shape of a sword hangs from his left ear.
But the one thing that sends me straight to a place of uncontrollable lust is the round-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses he’s decided to ditch his contacts for. They make his blue eyes pop, and I can tell he’s wearing eyeliner beneath them. Maybe even more makeup than that, but it looks natural on him.
Seeing Luke wearing glasses in pictures is one thing.
Getting to experience it in real life is enough to make all the thoughts fly out of my head.
I don’t even have the time to judge my own lackluster appearance against his before I grab him and pull him in for a kiss, my hands finding their way straight to his ass.
Luke smiles against my lips and pulls his head back to look at me with a fire in his eyes.
“Now, now,” he practically purrs, brushing his hand along my jaw, the touch featherlight, but still enough to make my insides melt. “We’ve got the whole day to get through before all that.”
God, I don’t know if I’ll ever get over how fucking sexy he is. He doesn’t even need to try.
“We could skip the date,” I grumble, grabbing Luke’s hips and pulling him closer. “My bed is right upstairs. We could just spend the whole day there instead.”
Luke laughs, but his face goes slightly pink, and it pleases me to know I’ve flustered him. He leans down, kissing me sweetly. “Tempting, but I think you’ll like what I’ve planned.”
I groan but smile. “Okay.”