4. Ethan
FOUR
Ethan
At my kitchen island, I track the car’s progress on the map. I imagine Levi in the backseat, sandy hair slicked back, his hands in his jacket pockets. He’s silent. Nervous. He’s wondering if he’s made a bad decision, but at the same time he doesn’t quite believe this is real.
I go to my message thread with Patrick. For the hundredth time, my thumbs hover over the screen. What is he wearing? What is he doing? What has he said?
I don’t type any of it. I just stare at Patrick’s text from 4:03: He’s coming.
I gave Levi a choice, an easy out, because part of me knows this is a bad idea. That’s why I left the gala last night. I can feel something dangerous in this, in myself. In Levi too.
But I couldn’t stay away. I think Patrick knew before I did. He let the car idle in the parking garage while I sat in the back, thinking about John-fucking-Clifford touching Levi’s arm, John-fucking-Clifford smiling at him.
And yet, when I offered Levi a choice last night, I knew what he’d choose.
So I guess I only pretended it was a choice, both for him and for me.
I knew it even in his silence and shock, and when he looked back at me last night before going inside his building, I saw in his face that he actually saw me.
For the first time, he saw the truth. A piece of it anyway.
Enough of it. And I still knew what he’d choose.
The dot on the map reaches the building. It goes still when they park.
I set my phone down. I clasp my hands together on the counter. I close my eyes and bow my head and put my demons in their places.
When the doorbell chimes, I leave the kitchen and walk through the entryway. When I open the door, Levi’s breath catches. Mine would too if I let it, but I have enough control to appear unmoved.
My mental image of him was wrong. Instead of being slicked back, his dark blond hair hangs around his face, soft and a little shaggy. It’s not as straight as I thought either. I like it, even if it does hide some of the exquisite structure of his face.
I did get the hands right. They’re in his jacket pockets.
It’s the same jacket he was wearing last night, a navy blue satin bomber with a color-block sunburst on the back.
It’s distinctive and interesting, and his Converse shoes are red instead of a subtler color.
He wants attention, even though he pretends to himself that he doesn’t.
That’s why the color is on his back and his feet.
The central pieces are all plain: faded blue jeans, gray T-shirt, no jewelry.
His blue eyes are wide, like he’s surprised at the sight of me, like maybe he’d forgotten what I look like. I probably do look different in my jeans and off-white henley.
“Hello, Levi.”
“Hi.” He sounds breathless. He’s nervous.
I open the door wide and stand back for him to enter. As I close us in, I watch for a flinch, but there is none. He’s nervous but not scared, which means he’s anxious about himself, not me.
I lead him into the vaulted space of the open-plan kitchen and living room. His eyes are bouncing around, so I let him look.
This part of the penthouse is pretty standard: wood floors and black leather furniture, a modern chandelier, and a few pieces of abstract, goldleaf artwork.
Beyond, the floor-to-ceiling windows frame an expensive view of Manhattan.
The galley-style kitchen behind me is sleek and clean.
I wonder if it’s obvious that I don’t spend much time here.
Levi’s eyes bounce back to me. “Wow.”
A little huff escapes me. Was I ever that innocent, even when I walked into a space like this for the first time?
Probably not.
My mind trips back twenty-some years.
Definitely not.
“There’s some paperwork we need to deal with,” I remind him as I walk past.
He follows me down the couple of steps into the recessed space of the living room.
When I go to sit on the couch, Levi stops at the end of the coffee table.
He almost looks like he’s going to sit on the floor, so I point to the cushion beside me on the couch.
He obeys me, but he’s so nervous that he perches on the edge of the seat. His back is stiff.
I don’t want him to be quite this nervous, which means I need to talk to him. Sometimes I forget that part with people.
“Are you okay?” I make my voice a soft caress, but Levi doesn’t seem to feel it. He doesn’t soften in response, doesn’t even look at me.
He just replies, “Yeah.”
A dark feeling rolls through me at his lie. I know it’s automatic, that he’s not trying to deceive me, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to have to learn not to lie to me.
“Levi.” My voice remains quiet, but it’s heavy now. He didn’t feel my softness, but the way he shifts on the couch tells me that he feels my disapproval.
“Sorry,” he mutters, hands still in his pockets. “I’m nervous.”
“That’s all right,” I tell him, softening my tone again at his compliance. “It’s normal to be nervous about something new.”
“And you’re sure you want… me?”
“I think I’ve been very clear about that.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult. It’s just hard for me to wrap my head around.”
“You’re not being difficult, and the only thing you have to be sorry for is lying when I asked if you were okay. Don’t lie to me.”
His eyes flick to me and away. “I’m not used to people asking like that. Actually asking, I mean.”
“I was actually asking, and I can handle the truth. I need you to be able to handle it too. The work I want you to do with me is about honesty. Realness. I have no interest in drawing a lie.”
The tiniest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
I stare at his mouth. I imagine biting the corner of it, eating his sweet, gentle amusement like candy. He’s so damn innocent, so inexperienced. I wonder if he’s a virgin. My dick fattens in its cage at the thought.
I lean forward and pluck the NDA from the coffee table. I hold it out for Levi. Finally, his hands emerge from his pockets. He scrubs them on his thighs before he takes the document. The bandage on his left hand catches my eye. I still don’t like that. Pain should have a purpose.
Levi’s brow furrows as he reads. He starts chewing on his plump bottom lip.
“So I can’t talk about anything we do?”
I’m so distracted by his mouth that it takes me a second to register his question. “Correct,” I reply.
“Like, even me being here?”
“You haven’t signed yet, so this moment isn’t covered, but that’s the idea. What’s bothering you about that?” When I see his impulse to blow off the question, I remind him, “Don’t lie.”
“I guess it makes me feel like we’re about to do something illegal.”
“Illegal activity would bother you?” I’m half teasing, half testing.
He huffs. “Um, yes.”
I’m tempted to voice my guess that he doesn’t like being in trouble, but I think he would get self-conscious, and I have no interest in shaming him for submission. So instead I tell him the truth.
“NDAs don’t cover illegal activity. They’re only for privacy.”
“Oh.”
“If I kill someone, you can tell on me.”
He blushes. “That was not the direction of my thoughts.”
“I probably do look more like white collar crime.” When his blush deepens, because now I’m giving him shit, I reassure him, “It’s just for privacy.”
He snorts softly and drawls, “Because so many people are going to ask me.”
I love the hint of playfulness, but unfortunately, I have to squash it.
“They might, Levi. That’s the point. Have you looked me up?” I hate going in this direction, but I have to. I need him to understand how serious this is.
And he does, instantly. “I… well… yeah, I did.” His eyes skip to me and away.
I feel myself stiffen inside, even though I knew this was unavoidable.
I’ve scrubbed myself from the internet where I could, but there’s a lot I can’t control.
There are certain articles that I know he might have read and certain images he might have seen.
I can never unlink myself from High Castle Church or the celebrated adoption of a young, disadvantaged boy by Pastor Paul Castle and his devoted wife Ruby.
Then there was Paul’s murder, of course.
“Tabloids are always hungry,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “What we do is not for them to know, or anyone else. It’s private.”
Levi looks at me properly now, but his eyes are soft. I can feel the pity, and I fucking hate it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. His eyes drop instantly, and I hate that even more. I close my eyes for a second and drive it all down. “I’m sorry,” I tell him without opening my eyes. “It’s not something I like talking about.”
I hear the paper rustle like Levi is putting it down. My eyes fly open, expecting to see him getting up like he won’t do this, like I’m going to have to stop him, but instead I find him picking up the pen.
He asks, “And you won’t share the pictures of me?”
Even though the NDA prohibits me from that, I don’t need my signature on the page to answer him. “Never.”
I’m greedy, and what I see of him, I would never offer to anyone else.
Levi Drussel signs his name under mine. The letters are small and cramped. He’s never learned to take up space.
He caps the pen and lays it down, then his hands clamp onto his knees. He’s still perched on the edge of the couch. He’s uneasy but dealing with it. He might be riddled with insecurities, but he’s got guts. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.
I feel myself calming down, doing better as I focus on him again. This isn’t about me.
I make him get out his phone so we can exchange numbers and so I can send him the money. He thinks we’re just setting things up, like a test deposit. He startles when I make the full transfer.
“But I haven’t done anything yet,” he protests.
“You’ll be paid in advance every week. Do you need more? You said you needed money. Do you have debt?”
“Just rent I’m behind on. And some credit card stuff, I guess.” When his phone chimes with another deposit, he startles. His eyes bug out. “Oh my God, why did you do that? I didn’t mean for you to—”
“I don’t want you stressed about money. I want you focused on what we’re doing. I want it pure.”
“I can’t believe you just did that.” Levi is staring at his phone, so shocked that he looks horrified.
I reach over and grip his jaw like I did last night. I turn his face toward me. It’s the first time I’ve touched him today. I don’t say anything. I just make him look at me until his panic fades.
He’s so affected by touch. I love it. It’s like a feedback loop, like I experience his response in my own body.
I repeat my words because I don’t think he heard them the first time. “I don’t want you stressed about money. I want you focused on what we’re doing. Okay?”
I’m not being kind or generous. The money is nothing to me, and I don’t want Levi distracted by a problem that I can solve so easily, like he was fixated on it last night, terrified of losing his evening’s pay. I want every bit of his attention, even when he’s not with me.
And sure, with seven thousand in his account, he could run out on me. But he’s not going to. He needs the money, desperately, but it’s not really why he’s here.
Levi nods against my hand, and I see how easily I could make him cry right now.
All it would take is my thumb brushing his cheek.
The tiniest comfort and it would happen.
I want to do it. I want to see it. But I hold back because this isn’t the moment.
It’s not the right context, and I’m not going to spoil that first for either of us.
So I let go of him and stand from the couch. I leave him there to collect himself while I walk to the kitchen and get him a glass of water.
He’s better by the time I return. He’s embarrassed though, given the way he avoids my eyes as he thanks me for the water.
Watching him guzzle it, an image flashes through my mind. It’s very dirty, and it makes my dick twitch in its cage.
Golden Boy, I would call it.
I wonder if he’d do it for me. I wonder if he could.
God, he gives me so many ideas.
Dark.
Depraved.
Utterly beautiful.
But I have to be careful. He’s inexperienced, and that’s the point. I want to capture his progression—and that means no skipping ahead.
When he sets the glass down, I hold out my hand and say, “Let’s begin.”