47. My Life is a French Film
MY LIFE IS A FRENCH FILM
Mark
We trudge up the steps to my building on Sunday afternoon.
“Thank you for taking me to the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State building. But I’d have to say my favorite part of my forty-eight hours in New York has got to be the M&M shop in Times Square. It was a lifelong dream to go there,” Asher replies as we reach the top step.
“Had a feeling you’d love all the tourist traps.”
We did none of those things today. Which made this Sunday another perfect day?filled with sleep, sex, coffee, walking around Manhattan, and Asher.
My . . .
As I unlock the door to my building I wonder once again?what is Asher to me after this weekend? Because lover is a weird fucking word to use in any situation except for a French film.
As I wander down the hallway, my chest hollows. Tomorrow, I won’t see him. Or the next day or the next. But I want this life. Hell, I want a weeknight life with him too?seeing him after work, or after Rosie goes to bed. I never thought I’d want that at all.
But now I want that so much I can taste the possibility. The last day we were in Miami, this was what I imagined having with him, but it’s going to vanish in mere hours, when he walks down those steps and gets on that plane. And, holy fuck, my head is a French film.
I hate foreign films. I’m not broody.
Except when it comes to Asher St. James.
“Next time, will you take me to a show and on a carriage ride?” Asher asks, deadpan.
“Count on it . . .” But the sentence dies as I stick on next time. How the hell do we get to a next time?
A door creaks open at the end of the hall. “Yes, I know, Zoe. Sprinkles. Get sprinkles. It’s one of the four basic food groups.”
“Wine, sprinkles, cake, and sushi,” Zoe calls out to her wife.
Shutting the green door, Valencia comes into view, all olive skin, waves of chestnut hair, and big eyes that fire questions at me when she acquires the target?me with a man.
“Hello there, friend, ” she says, pointedly, then gestures from Asher to me, then back.
“You mean bad friend , I believe, Valencia. And to answer your unsaid question, this is Asher.”
“Who can only be the smug and hot one?” she asks with a too-big smile.
And for the fiftieth time, my face flames red.
Asher loops an arm around me, cracking up. “Aww, fuck you, Mark.”
I laugh too. “Yes, the smug best man.” My . . .
Why does a label even matter?
Valencia strides forward, grabs Asher’s hand, and says, “I had a feeling about you two.” Then she gives me Robert De Niro I’m watching you eyes. “And I expect a full report later.”
She heads out the door as we hit the stairs, Asher behind me.
“She knows you wanted to fuck me?” Asher asks.
This guy. Laughing, I answer. “Yes. She’s a good friend. She wants to set me up with her dentist. And before then, it was her creative director,” I mention casually, catching him up on my friendship with Valencia.
“And you said . . .?” Asher’s voice is stripped of all fun. It’s intense. Commanding even.
I turn to him on the steps. There’s no humor in his eyes. Only possession. “I said no. And I’ll still say no.”
He doesn’t even smile. He just nods crisply. “Good answer, Banks.”
I keep walking up, a smile teasing at my lips as I look ahead. With that understanding? this is exclusive ?the stranglehold on my emotions loosens slightly. But only slightly.
That means I need to say more.
Thirty minutes later, Asher is packed and ready to go, his car arriving within the hour.
I flash back to Florida, to the morning in the guest house when I was rehearsing how to ask him for more. I swallowed my words then. I won’t do that now.
I gesture to his suitcase. “Funny, how much I was dreading the first flight with you back in June.”
Way to go, Banks. Start it off by telling him you hated him.
But isn’t that how our story began?
“You seemed pretty miserable, even though you were undressing me with your eyes all the time,” Asher quips.
I smile faintly, but I can’t hold onto the grin, because honestly, I’m fucking sad that he’s leaving. He sits on the edge of my bed with my navy sheets and gray pillowcases. The man knows me so well.
I soldier on. “But then,” I say, rubbing my hands along the comforter. “I was dreading leaving Florida without saying . . .” I stop to swallow, then meet his gaze.
I expect his eyes to drift down to my throat, checking for the truth. But they stay locked on mine patiently.
“Saying what, Mark?” he asks softly.
I scrub a hand across my jaw. Fuck, why is this so hard?
Oh, right. Because you’re falling for the guy next to you.
“Without telling you how much I wanted to see you again,” I say, and it’s more than a weight lifting.
It’s a door opening. Maybe into a whole new future.
Asher’s grin is buoyant. “I had a feeling you were going to then. Or maybe just a hope. Even though I was leaving the country.”
I stare down at my hand on the navy comforter, then at his in his lap.
The man does know me. He called it last night?when I really want something, I take the risk.
He’s the reward. I reach for his hand. “I want us to try this out. Just you and me. I don’t want you to date anyone else.
I’m not going to. I want to do this, whatever this is,” I say, and my fingers clasp his so tightly as I put my heart on the line for the first time in a long time. Maybe ever.
With astonishing speed, an answer flies from his lush lips. “Yes.”
That’s it. I don’t even have to speak the word that’s been forming on my tongue.
His lips are on mine, and he’s kissing me. It’s a soft, poignant kiss that tastes far too much like goodbye. But also like the start of something new and complicated and so very big.
When he breaks the kiss, his eyes gleam wickedly. “Is this on your spreadsheet?”
“What?” I ask, still a little dazed from everything.
“Asking me to be your boyfriend?” he goads.
“You’re such an arrogant prick.”
“But now I’m your arrogant prick,” he says, and the man is far too pleased in this moment.
Or really, maybe as pleased as I hoped he’d be.
“Yes, you are. So let’s do this.” Leaving the bedroom, and the scene of the best weekend ever in my life, we move to the living room and compare schedules.
It’s not the least bit romantic or sexy, and it’s the only thing I want to do with my boyfriend.