We took our dishes into the kitchen and did a quick tidy before taking our refilled glasses back to the couch.
“As it turned out,” I remarked, “we probably could have made it to jazz after all. Sorry about the change in plans, but I’ve been so tired this week, I’m glad we stayed in.”
I made sure to sit farther over to the left so I could sit back, and he could still spread out. He placed his wine on the tabletop and asked, “Do you mind if I switch off the overhead light?”
“No, no, not at all,” I assured him. It was a good suggestion as the room was a bit too bright for watching TV. “The switch is right there.” I pointed to the fixture on the right wall.
He switched off the light, leaving only a glow from the television and a faint illumination coming from the kitchen area. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, and Ken settled himself next to me, closer than he’d been before, so I resolutely kept my back pressed against the cushions, unwilling to forfeit my space if he felt like manspreading into my territory again.
“You’ve been having trouble sleeping?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah, sometimes I do.” Since meeting King, I had, anyway.
“Can I show you a technique I use?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Sleep is very important, and when I was a resident, I needed to maximize my sleep time. I needed a way to fall asleep quickly to catch as many minutes as I possibly could.” He angled toward me, touching our knees together. “This is a breathing method called cardiac coherence. You inhale deeply for four seconds,” he drew in a large breath, ticking off the seconds on his finger. Then he began exhaling slowly, ticking off six seconds.
“The exhale extends a bit longer, for six seconds. It activates the parasympathetic nervous system, slowing your heart rate, decreasing blood pressure, and relaxing your muscles,” he explained. “Doing this for five minutes will not only help with insomnia, but stress management and anxiety. Try it.”
He sat up straighter, so I mimicked his position and inhaled at his lead. I watched as he flared his nostrils at the inhale, his chest rising with the breath. The light from the television starkly illuminated one side of his chiseled face, leaving the other in shadow. His one eye exposed to the light seemed colorless, radiant. He flashed a smile as we finished our second exhale. I couldn’t help noticing the dark couldn’t obscure the brightness of his even, white teeth. Returning his smile, and feeling very relaxed I said, “We only did it twice and I can already feel the difference.”
“There’s another one that you might like better. It works best if you lay down.” Without waiting for a response, he dropped his knees to the floor and turned to gesture for me to lay out on the sofa. I obliged.
Ken leaned over me, his features barely perceptible in shadow. “This is abdominal breathing. When you inhale, first inflate your belly, like you’re filling it up with air, then do the same with your chest. Exhale the same; first the belly, then the chest.” He grasped my right hand, which had been dangling off the sofa, and set it on my stomach. He kept his hand on mine.
“It works best if you feel the rise and fall of your abdomen. Deep breath,” he instructed, softly.
I took a deep breath and distended my belly. “Good,” he said, sliding his hand up my torso to my chest. “Now the chest.”
As I exhaled, he slid his hand slowly back down to my stomach, and whispered, “How do you feel?”
The words, combined with the almost-caress of his hand, sparked goosebumps. I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple rippling in my throat. “G-good,” I stammered thickly.
A knock sounded, effectively—blessedly—ruining the one-sided, sensual charge that was happening, and I all but flew off the couch. I raced to the wall, flicked on the light and said, “Oh, Jesus, it’s like Grand Central Station here tonight. Hang on.”
Rising from the floor, Ken blinked against the glare of the overhead light and said with a sigh, “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”
When I opened the door, I found Ernesto waiting with a broad, happy grin. In lieu of a greeting, he called out, “Wally! Papa Ern is here to see you!”
He was holding a large package, wrapped in brown paper. I assumed it was one of his photography prints. I loved gifts, loved Ernesto, and welcomed the interruption, but I didn’t want to let him in. He’d meet Ken, make some assumptions, and my stupid face after that near-boner I just had, would betray me. I could feel a slight blush creeping already.
“Sorry, Wally’s not here. Thanks for coming by, but I’m busy right now. No time to chat.” I made a motion to shut the door.
“Why are you so rude, Steven?” he asked, holding the door open. He slid the package through the gap and said, “I have a present for you and you’re tossing me out!”
I backed away, allowing him entrance. I knew the more I protested, the bigger stink he’d make, so I gave in.
“You are acting weird,” he remarked on his way through the entrance hall. “What’s going—” He stopped short when he saw Ken. “Ooh,” he cooed, turning to give me a knowing look. “I get it now.”
Ken approached his hand extended. Ernesto switched the print to his left hand and met Ken’s shake. “You must be Wally,” Ern said sarcastically.
“No,” he replied. “I’m Ken. Wally’s a dog.” His face was slack, expressionless. In that look, I thought I detected annoyance, but couldn’t be sure.
Deciding I needed to take control of the situation, I said, “Ernesto, this is Ken, Ken this is Ernesto. Dan already came by for Wally, so you’re out of luck.”
He turned away from Ken, issued me a gleefully conspiratorial stare and mouthed Oh my God. Being newly married to a model didn’t mean Ernesto couldn’t be dazzled by Ken’s good looks. I issued him a nearly imperceptible nod which I hoped he’d interpret as, So hot, it should be criminal.
Aloud, he said breezily, “It’s fine, I really came to bring you a thank you present. Paulie and I appreciate all your help with the wedding. You were a lifesaver.”
With sincerity I replied, “No thanks are needed. I was happy to help.” Running errands, hosting the bachelor bar crawl, and helping two of my best friends celebrate their commitment and love had been an honor. And, I was always a sucker for love. But I was also a sucker for gifts, so I said, “I do love your presents, though. Gimme.” I playfully made grabby-hands at the package.
I tore the paper open to find, as I expected, a framed photograph from Ern’s trip. What I didn’t expect was the reaction it evoked. I gasped in wonder and awe.
The vivid striated waves of reds, oranges, and whites, illuminated by the desert sun and captured so close as to have no orientation with the sky or perceivable ground, didn’t look like a photograph of sandstone. It appeared abstract.
It was bright, hypnotic, and absolutely stunning.
No wonder Paulie cried. I felt near to it myself and I was only looking at it from the perspective of a camera lens.
I felt Ken sidle close to me for a look at the print. He bent his head near to mine and I felt his breath on my cheek as he said, “It’s beautiful.”
The combination of his low timbre, scent, and proximity mixed with the earlier confusing stimulation, put my dick on alert.
Mayday! Mayday!
With rapid, jerky movements, I hurried to the far wall and made a show of pondering where I’d mount it.
“So, Ernesto,” I heard Ken say. “Are you Spanish?”
I lowered the picture and whipped around in surprise. What kind of question was that to ask someone? Ernesto had an obvious accent and dark features which were indicative of a mix of native and Spanish genetics. I didn’t know why Ken would bring ethnicity up in conversation, unless he was uncomfortable with Ern. Fucking. Great.
Ken’s face still bore that vapid blankness, and for a moment, I thought I was going to have to intervene on Ernesto’s behalf, but then Ernesto replied suspiciously, “Somewhere down the line, yes. But my family has its roots in the Yucatan. Why do you ask?”
Ken seemed to realize he was bordering on giving offense and laughed in a self-deprecating way. “I’m sorry, Steven said he liked Spanish guys. I was just thinking you two had a thing.” He appeared to be apprehensive about that prospect. Maybe, again thinking I was bringing him into an uncomfortable misunderstanding.
With heartfelt relief, I laughed at his awkward fishing. Ernesto laughed as well and gave Ken a pat on the shoulder. “No, no! I am married and Steven and I are only friends. You have nothing to worry about from me.”
I inwardly laughed at Ernesto’s implication that Ken and I were involved, and I waited for Ken to catch it and deny it, but he apologized again for being rude.
Ern waved him off and said his goodbye. I walked him to the door, and when we reached the threshold, he started excitedly punching my arm.
“Ow!” I whispered, rubbing my smarting bicep.
“I want every detail. Do you hear me?” His voice was hushed, but emphatic. “Call me.”
I closed the door behind him, not bothering to disabuse him of the idea that I was about to get into Ken’s pants. I’d ‘fess up later, but for now, I was just going to let him think what he wanted.
I stood in the entryway for a moment, giving myself time to shake off the confusion of the last few minutes. I spied my neglected mail sitting on the table and noticed a small manila envelope amongst the junk. Curious, I tore it open. Within were two standard sized papers folded in half.
My stomach flipped when I saw what was printed on them. Grainy, blurry photos taken from several yards away, showed me talking with Ken at the sports bar last week. They were terrible pictures, printed on regular paper from a home printer, but I could still decipher that I was the subject.
“King,” I whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
*DKM*
As soon as Steven came back into the living room, I perceived a radical shift in mood.
I’d screwed up.
My intention with Ernesto hadn’t been to come across jealous or worse, racist. I was sure Steven would have understood the reference to Manuel the plane and laughingly given me the story of whether he and Ernesto had history. They did laugh and did assuage my curiosity, but not before they both issued sharp looks, alerting me to the fact that my intentions were perceived as suspect.
But even after the laugh and apologies, Steven looked pinched. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me as he settled himself back on the couch. He left the overhead light on and sat a full cushion away from me.
“Let’s finish this movie, okay?” He restarted the movie and crossed his leg away from me. His body language told me there was no going back to where we were a few minutes ago.
I had been so close to kissing him. Poised above, ready to lean in. My hand had felt the clenching of his abdominals and the uptick in his breathing in that brief moment. Then it all had been shattered by the knocking.
Frustration didn’t begin to describe what I was feeling.
I allowed myself to focus on the film, hoping that by the end Steven’s demeanor would change. But when the credits started to roll, I scooted closer to him and he seemed startled, like he’d been deep in thought.
“How were you getting home tonight?” His brows were drawn, voice sharp.
I felt my face betray my perplexity, but I caught myself and let my expression go slack. “I hadn’t decided. I usually take the bus from Michigan and Washington on Sunday mornings, but at this time of night, I’ll probably call for a cab.”
“I don’t like that,” he muttered softly, as if speaking to himself. Then, louder for my benefit, he said, “Hang on a second.”
He looked at his watch, grabbed his cell phone from the coffee table and rose from the couch. Dialing a number, he left the room with purposeful strides.
I tried to hear the conversation over the movie score, but all I could make out was “Damon.”
When Steven returned, he said, “Damon, one of the guards, will be here in a minute. He’s going to give you a ride home.”
I was dumbfounded and embarrassed. I slid on my blazer and said tightly, “That’s not necessary, I’ll leave now and request an Uber.”
“No! Don’t do that.” His words were rushed. “This will be easier. You’ll get home faster. The car will leave from the underground parking garage and it has tinted windows…”
How nice, I thought. I’m being thrown out by security, but at least it’ll be in luxury. I couldn’t help my derisive snort.
My snort didn’t seem to register with Steven. He was looking at his watch again and chewing on his lip, so I shook my head and walked to the door, determined to leave immediately.
“What are you doing?” he asked in alarm as I started to open the door. “Damon’s coming.”
“I don’t need a ride,” I said as I pulled the door open.
Poised to knock was a tall, beefy man in a black suit. He smiled at Steven and said, “Good evening. This the guy?” He gestured to me with a slight tilt of his head and a twist of his lips. “He doesn’t look like a clown.”
Steven bared his gritted teeth and opened his eyes wide. “Not. Now. I know I’m asking you for a favor, but that doesn’t mean you get to mess with me.”
So, I’m a fucking clown now, huh?
Damon laughed, clearly enjoying Steven’s reaction. “Fine, fine,” he said, sobering. “But, seriously, I do have to fill out a VCO form for the rig, just so you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Fill it out however you need to. If Dan or Stan need to know why, send them to me.”
I was angry at this point and didn’t appreciate being talked around like I was some inconvenience that needed to be dealt with. “I’m leaving,” I announced. “No forms or cars necessary. Good night, Steven.”
I made a move to pass Damon when Steven grabbed my forearm. “Please just go with him. It will be much safer if you do and I’ll worry if you don’t.”
His gray eyes were beseeching, pleading. I didn’t understand what was happening.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know, I know,” he nodded. “But just do this for me, please. And call me as soon as you get back to your place.”
His face and tone softened me some, but I still bristled at his treatment. Ungraciously, I capitulated. “Fine.”
* * *
When Damon and I left Steven’s apartment, he led me down to a subterranean garage where a fleet of shiny, black Mercedes SUVs sat in an orderly row, each having been backed into their spaces with precision.
As we approached the first vehicle in the line, he unlocked the door with the fob in his hand, preceded me to the back passenger-side door, and gestured for me to get inside. I situated myself in the seat, gave him my address on West Taylor and spent the next ten minutes alternating between anger and hurt.
Entering my apartment, I was currently in the anger phase, and in a childish pique, I closed the door harder than I should. It made a slam that was both satisfying and regrettable. I sighed.
Well, I was 0 for 2 in that building. Last time, I’d been ditched by Elizabeth, and this time I’d been thrown out by Steven. Both were humiliating, but this one hurt more. Not only did it hurt, but I bore some responsibility. With Elizabeth, there was nothing in my power I could have done to change the outcome, but tonight, I’d clearly blown it. We’d been in semi-darkness, whispering, and inches away from kissing. If his friend hadn’t shown up, I’d probably be rolling around naked on that giant, shaggy throw rug, touching every inch of his skin.
I scrubbed my hand over my face and growled. With embarrassment, I replayed my words in my head.
I’m Ken, Wally’s a dog. What a moron.
Are you Spanish? Who asks someone if they’re Spanish?
Gah!
Steven was done with me, I could feel it. He tried to pretend like he was concerned for my safety or something but that felt like bullshit to me. Why would he worry about me? I planned on exiting his building, getting into a cab, and
going home. I was a grown-ass man who took trains, busses, and cabs all over the city all the time. It didn’t make sense.
But when he’d finally made eye contact on my way out…he genuinely seemed distressed. I couldn’t understand what his game was. I would have preferred if he’d been honest with me instead of putting on a show of fake concern.
Call me as soon as you get to your place.
That had been a nice touch, but I was sure if I dialed right now, he’d let it go to voicemail.
The more I thought about the night, the more I wondered if what I said to Ernesto was even the problem. Maybe I’d misread him, maybe my come-ons weren’t doing it for him. Yeah, I thought I detected a flash of something, but up until then, nothing had been working. He wouldn’t relax into me even though I’d tried to get close. And the dog-sitting had clearly been real, not an excuse to get me to Netflix and chill.
I had to face facts. Steven was just not that into me.
But the thing was… I really liked him. He was generous and easy going and so damn cute. I got him to open up a bit about his family and allowed him to turn the conversation when he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Pushing wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I had felt relief that he shared.
I’d learned quite a bit about him tonight. The apartment decor was a big tell. If I had to come up with adjectives for his style it would be elegant and eclectic. The color palette of the apartment was neutral with its starkly white couch, heather gray rug, and glass tables. At first, it would seem like it was designed to allow the view from the large windows to be the focal point, but one look at the walls told me it was all to showcase the art.
It ranged from charcoal sketches to bright pop art. Abstract to realism, prints and originals, photography and sculpture. Each was beautiful, eye-catching, and placed in such a way that seemed fluid and harmonious despite the mix.
The reaction Ernesto’s picture elicited on Steven’s face had been pure thrall. He’d been utterly absorbed in it for a moment, appreciating all that it had to offer, and it cemented what I’d suspected earlier when we talked about movies. Steven loved having his mind stimulated.
Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2 Page 10
