Rewind Boxed Set

by Rowan Shaw

  "Well, can I see the apartment first?" I asked.

  "Right." Adrien beamed at me with all his perfect white teeth, then took me to the kitchen on the right of the hallway. Its walls were almost blindingly white, with a window opening on the Parisian view with its gray rooftops. A large wooden table for six people sat in the middle, surrounded by six chairs. The countertop was granite, and the fridge with a freezer on top could probably store enough food for five people. There was an oven, a microwave, a stove, and a stainless steel sink as well. It was all so modern, I wondered if the interior of the building had been renovated; the exterior façade sure seemed old.

  "Do you cook?" I asked. This kitchen was bigger than the one at my parents' house. My mom would freak if she saw this. She spent hours baking.

  Adrien smirked at me but didn't reply.

  I couldn't believe how luxurious the whole apartment was. When we retreated to the living room, my eyes caught on the pornographic art on the walls. I was so enthralled by the threesome yesterday, I had failed to notice the rest of them. I squinted. Was that a dude giving another guy a blow job? How had I missed that before? I felt a blush creeping up my neck and caught Adrien staring at me, his eyes shifting between the charcoal drawing and me.

  "Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asked.

  "No," I lied too quickly.

  His smile grew on one side. "We can take them down if you have family visiting. Don't worry."

  My shoulders relaxed. "I thought I wasn't allowed to have people over."

  He never stopped watching me. "I said I preferred it if you didn't bring people over to fuck; there's a difference. I said nothing about family."

  "Do you take those down when your family visits, then?"

  His smile froze like ice. "No, I don't. I don't have a family."

  "Oh."

  I didn't push the subject. I felt like a dick for asking, but how was I supposed to know? Thankfully, Adrien cut right through the awkwardness by opening the door to the bathroom, which was as sparkling clean as the rest of the apartment. It was windowless, white-tiled, and absurdly high class. Everything was tidy to a fault, with every item stacked in its rightful place without a speck of dust or water stain around. I assumed Adrien had a maid doing all the chores for him to keep everything this neat. The bathroom had no tub, but a large rectangular shower took over the entire back wall, all dark tiles with a glass sliding door. Like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom smelled like Adrien's cologne—an intoxicating, masculine scent that aroused me no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

  "I made some space for you over the sink," Adrien said and pointed at the half-empty shelf. "I would ask you not to leave your shit scattered around. Please clean up after yourself. I hate pubic hairs cluttering the floor. I don't like stains on the mirror. And if you piss outside the bowl, I'd better never step in your urine."

  What kind of a pig did he take me for? I nearly rolled my eyes, but I nodded instead. "Do you have a maid?"

  He chuckled loudly. "Do I look like I'm made of gold?"

  "Yes," I deadpanned.

  He guffawed even louder. "Yes, the maid comes once a week."

  "See. Why did you laugh at me?"

  He beheld me steadily. "Because you've already stereotyped me into some category, and I can guarantee you that your assumptions are wrong."

  "I was right about the maid, though."

  "Correct, but that's just because I hate doing chores and I like a clean place. Besides, Thomas is really good at his job."

  "The maid's a guy?" I exclaimed.

  Adrien's lips twitched on one side. "Yes, why? You think only women can hold a broom?"

  "That's not what I meant."

  "Maybe, but you sure sounded sexist."

  "Me, sexist?" I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself with his damn broom, but sadly, he had a point. When he wouldn't stop staring at me, I grew uneasy. The space was large, sure, but there wasn't enough distance between us for my comfort. I could still smell his cologne all around, and I hated the effect it had on me.

  "It's so easy to read you, Raphaël."

  "Right! So what am I thinking?"

  He stared pointedly with a sarcastic grin. "You're thinking I'm some upper-class brat who knows nothing about life. And you're getting nervous, though I'm not sure why."

  "No, you are totally wrong." He was absolutely right.

  He shook his head but didn't say another word as he finally stepped out of the bathroom.

  "This is my room." He pointed at some ajar door on our left. He didn't let me in.

  "Will I get to see your cat?"

  "Sure. Ila," he called, pronouncing it ee-lah. "Viens ici, mon chaton."

  A few seconds passed before a Siamese cat slipped out of his room and walked her way toward Adrien. She let out a loud meow and rubbed against his leg, leaving a trail of white hair on the black fabric of his pants. Adrien bent over to pick her up and scratch her chin. The moment she saw me, the cat glared while Adrien petted her between her pointy dark brown ears. She closed her eyes and pushed her head against his neck. He didn't seem to mind the hair she was leaving all over his black polo.

  "Can I pet her?" I asked.

  "At your own risk."

  I extended my hand, but Ila hissed at me. Adrien smiled apologetically. "Sorry. She's territorial."

  He dropped her to the ground and pointed at another door facing us from across the room. "That's my studio."

  "Your studio?"

  His eyes geared toward the art on the walls.

  "Wait! You made those? That art is yours?" I swallowed as I took another look at the paintings and drawings.

  "Yep." His lips curled up.

  I stared at the charcoals again. There was no more doubt in my mind that Adrien wasn't straight.

  "Are you queer?" The question popped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  Adrien licked his lips, his eyebrow raised to the sky. "Why are you asking? You want to jump my bones?"

  I choked on a cough, my reaction making him laugh so loud, he scared Ila away.

  "I'm kidding, Raphaël." He winked at me and patted me on the back, still chuckling. "Are you coy, cher coloc?" His eyebrow never fell.

  "I'm not a prude."

  Adrien raised his hands in self-defense. "Don't take it like an insult. There's nothing wrong with being shy."

  "Can I see your studio?" I asked so he would shut his mouth.

  "I never let anyone in there."

  "Why not?"

  "It's my private space."

  "Isn't your bedroom your private space?" I asked. "For all I know, you could be Blue Beard, and that room might be filled with corpses."

  He let out another tiny chuckle.

  "Do you have more art in there?" I really wanted to see. I hated being so damn curious, but what I had perceived so far was gorgeous.

  "I only have ever so many walls," he replied. "I store the rest of it in my studio, yes."

  "Don't you sell it?" I asked. "Do you have a gallery in the city? You also made the paintings, right? Those must sell for a lot of money."

  He shook his head. "They don't."

  "Oh, you've tried already?"

  "I don't sell what I make. It's too personal."

  "But if you work in marketing, wouldn't you be able to sell all that easily? For a lot of money?"

  When he didn't respond, I looked at the large splashes of colorful paint. How was that personal, anyway? My eyes landed on his drawings, making me wonder how many of those positions he had actually experienced himself. When my face burned, I shifted my gaze, clearing my throat.

  "Let's fill out your contract. Then we can go look at some furniture for your room," he closed the subject without showing me his studio.

  Chapter 4

  ADRIEN

  The moment we entered the cold and dark garage, Raphaël froze and gaped at my motorcycle parked close to the entrance. "You're kidding, right?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Ho
w are we supposed to bring back the furniture?"

  I gave a tiny smile. "We'll ask them to deliver."

  "Nuh uh." Raphaël shook his head, his eyes widening.

  "You want to carry all that heavy stuff in the subway? The store is rather far."

  His sigh grew loud as his shoulders slumped. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

  "No, you really don't."

  He looked at my bike again, even more skeptically than before. "You'll drive carefully?"

  "We can take a taxi if you prefer, but you're paying. To get from here to there and back, it'll be—"

  "Okay, okay!" Raphaël raised his hands, his face falling. I handed him a helmet that he put on reluctantly while I settled on the seat before he sat behind me, his strong thighs squeezing mine. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and I raised a thumb up at him over my shoulder to make sure he was okay. Not reassured at all, he gave me a hesitant nod.

  As soon as I cranked the engine and drove toward the exit, his grasp tightened around my stomach, nearly knocking the air out of me. The sun shone through my tinted visor when we left the garage for the street. I passed a few cars and headed toward Boulevard Raspail. I didn't have time to admire the old and modern Parisian buildings before taking a turn. Boulevard Edgar Quinet came next. Its natural environment was refreshing, the breeze blowing through the trees as we passed the Montparnasse Cemetery. It didn't seem to matter to Raphaël that the traffic was low in those areas. He kept squeezing his arms around me for dear life. I got us to Ikea in an hour. As soon as I parked, Raphaël got off the bike, looking slightly sick when he removed his helmet.

  "You okay?" It couldn't have been that scary. I wasn't even driving on the highway at full speed. We'd taken nothing but regular city roads, and we'd made it to the store in one piece.

  "Yeah, I'm good." His shaky voice told another story. I couldn't believe how flipped out he was by a simple trip.

  "You can take the RER back if you don't want to ride again."

  "I'm fine," he insisted.

  "Okay." I gave up and tilted my chin toward the store. "Let's go."

  Raphaël walked by my side without a word, his hands buried in his pockets, and we proceeded straight to the bedroom area to tour the different furniture.

  "Well, I guess I don't need to get everything, right?" he asked, concerned. "I mean, a bed and a nightstand, that's all I need at the moment."

  "You need a chest of drawers too. There's no closet in your room. And a mattress as well."

  His eyes widened a bit when he took in the prices of those, but he didn't say anything.

  "So, is this the set you want?" I gestured at the dark walnut furniture. "You're sure?"

  "Yeah, I'll get this one."

  I called for a store employee so Raphaël could place his order. Between the furniture and the delivery, it ended up costing him a little under a thousand and five hundred euros. He winced when we reached the register, but he took out his card and paid for everything without another sound. I told him he could sleep on the couch tonight. It wasn't the most comfortable solution, but it beat sleeping on the ground. I'd have offered my room, but I wasn't that selfless.

  Raphaël nodded, his lips thinning into a line. He had probably hoped to find a pre-furnished apartment, but I was already giving him the deal of the century with the low rent he was paying. He couldn't be much pickier.

  I gave him a smile and elbowed him in the side. "Come on, let's go grab some lunch."

  Chapter 5

  RAPHAËL

  The following day, the delivery triggered both my relief and my annoyance. I hadn't realized I'd have to assemble everything myself.

  Adrien grinned from my bedroom doorway when he caught on to my reaction. "I'll help you. Let me get my tools."

  I didn't have time to respond before he left, the creaking of a door somewhere in the apartment quickly followed by some muffled sounds and his returning footsteps. He stood in the room, beholding me in his white tank top over his discolored over-priced jeans. In spite of myself, my eyes outlined his biceps flexing as he carried the toolbox inside. He winked at me like a damn tease when he noticed me checking him out, then knelt by the cardboard box containing my bed and pulled a knife out of his back pocket to slice it open.

  It took us about an hour to assemble everything and set the bed against the wall by the entrance, the nightstand next to it right under my window, and the chest of drawers on the other side. The room was still big enough that I could have gotten more furniture, had I been able to afford it.

  "Don't you need a desk?" Adrien asked.

  I couldn't even pay for all this shit to begin with, so no, I sure didn't need a desk. I'd have to ask my parents to help me provide for all this, which was humiliating enough as it was.

  "I figured I'd study on my bed or in the kitchen."

  Adrien shrugged. "Fair enough." He turned around to leave, then shot me a glance over his shoulder. "Let me know when you're unpacked. I'll take you out to eat to celebrate. My treat."

  He flashed a gorgeous smile that made it impossible to refuse.

  I spent the next ten minutes unpacking my suitcase that I'd opened the night before to grab my essentials. Half my clothes were dirty from my stay at the hotel, but I had no idea where Adrien kept the washer and dryer.

  "You ready? I'm so hungry I could eat a cow," he called from the living room, then told me the machines were in the bathroom closet when I asked him.

  Things got uncomfortable as soon as we entered the elevator. I didn't know what to talk about, and Adrien had his arms crossed over his chest, closed to conversation.

  "What?" I asked after a few seconds because he was making me nervous, staring at me from the corner of his eye.

  "You come from Lorraine, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it nice there?"

  I shrugged. "If you like a gray sky."

  "The sky isn't always blue here either."

  "Yes, I know."

  "You've been to Paris before?"

  "I visited a few times as a kid with my parents."

  Adrien nodded. "Maybe I could show you around the city. I'm not big on architecture, but I can take you to any art museum you want."

  "Well, believe it or not, I've never been to the Orsay Museum."

  Adrien gaped at me. "That's a deal, then. You can't be in Paris and not go there. That's just not allowed."

  I laughed. "Okay then."

  The bing of the elevator rang as we hit the ground floor, where Adrien introduced me to the concierge before picking a bistro for us. We ate on a terrace across the street from the fountain of Saint Michel Square. A few tourists had gathered in front of its winged dragons spitting water while the statue of Saint Michel stood tall in its defeat of the devil. The sounds of cars never stopped, their drivers honking every time someone fucked up. Though I came from a city, mine was a lot smaller than Paris. Getting used to the constant noise would take time.

  When the waiter came for our orders, I was so distracted by all the animation surrounding us, I'd barely had time to peek at the menu. I apologized, flipped though it quickly, and picked a salade vosgienne while Adrien chose some mussels and fries.

  He glanced at my plate when it arrived. "You already miss your region, don't you?"

  "I guess. This is my favorite salad for sure."

  Adrien grabbed a fry that he dipped in Dijon mustard before popping it in his mouth. He was sitting right by my side so we could both watch as people passed by. It didn't take me long to notice his gaze wandering toward both men and women.

  "Are you bisexual?" I swallowed a breath when I realized how rude the question was, but it was too late to take it back.

  Adrien took his sweet time to stop ogling some Parisian woman with long dark hair in a formal suit and high heels to finally look at me. "That obvious, huh?" His lips rose on one side. "You too, right?"

  I stared at him, baffled. "How could you tell?"

  "Well, probably the same way you
did."

  "Except I don't have queer art all over my walls," I replied before taking a bite of my salad and cutting into the hard-boiled egg.

  "No, but your wandering eyes betrayed you. Besides, my bi-fi never glitches."

  "Your bi-fi?" I laughed.

  "Yeah, never heard of it? It's like gaydar but for bisexuals." He took a sip of wine and flashed me a flirty smile. Then he grabbed a mussel and ate it directly from its shell before wiping his fingers on his paper towel. "So what would you like to visit in Paris first?"

  "Well, my classes start in two weeks, and I have to prepare for that. I don't even have my books or anything yet."

  Adrien gestured around us at all the bookstores. "You're in the right place. You got a list? The stores here probably have what you need."

  I hadn't seen a single bookshelf in his apartment, but then again, I hadn't seen his bedroom or his studio yet, or maybe he preferred ebooks.

  "Do you read a lot?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "Not really."

  "Oh."

  "Unless it's a book about art." He popped a fry in his mouth, watching me as he chewed on it.

  "How come you don't like to read?"

  He had that look on his face, the cocky and absolutely indecent kind. "Who wants to read when they could be having sex?"

  I froze, my fork inches from my mouth, and stared at him. "That's a good point, though one doesn't prevent the other."

  "I guess. I just don't want to make time for it."

  "Do you play sports?" I couldn't stop myself when my eyes turned toward his chest molded by his white tank top. He wasn't ripped, but I was ready to bet he looked incredible without his clothes on.

  "I work out, yes. I don't have a choice. I have to look fit for my job."

  "Really? I would think it's illegal to discriminate against people based on their looks." Well, it was technically illegal, but I knew from personal experience that people did it often anyway. They never told me to my face I wasn't accepted for the apartments because of my skin. I just knew. It was right there in the superior way they looked at me.

  "It's part of my job," Adrien added. "That's how it is."

  "I don't get it."

  He didn't elaborate. "Speaking of which, I'll be out of town in a month or so."