Rewind Boxed Set

by Rowan Shaw

  She kept signing quickly, asking tons of questions, some of which I doubted she really wanted an answer to, but I knew she would harass me until I let out enough info that she might drop the subject. We rode a few attractions, but my mind was gone. All I could think about was FaceTiming Brandon tonight. It was still all he was willing to give, but at this point, I would take anything he would bestow upon me. I was like a beggar looking for crumbs.

  I snapped out of my daze when Margaux waved her hand in my face.

  "What?"

  "Do you like him?" she signed. "I mean really like him?"

  "Whom?"

  She pursed her lips. "Brandon, are you in love with him?"

  "It's a bit early to talk about love."

  "Something's different. I can feel it."

  "It's all in your head, frangine."

  "Says the guy who was devouring his boyfriend whole with his eyes. You were so not discreet."

  A group of teenage girls ran by us, sneaking through the crowd before heading to some attraction to buy tickets.

  My lips quirked in a tiny smirk as we strolled toward the exit. "I wasn't trying to be discreet."

  "Are you seeing him tonight?"

  "No. We only FaceTime during the week."

  She paused for a mere second before catching up with me when I kept walking. I didn't like the way she was observing me like I'd said something freakish. "How long has this been going on?"

  "What?"

  "Your affair with him."

  "It's not an affair. We're not even having sex."

  "Wait, what?" She grabbed my hand and stopped me at the intersection though the light was green and we would be missing our chance to cross the street. The fair's music was still loud behind us, pumping with life and energy.

  Margaux stared at me in disbelief. "You're not having sex with him? I thought you said—"

  "It's complicated. Okay? He wants to take it slow."

  "Patrick, that's... You're infatuated. I can tell. I haven't seen you like this since..." She stalled. She never used Cédric's name. He was a taboo, the boogeyman we never talked about.

  "It's not the same," I said. Or so I tried to convince myself. I'd tried to deny my feelings for Brandon, but even I had to admit he wouldn't hold my attention that long if there wasn't something more.

  "You haven't brought a man home in seven years. Mom's getting desperate, you know? It might be better not to tell her it's serious. Who was that kid with him?"

  "His daughter."

  Her eyes shot wide. "Mom won't get off your case if you start dating a man with a child. She'll want to adopt that kid before you're even done talking."

  "I know that. That's why you won't tell her anything about this. Not until I'm ready."

  Margaux nodded firmly and grabbed my elbow. She looked down both sides of the road, and when there was no car in sight, we crossed the street.

  "Do you want me to drop you at your place or mom's?" I signed.

  "My place. Laurent took the car."

  "How come he didn't join?"

  "You know he hates the fair since that day his dad lost him when he was only six."

  We walked along the streets, the music growing distant as we reached my parking spot. I unlocked the door to my small Peugeot and drove her back home. I was ready to head back to my apartment, then decided otherwise. I didn't want to wait the rest of the afternoon for the time I could finally talk to Brandon.

  I parked by the curb and messaged Jean-François to check his availability. He'd been harassing me, asking how my date went, and I never really replied. I felt bad about that, but I didn't want to talk about Brandon until I knew what was really going on between us. Margaux grilling me was bad enough.

  JEAN-FRANÇOIS: We're having a bit of a crisis here. My nephew came over and broke a bunch of Enrique's stuff. Can I catch up with you later?

  ME: Sure.

  I texted Enzo next.

  ENZO: Sorry, I'm at my parents' house. My mom needed someone to fix the sink, so Florian's helping.

  ME: Your dad couldn't do it?

  ENZO: My dad knows nothing about plumbing.

  ME: And Florian does?

  ENZO: Apparently. But I think this was all a ploy from my mom to make up with him or something.

  ME: Ah. Well I'm glad that drama with your parents is getting resolved, mon chou.

  ENZO: How is everything with you? Did you see the client again?

  ME: It's a bit complicated. And his name is Brandon.

  ENZO: Well, I have to go. Text me tonight.

  ME: Can't tonight, sorry.

  ENZO: You're going out? Florian's been asking if we could go to the club sometime.

  ME: No, I haven't been in a while.

  ENZO: How come?

  ME: Didn't feel like it.

  ENZO: You're sure you're okay? Jean-François said you weren't answering his texts.

  ME: Yes, I'm fine. I just texted him now. Sorry I've been distant. Just been busy.

  ENZO: Let's hang out on Saturday.

  ME: I can't.

  ENZO: I told you to stop working so hard.

  ME: I'm not working.

  ENZO: Okay, now you need to tell me what's going on.

  ME: I'm taking him out on a date on Saturday.

  ENZO: Wait! Who's him?

  I let out a deep sigh.

  ENZO: Wait, do you mean the client?

  ME: Stop calling him that. His name is Brandon, I just told you. And he's not my client anymore.

  ENZO: You're dating him?

  I could imagine his eyes bulging through the phone.

  ME: Yes, I'm dating him. Big deal. Moving on.

  ENZO: A bi guy, though...

  ME: Whatever.

  ENZO: Didn't mean to upset you. It's just huge news, that's all.

  ME: You're right...a gay man dating another queer guy. Huge!

  I rolled my eyes, though he couldn't see me.

  ENZO: I'm not sure who peed in your cereal today, but you're not being nice.

  I let out a sigh. Enzo sure knew how to guilt-trip me all right.

  ME: I'm sorry. It's just Brandon refuses to fuck for now, and I'm more than sexually frustrated. Been a bit on edge.

  ENZO: Okay, color me intrigued. I've never seen a guy manage to land a date with you that didn't involve sex. But I can't hang out right now. Unless you want to drive here and help with the plumbing mess. The entire ground floor is flooded. Just warning you.

  ME: Your parents couldn't hire a plumber?

  ENZO: My dad is stubborn.

  ME: Okay. Text me this weekend. Maybe we can hang out on Sunday? Grab some lunch or something.

  ENZO: Sounds good.

  I tossed the phone on the passenger seat and got out of the car. Instead of going home, I decided to take a walk downtown. I needed to clear my thoughts. Everyone was on my back about Brandon. It was exactly what I'd tried to avoid. As if the prospect of getting too attached to him didn't make me nervous as shit as it was.

  Chapter 28

  BRANDON

  Saturday came faster than I thought. I waited for Patrick at the entrance of Carnot Square around eight P.M. We had to postpone our date to the evening because Ling needed to take Eve to the doctor, so I kept Wei for part of the afternoon.

  The noise from the fair was a chaotic rumble in my ears when I arrived, the music loud, and the crowd talking, screaming, and laughing. The surrounding energy fueled me in spite of my general fatigue.

  Being at the fair made me homesick, though. Even after so many years, I still missed the US. And yet, I felt estranged when I went back, like I no longer belonged there. I was caught in between two cultures, two places, doomed to always miss one or the other. I was getting slightly melancholy when I felt a hand coming from behind to cover my eyes.

  "Vous attendez quelqu'un?" Patrick's soft voice poured in my ear, sultry and downright sexual.

  I laughed and pulled his hand away. "You're so corny, you know that?"

  He fla
shed a smile, his green eyes shining. "How is that corny?"

  I wondered if I'd ever stop being blown away by his beauty. Donning nothing but black clothes, he was breathtaking as always, shaven, and smelling of his familiar cologne that haunted my dreams.

  "Why are you calling me 'vous?'" I asked, doing my best to ignore the effect he had on me while he didn't even try to tame the carnal desire filling his gorgeous eyes.

  "Vous is more romantic than tu."

  I raised my eyebrow. "I highly doubt that."

  "Mon lapin, that's what posh couples use for their spouses."

  I made a face. "Are you sure, or are you just making that up?"

  He shrugged. "Some of them do."

  We were still standing on the edge of the street. The chilly breeze blew his hair that he pushed back in one swift movement before tightening his coat around his chest.

  "Like 'voulez-vous coucher avec moi?''" I asked, squaring my shoulders under the cold.

  "Non, mon chou. That's when a prostitute propositions a man on the street. But I'm all for role-playing if that's what you're into." He batted his eyelashes with such exaggeration, I could only laugh.

  "Did you eat already?" I'd had dinner, but knowing him, he probably hadn't.

  "No, I didn't even get to have lunch today. I'm famished." He looked around us, his eyes landing on a sandwich stand. "I'll have some kabob."

  I nodded and followed him that way. "That always confuses me."

  "What?" He grabbed my hand, surprising me with the tender gesture.

  I let him interlace our fingers together, relishing the feel of his palm against mine. "In the US, a kabob is meat on a stick we put on the grill."

  "Do you mean a brochette?"

  "No...uh, yes. I guess."

  Patrick pulled me further into the crowd as his hand tightened around mine. "Really? So what do you call a kabob then?"

  "I don't know. I've never had one."

  Surprise registered on his face. "You're kidding, right?"

  "No, why?"

  "Well, you're having one right now," he said.

  "I already ate."

  "Okay, we'll share one, then. Just one bite."

  "But you're starving," I protested while we waited in line.

  "That's an overstatement. I'd need to go longer than twelve hours without eating to starve, mon lapin."

  "No, I meant—"

  He cut me off when we reached the counter and called to the man, "Un kebab, s'il vous plaît."

  Apparently, he wouldn't give me a choice. I watched as the guy sliced some meat from vertical rotisserie rotating upon itself. The meat fell into a large bun cut in two before he added some lettuce, tomatoes, and onions, as well as some white sauce. He said something to his colleague in Arabic, and the other guy nodded before filling a paper cone with fries that he extended to me. Patrick pulled out his wallet and gave them some cash, telling them to keep the change before grabbing the sandwich. The smell of meat alone made me salivate even though I was already full.

  He took his phone out and scrolled through it as we walked away. He tilted his chin toward one of the tables in front of the stand. "Let's take a seat. I hate eating while walking."

  "That's rude," I commented when he wouldn't look at me.

  "What?" he asked, his nose still in his phone.

  "You're on your phone during our date."

  "Désolé, mon chou. I'm looking up the various types of kabobs." He showed me the pictures on the screen. "Apparently, your kind and my kind are both called kabob, but they're made differently."

  "Ah."

  He pocketed his phone, pulled a chair for me without thinking, and sat on the one opposite mine.

  "Did you just pull my chair for me?" I asked. He'd already done that at the restaurant the other day.

  "Oui, mon lapin. Is that a problem?"

  "I guess not." I wasn't used to it. Back in the day, I was the one doing it for Ling every single time. She seemed to appreciate it, but my gesture felt sexist now that I was dating another man.

  "May I have a fry?" I asked, though I was the one holding them.

  "I said we would share."

  I picked one and bit into it while Patrick sank his teeth in the sandwich and moaned, closing his eyes. "Divine." He observed me while eating, his smile soon spreading. "Want some?"

  "Yes, please."

  He held the sandwich in front of me and let me take a bite, but before I was done, he took a bite of his own from a different side, his lips nearly touching my mouth. His eyes locked on mine before he pulled away and chewed. A myriad of tastes exploded inside my mouth at once—meat, vegetables, and onions mixing together, nearly making me whimper. The air around us was still permeated with the scent of the cooking meat as I leaned forward and Patrick held out the sandwich before joining me for another bite.

  "Was this a trick so my breath smells like onions?" I asked after swallowing down my piece and popping a fry in my mouth. I licked my fingers, watching as Patrick's eyes followed the motions of my lips closing around each digit.

  "You're turning me on, and the evening hasn't even started yet," he groaned.

  "I'm the one turning you on? You're the one biting on the sandwich before it has even left my mouth. You've been moaning every time."

  His lips curled up wickedly. "Why would I do? And why would I want your breath to smell like onions?"

  "So you're not the only one with bad breath when we kiss later."

  He burst into a loud guffaw, then arched an eyebrow. "There will be kissing later?"

  "No, I mean, I don't know. I'm just saying."

  He licked his lips, his eyes falling to mine and staying there. "Don't say things unless you mean them, mon chou. There's only so much temptation I can take."

  I cleared my throat. "There might be some kissing. I..."

  I didn't know what I wanted to say or why I had to be so awkward, but I'd reached the point where I could barely face him without imagining the look on his face when I would tear his clothes off. That was why I always chose a public place to meet. In public, I was safe and could somehow control my need to touch him. I'd brought this frustration upon myself, really, but I was holding strong.

  "You're blushing," he said with a tiny smirk and asked me if I wanted to finish the sandwich. When I shook my head, he ate it all, his pea-green eyes not wavering once.

  Looking away to observe the crowd and hide my need, I picked up a fry.

  "You don't want any ketchup or Dijon mustard with your fries?" Patrick asked but didn't wait for me to reply before standing, reaching the stand in two steps to ask for some condiments that he brought back to me.

  "Fries with Dijon mustard?" I asked, eyeing the little package.

  "Yes. Try it."

  I grabbed one of the small packets and tore it apart. The yellow fluid poured over the inside of the cone. Patrick reached for a fry that he dipped in the mustard before popping it in his mouth. I did the same, the strong spicy taste burning my tongue.

  "You like it?" he asked.

  "It's different."

  "But good, right?"

  "Yes, Patrick, it's good."

  He gave a contented nod and didn't say another word until we were done with our meal. "What ride do you want to do first?"

  "I'm not sure it was wise to eat right beforehand."

  He laughed. "We'll be fine." He looked behind him and pointed over his shoulder. "Let's ride the Black Pearl."

  "I don't think so."

  He paused and beheld me. "That's a ride for kids."

  "It's not a ride for kids, and I hate heights."

  Patrick stared harder. "What do you ride at the fair then if you can't do heights?"

  "Things that stay on the ground. Let's do the haunted castle."

  "That one is so lame," he complained.

  "Maybe, but it's fun."

  "If you say so."

  We stood in unison and gathered the trash from the table to throw it away.

  Chapter 29


  BRANDON

  I couldn't stop laughing, my abs hurting when I saw the dismay on Patrick's face at the end of the haunted castle ride.

  "I swear, mon chou, don't ever force me through this lame nightmare again."

  "It wasn't that bad."

  "Oh really? That vampire was made of fucking papier-mâché."

  I chuckled again.

  "You think it's funny?"

  "Your reaction was worth it, yes."

  He rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand. "My turn now. We'll see who's laughing next."

  He led me to the one ride I feared the most.

  "Nope. Nuh uh. I'm not riding that."

  "Yes, you are."

  "No." I tried to pull back, but his grip was strong.

  "Why not?"

  I looked up as the huge crane launching people high in the air, balancing them back and forth before bringing them back down at full speed. I felt nauseated just watching.

  "If you want to go, I can wait here," I told him. I wasn't going to ruin his fun.

  "Fine. Let's look for something else."

  My shoulders relaxed. It meant a lot that he was willing to respect my limits and wasn't going to force this horror upon me. I would probably have a heart attack on that thing.

  "What about this one?" he asked a few feet away, pointing at the Flipper, a round platform that rose on one side while the seats turned on their own axes.

  "It goes up."

  "Not really. It's still very much down."

  I gave a hesitant nod. I couldn't say no to every ride. Not only was he going to take me for a childish wimp, but he deserved to have fun as well.

  "Okay," I agreed reluctantly. I could already feel my heart racing to my throat.

  "Yeah, you sure?" He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously.

  "Yeah, I'm sure." I wasn't sure at all, but I did want to share the experience with him.

  "My treat since it's my choice," he said.

  I'd paid for the haunted castle, which was probably why he hadn't protested much when we'd gone inside.

  My heart pumped into a speedy race when we approached the booth and Patrick ordered two tickets. The man at the gate led us to our seats and lowered the bar before pulling on it to check if it was tightly locked. He had barely walked away before I pulled on it a few more times myself just to make sure. Patrick couldn't hide his lopsided grin as he placed his hand over mine, his fingers sliding between my own.