by Cara Dee
“You work as an instructor at The Fender Initiative, which appears to be a music school,” he went on. “Your friend Ruby posts a great number of photos with you in them, and you like happy hour and trying new restaurants.”
I let out a laugh, and I couldn’t argue with him. Ruby had early shoots this month, so we hadn’t been able to get together for drinks more than once or twice. It left us with quick lunches when she could duck out for half an hour. The other day, I’d met up with her outside the studio, and we’d tried the Indian place across the street.
“She’s one of my best friends, but work doesn’t allow us to hang out for very long,” I responded, still amused. “My hours at my brother’s academy are between noon and early evening, and hers are early mornings and/or late nights, so we grab food on the go, basically. We’ll see each other often but rarely for more than twenty minutes.”
“Sounds stressful,” Gideon noted.
I shrugged and chucked some fries into my mouth. “And yes, my brother runs the music school where I work.”
“You teach students to play instruments,” he stated.
“Correct.” I nodded and reached for my soda. “We have an exchange program going with two local schools, so that covers the early hours—at least for my brother. I only have a couple of those classes. Most of them start once regular school is out for the day.”
He hummed. “How many instruments do you play?”
Damn. I had to think. I scratched the side of my head and squinted. “Um…maybe twelve?” Gideon’s eyes widened, and I felt the need to clarify. “I’m not qualified to teach all of them,” I said. “But I can get by.”
“I see. And you prefer guitar and piano…?” he guessed.
“Definitely. And the drums. And the harmonica. And—okay, the list goes on.”
He exhaled a chuckle and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Do you sing also?”
“Sure. Not as well as Anthony, but I’m fairly good.”
Gideon leaned back in his seat, observing me, and I dug it hard. I wanted his interest. I wanted him to keep asking me questions, because then it could be my turn later.
“You look up to him very much, don’t you?”
“Every kid has a hero,” I said. “He was mine. My pop and I are close, but it was Anthony who guided me through my childhood.” Especially after Ma died. “He’s…he’s just a good role model.” I lifted a shoulder, then smirked when a memory hit me. “He’s the most resourceful man I know. For instance, when his first electric guitar broke and he couldn’t afford a new one, he picked the whole thing apart just to see how it was constructed. Then he used the parts that were still good and created a new guitar. It’s something he still does.”
“Impressive.” Gideon leaned forward again and took some fries. “What kind of music do you play?”
I’d give him this topic. Once we were done with music, I wanted my go. “Soft rock, mostly. It depends what we’re rehearsing for. The one you showed up at is for an outdoor concert in a few weeks, and since it’s the church, it’s mainly Christian rock.”
He tilted his head and chewed and swallowed before speaking. “There will be a concert? One for the public?”
I mean…obviously? Wait, did he wanna go?
“Yes.” I could ask him to come, though it felt a bit rushed. We weren’t there—yet. But as always, there was a compromise. “I’ll leave a note on the fridge with the details in case you wanna spy on me.” I winked to show I had no ill feelings about his sneaking around.
Gideon flushed a little and busied himself with his fries.
Goddamn adorable.
“Can I ask the questions now?” I asked.
He had reluctance written all over, but he’d seen this coming. “It’s only fair. Go ahead.”
Fucking finally.
Chapter 6
Music was a safe route to begin with, or continue with, and he needed some warmin’ up.
“What kind of music do you like?”
His shoulders lost some of their tension, and he thought about his reply while he polished off the rest of his battered fries. “I like many genres. The song I heard you and your brother perform with the choir was lovely—except for the lyrics, of course—but at home, I listen to progressive metal and classical music.”
I lifted my brows, unsure of where to begin. What about the lyrics? And progressive metal? Madonn’.
Classical music made more sense with my profiling of him.
“What’s wrong with Anthony’s lyrics?” I asked first.
Gideon waved a hand, dismissive, and took a swig of his soda. “It was personal. It made me feel uncomfortable.” Because it was a song about trying to settle for second best? About feeling trapped? “I enjoy music by musicians who do more than find a good beat. I appreciate technical songs. They take me on a journey, and I have to focus on the patterns.”
That explained his appreciation for progressive metal, I guessed. Not to mention classical music.
I enjoyed technically progressive songs too, especially playing them, because I loved a good challenge. But there was still a side of me that disliked turning something complicated just for the fuck of it. Some songs were supposed to be easy. It had to be natural.
“Ironically, my all-time favorite song is a simpler one,” he said. “My parents used to dance to ‘Stand by Me’ in the kitchen when I was very young. It stayed with me as one of my most cherished memories.”
I smiled at that. “That’s sweet. My brother and I have performed it a few times. We made it a lot more technical, though.” I smirked.
“Really.” He was too cute. It was clear he was holding back some of his curiosity, but I saw it in his eyes.
It made me more confident that I’d made the right decision not to outright invite him to the gig. Because he wasn’t ready. We were still dancing around the carefully broken rules. Except, to him, it wasn’t careful anymore. I wasn’t spreading my legs for him in the studio apartment right now. I was here, on the Upper East Side, having fries with him.
I’d lubed him up for more personal topics now, I decided, and I knew just how to get there.
“I can admit that I didn’t think you’d be the type of person who liked metal,” I said.
People were always interested in knowing how others perceived them.
Gideon asked the obvious question. “What did you think I listened to?”
Almost there.
I chuckled softly. “I have a whole profile on you based on speculation. Tina didn’t offer much, just that you wanted to explore something before you get hitched.”
He flinched slightly at the last part but pressed forward and fell straight into my trap. “I’d like to hear about your profiling.”
There we go.
Once I’d shared my perception of him, the sensitive subjects would be right there, hovering above us, and he could choose what to dissect.
“Let’s see…” I sat back and pretended to ponder, as if I didn’t already know exactly what to say. I’d only had weeks to think about this. “When Tina told me of your, uh, deal with your fiancée—then the fact that you’re paying a crapload for everything—I automatically assumed you come from wealth. I still have that impression. Your family’s well-off, and I bet you’re not the first in line to be named Gideon.”
He offered a small, stiff smile. “The fourth.”
Not surprising.
“You live around here somewhere,” I continued. “You have a private driver who takes you to work in the morning and wherever you need to go. You’re a reliable man and probably stand by your commitments even when you shouldn’t.” I got a slight reaction to that. The corners of his eyes tightened. “You’re an aggressive and instinctual lover, and you need to stay in control—or so you think. I think, if you found someone you trusted wholeheartedly, you’d enjoy letting your guard down and have another person take care of you, at least outside the bedroom. What else?” I drummed my fingers absently against the table. “This exp
loring thing… I don’t know, I’m guessing social stigma and fear of not being accepted has kept you in the closet about being gay or bi. In old-school circles, it’s still taboo to be different.”
I wasn’t cocky enough to believe I was right on the money, but I was close… I could tell. He was back to avoiding eye contact, and his jaw ticked with tension. I sensed the restlessness in his posture.
“I also think you’ve successfully created a world of order and structure around yourself,” I said, “and it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
That one earned me a sharp look.
“Without structure, my world falls apart,” he said tightly. “I spent my childhood in and out of panic attacks, and it took me years to find ways to cope in our society. What you see today—every step I take, every word that comes out of my mouth—is due to structured training and confining myself. We speak figuratively about children learning to crawl before they can walk, but for me, there were approximately a dozen steps between crawling and walking.”
I showed my palms to indicate I wasn’t arguing with him—or doubting him, for that matter.
“I start out in a small box,” he added. “Inch by inch, I expand it.”
“I believe you, hon,” I replied quickly. Because I didn’t want him to think I didn’t. He was clearly sensitive about this. “But then you also know that our arrangement—the way you designed it originally—never woulda given you what you wanted. Right? ’Cause you’ve expanded the box now. We’re talking. We see each other. No one’s wearing a mask, and we don’t need the dark anymore.”
His intense gaze flickered from one spot on my face to another as he processed what I’d said.
“In retrospect, yes,” he conceded.
I nodded once. “I shook your structure. And you lived. It was uncomfortable for a moment, and you had to adjust, but we pulled through, didn’t we? That’s my only point—and you’ve done it your whole life. You’ve pushed yourself and created new boundaries.” I gestured between us. “We’re the same. You established a perimeter for our relationship, and then we reached a point where it wasn’t enough. You said you felt alone when I wasn’t participating.”
He nodded, remembering. It’d been such a pivotal point.
“I’m obviously gonna do my best not to push you too hard,” I went on. “But I think you’re stronger than you appear to believe. I don’t think you’re obeying boundaries right now because you’re not ready for more—I think it’s something else. You’ve mentioned having commitments. Something about this—about us—is supposed to be purely physical.”
“Well, yes.” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “A physical arrangement was the agreement I made with my fiancée. It was what she agreed to.”
I stared at him, waiting, and I felt like we’d reached the stage where it was time he told me about this engagement of his. But maybe I was wrong? The lines were getting blurry, and I could possibly be getting ahead of myself. I just felt like we’d made such good progress…
But in the end, I was still a piece of ass he paid for.
I scratched my forehead, unsure of how to proceed.
“Your observational skills are a little too good,” he said, glancing toward the booth across the narrow aisle. “I live two streets away. I do have a driver, and he’s the only one who knows I’m attracted to men.” He coughed a little and directed his gaze to the table. “Except for Claire, then. I told her a few months ago when we discussed marriage. I told her I couldn’t go through with anything while I had these…thoughts and urges.”
Claire.
I wanted to know about her as much as I wanted to forget her name.
Gideon sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What if you’re right? What if I won’t be satisfied?”
A breath gusted out of me. I couldn’t help but feel relieved that he was at least asking himself that question.
“That box I’ve lived in hasn’t been expanded in years,” he admitted. “I’ve grown comfortable, but at the same time…” He exhaled and sent a look skyward. “What was once necessary structure has started to feel like a prison.”
Then he knew he had some thinking to do. Some decisions to make.
“There’s one thing I gotta ask,” I told him. “How does your fiancée agree to all this? You don’t strike me as someone who’s in an open relationship.”
He waved me off absently, lost in thought. “We’re not marrying for love. That helps.”
“Uh…” I kinda needed him here in the moment to elaborate. “What are you marrying for?”
For having been so private—like a fucking vault—he seemed to have no issues spilling everything now. “We look good together on paper, and she has political aspirations.” He paused. “My family is also becoming extinct, and she’s promised me children.”
Welp. That was that, then.
I averted my stare to another booth and cursed myself internally. I cursed that stupid, hopeless romantic in me.
To be honest, I never would’ve guessed Gideon’s dream in life was to have kids.
“So, there are no brothers and sisters popping out heirs in your family,” I concluded.
“Not even my parents did that. They tried for years, but I was their only child, and they had me late in life.” He flicked me a quick glance. “They’re dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shook his head minutely and gathered his napkin and the paper sleeves from his fries. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean for things to get heavy—or this personal. Now I’m uncomfortable.”
I could tell, and there was no time to halt him before he rose from his seat and carried the tray over to the trash bins.
He was slamming his walls back into place, and I couldn’t allow it. We didn’t have to continue with the heavy; I bet he was overwhelmed too, but I didn’t want him closing himself off.
On our way out of the restaurant, I asked him if there was a risk Claire or any of his neighbors could see him here.
He frowned in confusion. “Claire and I don’t live together yet—she has her own place across the park—and I don’t believe Mrs. Nelson is out walking her dog at this hour. Why?”
Well, then. I grinned and pulled him to me once we were outside, and I reached up to kiss him. “I wanted to steal a kiss, that’s all.”
He tested a small smile and kissed me chastely.
“Walk with me,” I murmured. “Let’s leave the heavy talk behind for a beat, and we’ll just walk. We can call the driver whenever we want.”
Even in the darkness of the street, the warmth seeping into his eyes was unmistakable.
“I’d like that,” he responded quietly. “May I ask you more questions?”
“Of course.” I was bold enough to grab his hand and link our fingers together, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m an open book.”
He glanced down at our hands as we reached the corner of Park Avenue, and he twisted his mouth upward slightly.
I was hooked on watching him process things.
“I’m curious about your job,” he said. “You said you gave up being a sex worker two years ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you have different personas?”
I quirked a brow.
“I’m wondering if you were always yourself with customers,” he clarified. “Or if you pretended to be someone else.”
Hmm. I studied him from the corner of my eye and wondered if he was asking for a specific reason. Like, if I was myself with him. If he was getting the real deal.
“Sometimes I added a layer, I guess you can say,” I answered pensively. It felt important that I explained this properly to him, ’cause I didn’t want him to misunderstand. “I’ve had clients who prefer boyish twinks, for instance—and clients who want to engage in conversation about their passions in life. So yeah, there’s been some pretending involved. I mean, this one guy loved Russian literature, and I had to pretend to be interest
ed in listenin’ to him talk about it.” I paused. “Then I quit. I walked away because it became lonely. I was a quick and temporary fix to most of these men. I was the scratch to their itch.” I tightened my hold on Gideon’s hand when he tensed up next to me. “In the two years I worked for Tina, I became good at reading people. Put me in a room with twenty men, and I’ll point out the loneliest fucker in two minutes.”
That was the pain in my former field. It was flooded with loneliness. Men who hid who they were and tried to tell themselves that a quick fuck with a whore would be enough for them.
“Fast-forward two years of slinging macchiatos and cheeseburgers,” I continued. “I forgot about the pretending and the personas, to use your words—presumably somewhere between struggling to pay the bills and going nowhere—and then I met you.” I cleared my throat, a little amused by how fucking naïve I’d been. “It didn’t even occur to me to pretend with you, Gideon. I’ve been out of the game for too long. You talk about breaking rules? I’ve already broken several of my own.”
“What rules?” he asked carefully.
I shrugged, even as my heart started pounding, and I went with honesty. “Don’t get involved, for one. Don’t get personally invested or attached. Don’t fuck without protection.”
He nodded slowly, and I kept facing forward and did my best to stay casual. I’d just admitted to him that I was getting attached to him, and I wasn’t sure he interpreted it that way. I didn’t even know if I wanted him to say he felt the same. It was a messy situation, one I couldn’t afford to lose. Thousands of dollars and my future were at stake, so whether he would go on with his life after this, or he would like to explore something else with me, it had to wait.
“We’ve both broken rules, then,” Gideon murmured.
“Mm.”
I welcomed the silence that followed. I wasn’t ready to hear anything, and he obviously had nothing to say.
It was for the best.
We kept walking in the New York night, hand in hand, talking a little, but saying nothing in particular.
“Nicky, we gotta discuss this new song of yours after tonight.”
