by R. G. Angel
He interrupted my erotic thoughts when he slammed a pan down on the stove, making me wince.
“Good morning. Taylor said you would sleep until after dinner,” he stated, not even bothering to look at me.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I teased, sitting on a stool at the bar, which separated the kitchen area from the living room.
“It’s fine. I'll be going out in a bit.”
My grin vanished. Even with my slow reflexes and mushy brain, I could see I'd been spot on about the disappointment. He wanted to avoid me.
I cocked my head to the side. What did I ever do to him? I’ve never met him before and Taylor adored me. She would never have said anything bad about me, at least not something warranting this amount of dislike.
“Want some eggs and beans on toast?” he asked as he emptied a can of baked beans onto a dish.
I grimaced. That sounded vile, but he already disliked me enough. “Sure, thanks.”
He nodded. “Coffee?” he asked, still keeping his back to me. I had to admit it was a very nice back - wide and muscular. I could see his muscles move against his tight shirt as he cooked. As nice as it was though, it annoyed me. Was there anything he wasn't perfect at?
“Yes, please, black - like my soul.” I tried so hard to lighten the mood.
He sighed and I could almost hear him rolling his eyes. Seriously, what was his issue?
“Where are you going?” I asked when he set a plate of British nightmare in front of me.
He looked at me with caution. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. “You said you're going out. I'm making conversation.”
He looked at me for a second, considering his answer. Now I was not only hurt at the rejection, but I was starting to get truly annoyed. I was about to snap when he said, “I’m going to my studio. I’ve got a piece due and it's almost done.”
“Can I come? Maybe you can show me around the art district too.” Why do I want to impose myself on someone who clearly doesn't want me around? A lot of people would be happy to have me and yet...
“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t know your way around town.” He shook his head. “Taylor has been here for a while.”
“Actually, I’ve never visited Oxford. Either Taylor comes to see me in Paris or we go to London.”
“You’re wasting your time,” he replied as he started to clean the pans. “I know guys like you.”
“And what kind of guy am I?” I asked, my heart accelerating in my chest. Did he know I was a closeted gay with most people? Did he think I was a shame to the cause? I thought that often myself.
“A pretty boy that is way too aware of his charms and likes to use them just to have fun without any thought to the consequences.” He shook his head. “Sorry, but that’s not for me.”
I rested my hand on my chest and grinned. “You find me pretty?” I said with an over exaggerated batting of my eyelashes.
He rolled his eyes on a sigh of exasperation.
“Listen," I said, a bit more serious. For some reason, his opinion mattered to me. "Yes, I’m flirty, but that's not why I asked.” Even if I wouldn’t mind you getting on your knees. “The thing is, Taylor is probably the most important person in my life and you’re her roommate, her friend. Why don’t you give me a shot and try to get to know me?”
He looked at me as he crossed his arms on his chest. His impressive muscles tensed.
I gave him what I hoped was an innocent smile. “Come on, what are you risking?”
He grumbled something under his breath that I couldn't make out, then looked at his watch.
“Fine, you can come with me, but if you become a fucking knob, you can piss off, yeah?”
I nodded. “I’ll be the best guest you’ve ever had.”
He sighed. “Strangely, I doubted you’ll ever be able to do that.”
I smiled. “And you’d be right.”
He growled and grabbed his coat. “Let's go.”
We walked together through town. It was cold as tits, but at least it was not raining, which for England I considered a miracle.
“An art gallery?” I asked curiously after we walked up a busy cobbled street and stopped in front of a white, shiny storefront with silver lettering.
“Yes, they rent some studio spaces upstairs to artists.” He pointed down the street. “I’ll meet you back here at three. Take a left there and you will find some nice shops and-”
“Can I come up and see?”
He frowned. “Do you know anything about art?”
I shrugged. “No, not really. I just like pretty things and I'm curious.” That was my first blatant lie to him, probably the first of many.
I knew all there was to know about art. I had been born into a family that had been patrons of it for over six generations. We were the owners of the Saint Academy of the Arts too.
“Fine.” It was not inviting at all. He probably thought I was being rude. I was not following all the British social queues, but I was French, after all. I was all about rudeness if it got me what I wanted.
As I followed him silently up the stairs, we occasionally crossed paths with a few other wannabe artists. They all exchanged pleasantries with Grayson.
He was funny, smiling, and all in all, being very pleasant. He was even more attractive without his cold edge and perpetual scowl between his eyes.
I couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous; usually, people were like that with me. I was not really used to being the social pariah he was making me. He didn't even bother to introduce me to any of the people that stopped to say hi.
Charming…
I forgot all about my intention to bitch at him though as soon as we walked into his studio.
There was a small window at the back that gave a little light, but even under the poor lighting, his paintings were breathtaking.
There were different sizes of canvases resting against a far wall, all realistic. I walked closer, leaning down.
“You’re using different mediums.” I was quite impressed. Most established painters focused on only one type, but a few of his were acrylics, the others watercolors. I even suspected the last one to be an oil painting.
Turning around, I looked at the piece on the easel. It was quite a big canvas; I reckoned 36' by 60'.
It was even more breathtaking than the others. Marveling at it, I forgot for a moment where I was, who I was with, and even who I was.
It was a painting of a girl with long, black hair. She was dressed in a nightgown, her hands fisted at her sides. She looked downwind, her hair blowing into her face. Despite only being able to see her profile, I could still make out her anguish, her pain. She was standing on a patch of greenery with the most beautiful violet flowers I'd ever seen while looking at a scenery of devastation, fire, and pollution.
I raised my hand as if compelled to touch it. It seemed so real.
“You can barely make out the brush strokes. I can’t even see the blend of color even from this close. This is amazing. The details...” I breathed. “You’re so talented.”
“You seem to know a lot for a neophyte. And I'm not sure if I should be pleased or offended by your compliment. You seem surprised I’ve got talent,” he added with a chuckle, visibly mollified by my sincerity.
How could I tell him that the Saint Academy saw thousands of pretty boys every year who thought they were talented simply because the boys and girls wanting to get into their pants had complimented them? That they came to us with a couple of black and white photos thinking they were all that or abstract paintings they considered a chef-d’oeuvre, but weren't even something I'd use to mop the floor…if I actually did do any mopping?
“This piece is so different from the rest of your work,” I offered in an attempt to change the subject.
He nodded and came to stand beside me. “Yes, it was commissioned by the National Geographic Society for their UK headquarters. It won gold in a national competition.”
�
�I can see why.” I glanced at him. He was proud, yes, but he was not flaunting it.
He was humble in his own victory. That was also very new to me, unsettling. He was nothing like the men I normally went after and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
He was intriguing. I wanted to know him, see him create, and these kinds of desires had never really happened before.
I took a quick step back at the realization. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I- Yes- Sure. I, ummm -” I pointed at the door. Stammering Antoine was a first for me too. “You need to concentrate. Don’t worry about me; just do your thing, finish your painting. I'll go home on my own.”
“What?” He looked taken aback, taking a tentative step toward me, which I mirrored with my own quick step back.
He frowned. “Don’t be daft. I’ve got the keys.”
I waived my phone. “I’ll text T. She’ll let me know when she’s on her way back. I’m going to explore the town, you know, since it’s dry and all.”
“But-”
“Have a nice day!” I added, exiting the room.
“Have a nice day?” I whispered once I'd hit the street. “Have a nice day?” I repeated again, more and more mortified by my exit.
I almost wanted to smash my head against the wall.
Who the fuck was this guy turning me into?
I spent the next few hours sulking on the streets of Oxford before stopping at a coffee shop and eating my weight in scone and clotted cream… At least that was something the Brits did well.
I texted Taylor to meet me at the cinema at the end of her day. I wanted to stay as far away from Grayson and my humiliation as possible. I knew this solution was only temporary, but who knew, maybe he’d start avoiding me too.
Chapter Four
I thought I was lucky the next day when I woke up late enough to find the apartment empty. I hunted for some food in the fridge, called Caleb for some news, and worked on some emails on my iPad. At the sudden sound of a key in the door, I jumped up from my spot on the sofa.
Fuck! Rushing into the bedroom, I closed the door just as the main door opened, only to realize I'd forgotten both my phone and iPad on the sofa. I hoped Grayson would leave soon.
Groaning, I pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes. What the fuck have I become? I was laying on T's bed, hiding in her bedroom like a coward.
A little knock on the door brought me back to the now, making my heart jump as I knew only too well who was standing there. I was still feeling humiliated, but I couldn't help the little thrill from knowing he'd sought me out.
“Yea?” I called, still looking at the ceiling.
“What happened?”
I turned my head to see him opening the door. He leaned against the doorframe, legs crossed at the ankles. He was so effortlessly cool, it was infuriating.
“What do you mean?”
He gave me a look that seemed to say ‘don’t play dumb with me.’ “You freaked out on me yesterday and you’ve been avoiding me since.”
“Taste of your own medicine?”
He sighed, walking into the bedroom. “Maybe,” he admitted and I was once again surprised at how open he was. He was not playing any games, which was so different to what I did. I was all smoke and mirrors.
I looked away. “I find you fascinating. I wanted to get to know you. Why did you pick those subjects for your paintings?” I decided to reward his sincerity with a little of my own.
“Okay…” He trailed off, visibly confused.
I took a deep breath and turned back toward him. He was now leaning against the wall close to the bed.
“I’m not - the type,” I admitted, not sure how to actually phrase it. “I’m all up for the fun with a pretty face, you know. I’m not usually interested in more.”
He chuckled. “Ah, I was spot on then. You are the archetype of the pretty party boy.”
“Yep.” I looked up at the ceiling. “At least I thought so.”
I felt the bed dip as he sat at the bottom of it. “Growing up sucks, doesn't it?”
I glared at him, making him laugh.
“I didn't say that to mock you. I was twenty once too, running as far away as I could from any meaningful relationship.” He shrugged. “It gets tiring pretty fast.”
I bit my lip. I couldn't really explain that I couldn't have a real relationship with anyone anyway. I was a coward, a closeted gay to ensure my lavish lifestyle. How could I construct anything on that?
He patted my leg. “Come on. Taylor said I had to bring you with me. It’s a nice pub, I swear. And what do you say we actually try to become friends? We can never have enough friends.”
“Even with a chronic flirt like me?” I asked with a small smile. Maybe getting to know him a little wouldn't be that bad. “I might hit on you before the night is out.”
He chuckled, standing up and extending his hand toward me. “I’m willing to take the risk. Plus Taylor said not to show my face without you and she can be quite scary.”
I faked a shiver. “Don’t remind me. That woman can be downright frightening.”
He looked at his watch. “Okay, I will give you fifteen minutes. If you're not out by then, I’ll come get you.”
“Is that a promise?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows. I’ve always masked everything with banter and self-derision. I could do this - fake it until I made it.
He shook his head and exited the room. Despite doing my very best to make the deadline, I didn't join him in the kitchen until thirty-five minutes later. Perfection couldn’t be rushed.
“I thought I'd said fifteen minutes,” Grayson said, throwing me my coat as I headed towards the door.
“And I thought you were coming to get me after fifteen? I waited naked under the cooling shower jet for ten minutes before giving up.”
“You’re unbelievable!”
I grinned. “Thank you!”
“That was not a compliment,” he added as we exited the building.
I shrugged. “It was to me”
He mumbled something under his breath before picking up his pace. He had been right about something. The King pub had a very nice atmosphere with the dimmed lighting, open fire, and individual booths.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked as he guided me to an empty booth near the back.
“A commonwealth.”
He looked at me unimpressed. “A beer? Okay.”
I chuckled, watching him walk toward the bar in his tight, dark jeans. When he disappeared into the crowd, I finally sat down.
“Sorry I'm late!” Taylor huffed, sliding into the booth across from me. "I will kill that woman. I swear I will. This internship is so freaking - Argh!” She pursed her lips as she clawed at the air.
Grayson came back and sat beside me. “Don’t worry, we just made it here. Mister here needed to get all pretty.”
“And we both can say it was a success,” I let out. He could try to deny it as much as he wanted, but I saw the way he looked at me. He was attracted to me too. He was just smart enough not to act on it.
He shook his head and handed a glass of wine to Taylor. “I saw you arrive, so I got you a large white. You look like you could use it.”
She leaned back on her seat with a sigh. “That woman is mental, I swear.”
“All this to avoid Archie?” I chuckled, “Was it even worth it?” I asked, but the dark glare she threw my way was a clear indication that he’d been the wrong thing to bring up.
“Archie?” Grayson asked, cocking his head to the side as he took a sip of his pint. “Is that the super hot, dark haired guy that came like three times?”
Ah, so Archie was still chasing her, huh? Funny how they'd both failed to mention that and - I stopped, replaying Grayson’s words.
“Super hot?” I shrugged. “I’ve seen better.” Oh, jealousy… That was a first too. I was never territorial. I never cared enough to even want to know if I was sharing or not
.
Gray sent me a knowing look. “He is hot.”
“What-the-fuck-ever.”
Gray grinned. Apparently I didn't fool him. I couldn't help but grin back. I loved this teasing side of him.
Taylor looked from him to me a couple of times before shrugging.
“That's the guy you had me tell, you were away in Greece with your boyfriend, Stavros,” Grayson continued
I snorted. “Stavros? Really? That's so stereotypical, it’s borderline offensive to all Greek men and Archie’s intelligence.”
“Yes, well -” She took a sip of her wine. “Joke’s on you because it worked. I have not heard from him in six months.”
I looked down at my glass. Was it longing with a hint of regret I could hear in her voice?
“You know he’ll be at the Christmas party, right?”
She nodded, resting her chin in her hand. “Yes, but there will be lots of people. I'll be fine.”
“Oh, for fuck's sakes!” Grayson growled, slouching down in his seat.
Taylor and I turned toward him.
“What’s happening?”
“Duncan plonker Bristow.” He jerked his head toward the door. A short, chubby man with ginger hair stood there scanning the room.
“Is that -” Taylor started.
Grayson nodded. “The one and only. Duncan Bristow, son of Baron Bristow. The filthy, rich git who's pretending to want to offer me a patronage so he can get into my pants.” He snorted. “Like I would ever accept patronage from someone I'd slept with.”
I threw Taylor a knowing look. He clearly seemed to dislike rich people… What would he say if he knew I would become the next chairman of the Saint Academy of Arts? If I ever had the slightest chance of getting with him, that would blow it for sure.
The little man noticed Grayson despite his attempt to blend into the background. I snorted internally. I should have told him it was a wasted effort. He was a 6’1 Adonis with the body of an Olympic swimmer. There was no hiding him.
The prick's eyes lit up with lust as he made his way toward us. Mine narrowed with the desire to murder him. Jealousy and possessiveness? I glanced at Grayson. What was he doing to me?
