The Spindle's Curse: A modern mm romance inspired by Sleeping Beauty (Ever After Book 1)

by TL Gehr

  It gives me the courage to ask, “What did you want to talk about?”

  He glances at me, but keeps walking forward, one hand curled around his cup and the other tucked into his pocket. He’s stiff in his movement and that puts me on edge again.

  “Thank you for coming,” he says, too formal.

  “Is this about work?”

  His jaw twitches.

  “Look, if your dad said you had to fire me, I understand.”

  “What?” He turns to me. “No.”

  “Then what’s this about?”

  He stares at me like he’s completely lost. “I understand that you’re pissed,” he says softly. “You didn’t have to come. I’m sorry I asked.”

  “I’m not pissed.”

  “You clearly are.”

  “No, I’m hurt.” I didn’t mean to say that. I lick my lips. “I’m confused.” I pull my arms inwards. This is why it would have been better for him to do it over the phone. “I’m just… you said we had to talk. If you’re going to kick me in the gut please do it now. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Philip shakes his head, “What? Why would I…”

  “I don’t mean literally. “

  “I know you don’t mean literally. I…” He runs his hand through his hair. “Okay, let’s backtrack. Why are you hurt? Is it about earlier? Because that’s one of the things I wanted to talk about. I was with my parents at the races.”

  “And you didn’t want them to know that you were talking to me because I fucked up at The Spindle.”

  “No! I just didn’t want to discuss what happened at The Spindle in front of them.”

  “You didn’t call afterwards.”

  “After the races? I did.”

  “After The Spindle. You didn’t call and tell me it was okay.” I turn away, ashamed of my emotions. “Which means it wasn’t. Which I already know because I didn’t even understand what was happening. You should have told me your dad was coming. I could have prepared a bit.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming.” Philip steps closer to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. This is the first time I’ve gotten away from them since then. Weekends are… that’s no excuse. I should have texted. I thought you realized it went well.”

  “What part of that was well?”

  “The part where you understood what you had to say and said it.”

  “Why did I have to say that? Why did I have to lie and tell him I wasn’t serious about you?” My words hang in the cold night air as we both realize what I’ve admitted. I stare at the cracked pavement.

  Philip sighs. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.” He lets out another long breath. “That’s the way my life works. Sometimes I forget that’s not how things work for everyone else. It’s really fucked up, isn’t it?”

  I don’t answer.

  He reaches for my hand, but doesn’t take it. Instead, he bumps his knuckles lightly against mine. He’s asking permission. I thread my fingers through his. The weight on my shoulders eases a bit.

  “Brian, do you… do you know who I am?”

  Coming from anyone else, hell coming before my chat with Cynthia, the question would have seemed strange. Either that or the kind of philosophical shit you ask when you’re high. But I nod. “I didn’t, but I do now.”

  “Can we keep walking? I had something more romantic than this in mind for this part of our talk.” He gestures at the traffic with his coffee cup.

  Romantic? When he said we need to talk, he was thinking of romance? When has ‘we need to talk’ ever meant that? We walk further along the road and duck through a gate that takes us up a tree-lined ramp. The path goes over a super unromantic parking lot. Then the Hudson comes into view, with the far-off lights of Jersey twinkling through the mist.

  “What you said on the phone, I feel it too,” Philip says. I don’t immediately know what he’s talking about. Then I realize. Shit. This is the romantic part. Those pretty lights, coffee and his hand in mine. And I don’t know what he’s talking about.

  He lifts his gaze and, seeing my obvious distress, his brow furrows in that awful Uncertain Philip way. “That’s if you still feel that way. I realize there might have been alcohol involved.”

  What I wouldn’t give to know what I said. Should I just wing it? Trust that whatever I said was good? Shit shit shit. I can’t do that. I want to know what it is he feels too.

  “Okay,” Philip says, and he starts walking again with his head ducked low. He tries to pull his hand free of mine.

  No, no, no. I hold on tight and his arm yanks. “Wait.”

  “It’s okay, Brian I—”

  “Zolpidem.” My heart is rattling around my chest like a pinball. I wet my lips again. “It’s what Elon Musk was taking when he sent those tweets that crashed Tesla. And what Roseanne Barr took when she went all racist. It doesn’t make people racist, by the way. It does make people do weird shit in the middle of the night that they can’t remember the next morning.”

  He turns slowly to look at me.

  “It’s a pretty amazing sleeping pill. But amnesia is a known side effect.”

  “You don’t remember calling me on Friday?”

  I shake my head. The guilt is carving a hollow space inside me. “A week ago I woke up naked on the roof. That’s how I met Cynthia actually. Apparently I was trying to sleepwalk my way back to New Paltz.”

  “My god. Why do you take that stuff?”

  “Insomnia. Most of the time, it just gives me a really solid night’s sleep without any nightmares or anything. And on Friday apparently it gave me a seven-minute call with you. I thought maybe you hung up on me because I started going weird. That’s why you were a bit off on Saturday and made me say those things to your dad and why you didn’t call later and didn’t want to talk to me this morning.”

  Philip closes the distance between us and cups my face in his hands. His hands are so warm. I don’t know where he put his coffee, I don’t have time to think about it because he kisses me. It’s not like our kiss on Friday. It’s sweet and soft. “Brian, god. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself for two days?”

  “That and…” I search his gaze, wondering if I should say it or not. But while we’re getting stuff out into the open… “Why didn’t you tell me Chase was your fiancé?”

  He shuts his eyes. “Because he wasn’t, not really. It was something that happened just before the breakup, when I already knew I was losing him, but naively thought I could make him stay. A few days later news of the affairs hit the press and I realized the truth.” He drops his hands and folds his arms, turning back to the path. We walk a little way in silence. I don’t want to push him to say anything. Eventually, he adds, “I was a retirement policy. Model careers are short. He’s already nearly aged out of the industry. That’s why he wants me back. I’d mean a secure future with the wealth he’s grown accustomed to.”

  “What?” No wonder his friends call him Voldemort. “That fucking piece of shit.”

  “Right? That’s partly why I told my parents about you. I was worried you’d feature in one of the tabloids thanks to that asshole. Rather they find out from me.”

  “Hence the surprise interrogation at The Spindle?”

  “Right. Well, you know who I am now. So you know that my parents are going to be worried about whomever I pair up with, to the point that they might stop me from seeing someone unsuitable. God, that sounds awful. It is awful. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine, I know I’m unsuitable.”

  “You’re not. But according to their standards…” He shakes his head. “So, the story is that this is a fling with an innocent small-town boy who doesn’t know I’m a billionaire.”

  “Hold up. Billionaire?” Cynthia said money. She said royalty. She didn’t say billionaire.

  “Exactly.”

  “No, I mean, really?”

  He gives me the Concerned Philip look. “I thought you said you know who I am?”

  “Yeah. People throw ar
ound words like fortune when they talk about you. They don’t really assign zeros. Which I guess is just as well because I lose track of zeroes. Although, one of the suggested questions on Google was ‘Philip Arrigo net worth.’ Maybe I should have clicked on it.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  I shrug. “Not a numbers guy. Money is numbers.”

  Philip’s dimples come out for the first time since I came off the escalator.

  We walk on a bit. Then he says. “I would have kept seeing you anyway, even if they didn’t approve. I just didn’t want to have to keep it a secret. I know it might sound strange, considering, but I hate secrets. I hate lying.”

  The High Line is taking us back into the city now, far above the traffic and noise, between sleeping buildings. Shrubs and flowers are planted to either side, although they’re sparse now given the time of year. They scent the air with something other than garbage. It’s slowly dawning on me that when Philip said he wanted to see me tonight and that we needed to talk, it wasn’t because he wanted to have a difficult conversation. This is a date. He’s seeing me. He bought me a coffee and he’s taken me somewhere nice. I watch his profile. A warmth washes over me, melting away the last of the bad feelings.

  “So, um, are you going to tell me what I said?”

  He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “You weren’t yourself.” I can tell he’s trying to keep the emotion from his voice, but I can still hear the disappointment. “You know, I thought you sounded a bit strange. Drunk, maybe. I put it down to you being sleepy.”

  “Yeah, sleepy is right. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t myself.”

  “Yeah? Maybe you were doing the emotional equivalent of walking naked on the roof.”

  I take his hand again. Maybe I was. Maybe I exposed myself to him, made myself vulnerable in a way that I can’t do now. His grip—his palm against my palm—anchors me. “Can you at least tell me why we ended the call?”

  The corners of his mouth pull up. “You fell asleep. Kind of makes sense now.”

  “Wow. Tell me I didn’t snore?”

  He shakes his head again. Whatever I said, he’s shy about it. I must have told him how I felt. Which means it’s out in the open and there’s no reason I shouldn’t… I step towards him and kiss him.

  He wraps his warm arms around me and kisses me back. He tastes like coffee and comfort. I was such an idiot to doubt him. Our noses bump as I pull away. I press a finger to one of his dimples. “Romantic enough?”

  “Yes, um, right. I promised you a romantic part of the conversation.”

  “That wasn’t it?”

  He actually laughs. “You don’t have very high standards do you?”

  “I really don’t.”

  “Come, it’s a little way further.”

  25

  Philip

  We walk hand-in-hand. There are very few people around and the ones we pass are too caught up in their own stuff to pay any attention to a gay couple. One of the things I love about this city. I hope Brian isn’t bored.

  I point out where the manicured garden to our left becomes an overgrown railway track. “This whole walk used to be a railway for freight. They only converted it into a park a few years ago.” I could tell him the whole history of the meat-packing district, but I dial back my nerd, sticking to the part that’s relevant to the matter at hand.

  A little while later, the path broadens out into a sitting area. I take Brian to the bench in the middle that’s shaped like a railway crossing. “This part is called the Crossroads.”

  The city stretches up all around us in a multitude of colored lights and there’s no one else here. My pulse starts racing. “So, uh, this is where I was going to ask you…”

  Suddenly the whole thing seems incredibly lame. How much more staged can you get? It seemed poetic when I first thought of it, but now I’m standing here, my throat closes with embarrassment.

  Brian still looks a little worried. “What were you going to ask me?”

  This feels like high school. It feels like that time I was so convinced that Aaron Rogers was gay that I showed up with two dozen roses on Valentine’s Day. My stomach twists. “God, I’m so bad at this.”

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  I have to remind myself that Brian wanted to take me home on Friday. Sure, when I first thought of this, it was on the assumption that he’d meant what he said on that call, but what happened between us before that still counts for something. Maybe this just means that I have to be the one to make the first move and put it all out there. “Okay… so I won’t tell you what you said on Friday, but I can tell you that I didn’t respond because I guess I was overwhelmed. And I wanted to bring you up here so that I could respond.”

  Brian’s eyebrows lower. “Respond to something I don’t remember and you won’t tell me?”

  “Yeah.”

  He steps closer and sets a hand against my chest. It reminds me of when he was dancing against me.

  I touch his cheek and look into his eyes. “I’m crazy about you too.”

  My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. Brian’s lips part. He closes his eyes and his shoulders shift as he breathes out. It’s a look of relief, and it gives me the courage to go on.

  “I think you’re incredible.” My voice sounds thick to my own ears. “Despite everything you’ve been through, you’re here trying to make a new start. I love the way you care about people. Defending small children, carrying an old lady’s groceries and keeping her company… the way you stood up to Chase.” I’m only paraphrasing things he said to me, but he was on pills at the time. Is it too much? I don’t stop to think. “I started having feelings for you that very first day you came to the restaurant and insisted on helping even though it was so difficult for you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since.”

  I take his hands in mine. He’s still standing with his eyes closed. There’s a thrum beneath my skin. Here goes.

  “So, I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in pursuing a relationship?”

  His eyes open. Wide, dark, pits of night. They’re swimming with emotion, but I can’t tell which emotion. “The Crossroads,” he says, understanding why I brought him to this spot.

  I duck my head. It’s not an answer, but I don’t want to force him into one. I don’t want him to feel like he has no choice but to say yes or to upset me. “If you want to keep things casual, I’d be up for that too.”

  He touches my chin, directing my gaze back to his, and says in a very deliberate way, “I’m a loyal employee.”

  Does that mean he doesn’t want to date me because I’m his boss? I didn’t even think of that. Then I see the twitch at the corner of his mouth and I remember that’s what he said to my father before I encouraged him to take a different tack. The relief whooshes out of my chest in a laugh.

  He wraps his arms around my neck and kisses me. His lips are soft and warm. I let myself get lost in them, in the way his tongue darts against them and then caresses my own. His kisses are the best I’ve ever had and they go straight to my groin every time.

  Brian buries his head against my chest and locks his arms around my waist. All the nervous energy drains from my muscles. “In case it wasn’t obvious,” he says softly, “I would very much like to pursue a relationship with you.”

  I hold him against me, dizzy with joy. Mine. He’s mine. Enclosed in my arms, my Brian to kiss and to hold. The night is cold, but my insides are so very warm.

  I drop a kiss on the top of his head. “It might not be easy. My parents are pretty controlling.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “They make me go to social events all the time. You might have to go to some too. You might have to wear a tux.”

  “I could suffer the indignity. It will be difficult, but I’m sure I’ll survive.”

  I do worry about how long my parents will let me have this ‘fling’ b
efore they decide things are too serious between us, but that’s a problem for another time. Right now I want to bask in the moment.

  “Hold on a second.” Brian pulls away and takes his crappy phone out of his pocket.

  “Making it Facebook official?” I joke.

  He shows me the screen. I noticed the other day that it’s cracked, but I can still read what he’s brought up on it.

  A message from the contact labeled Dad: Gemima from group wants to know if you’re still single because she’s got an eligible son.

  The response: I’ll have to get back to you on that.

  He types something and shows me the screen again. Nope, not single. He grins and hits send. “Making it Dad official.”

  “You want to send him a selfie? There’s a photo spot just over there.” I point to the little nook with the view of the city.

  “Nah, my phone doesn’t have one of those front-facing cameras so I never got in on the selfie craze.”

  Chase always wanted pictures. It was part of the ritual of going somewhere with him. I understood that his Instagram presence was important, but this is still refreshing.

  Brian wraps an arm around me and I drape my arm around his shoulders as we continue along the High Line. This already feels natural. “You and your dad seem close.”

  “Yeah. He’s great.”

  “What does he do?”

  “Accountant.”

  “Oh!” I laugh. “That’s why you dreamed of being an accountant? I did wonder.”

  Brian seems surprised that I remembered. “Yeah, when I was a kid I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to purge my DNA of everything that wasn’t him and be a little clone.”

  “Oh, because your mom split.”

  Brian’s mouth twists. There’s something he’s not telling me. It’s there in his eyebrows.

  “How long have you known my mom?” He asks.

  “Not long. She started shortly after I bought the place.”

  “I thought she was one of the ones who’d been bought with the place.” He toes one of the overgrown plants. “I thought I was your first hire.”