Princes of the Universe

by Serene Franklin

Someone approaching from behind Axel caught my eye and the way he’d checked out Axel’s ass was impossible to miss. “I hope you mean that because an interested party is on the way over,” I warned.

  Blake and I stepped back and observed with a smile while Axel grinned and all but blushed, too distracted to see that someone else had approached.

  “Hey,” he said to me.

  He was cute—about five foot nine with dirty blond hair, freckles, and big brown eyes. His eyes locked with mine, and I could see the heat in them.

  “Hey,” I returned.

  He made the usual small talk and asked for my name, which I gave him. His was Charlie, and he was a twenty-two-year-old nursing student. After a couple of minutes of the age-old song and dance, he suggested we leave and go have some fun. I’d politely declined, saying I was just out to dance with friends. He was disappointed, though he moved on and was swallowed into the crowd. Any other time, I’d have been all over a guy like him. Any other time, I wouldn’t have cared about the color of his eyes. Now it was all I could see. A pair of pretty brown eyes, but not the ones I wanted most.

  Seven

  Eli

  After sketching an initial concept for Bryan’s logo, I decided to do a traditional mock-up instead of going straight to a 3D rendering. My preferred medium was always ink and watercolors, but I hadn’t used either in years and needed to buy more—which was how I found myself at an art supply store after work. I purchased black ink, an array of paint colors, and thick card stock. The canvases felt too daunting. I still had a large, blank one tucked away in my closet under a sheet as if it were a portrait displaying all of my grotesque sins.

  With the required supplies in hand and a good chunk of money missing from my account, I left the store and headed home. Like always, I changed clothes and took Prince out for a long run. I wasn’t in the mood to cook, so I picked up some take-out chicken tacos on the way home, which I devoured before I even showered. I got one with diced onions to try, but they were too crunchy and overpowering. I’d stick with skipping onions unless Bryan was the one doing the cooking.

  Bryan. He kept me on my toes like no one else ever had. Best of all, he put up with my stupid mouth and didn’t easily take offense. Offending people and being rude was never my intent, but when I reflected on the things I sometimes said, it was clear how the recipients could have taken them as negative. Eve called me out on it as it happened so I could get better at recognizing when I was saying tone-deaf things. I thought it had been working until I met Bryan. It seemed that my capacity to say the wrong things to him was endless, yet he always just smiled or laughed it off like it was the most amusing thing. And he liked Prince. There wasn’t anything more I could ask for in a friend.

  Volunteering to do the logo for Eat Cake was a way for me to give back for all Bryan’s friendship had given me. It bothered me to think that only I was benefitting from us being friends but figuring out what I could possibly offer him in return left me without answers—until talks of the logo started. If he decided not to use it, I at least hoped it would give him some direction with what he wanted. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care if he liked it, though. I really wanted to create something he’d enjoy.

  I hadn’t thought about painting in years. It was something I used to do for my mom before she died. After I lost her it became something I associated with pain—and not that useful tortured-artist type of pain where the best work of a person’s career was created. I was crippled by the thought of looking at a canvas, much less holding a brush.

  When I got hired at Red Right Hand, I did some work with ink but stuck to 3D renderings and sketches for all other art and promotional materials. After Eve’s engagement party last year, I stopped into an art store and drunkenly bought a huge canvas, thinking that was a good idea. When I got it home, I’d sobered up enough to know that it had been a mistake. And that was how it ended up in my bedroom closet under a sheet.

  I knew I wasn’t ready to uncover it, but the fact that I wanted to paint again thrilled and nauseated me in equal parts. With Prince at my feet, I opened the new ink and paints and swallowed down my trepidation as I made the first brushstroke against the cardstock.

  “I painted last night,” I said to Eve.

  Her mouth opened into an O and her eyes went wide. “That’s great, pet. What brought that on?” She tasted a plate of chicken masala, one of five dishes on the table in front of us. We were at the caterer choosing her wedding menu on a Thursday afternoon. It wasn’t too often that I got hauled out to these events, but Samir had to work and I’d never be selfish enough to make Eve go on her own. Also, the food was free and much more enticing than the tuna wrap I had packed.

  “I made a logo design for Bryan’s bakery. I don’t know if he’ll like it, but I think it looks good.”

  She halted the forkful of risotto inches from her mouth and turned in her chair to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me this morning?”

  I looked around the room to make sure there was no one else in earshot. We were in a private room for the tasting and we were alone, but it was a habit. “I didn’t want someone to overhear.”

  She sighed knowingly and bumped my arm with her elbow. “Were you hired to do the logo?”

  “No. I kind of asked to do it. As a favor.” I picked up my fork and stabbed a pillowy piece of ravioli and muttered, “I thought it would be a nice thing to do for him.” I popped the pasta in my mouth and was surprised with the flavors of spinach and ricotta. There were three different fillings on the plate and I hadn’t been paying enough attention to remember what the options were. As I swallowed that first bite, I found myself wondering if Bryan knew how to make ravioli. I bet he did. I’d been beginning to wonder if there was anything he couldn’t do—not in a hyperbolic sense, although that really wouldn’t surprise me.

  Eve rested her chin on my shoulder and blinked her blue eyes up at me. “I’m proud of you, Elijah.”

  “What? Why?”

  “For stepping outside your bubble and taking a chance on someone new. You know I worry about you being alone so much.” She brushed my hair behind my ear like no one had since I lost my mom. It was soothing in a way I hadn’t realized I missed. “You really fancy Bryan. You’ve taken to him pretty quick.”

  I shrugged noncommittally, but it was true.

  “Oh, come on. It took me almost two months before you’d give me more than your resting-bitch face when I’d try to strike up conversation.”

  I wrinkled my nose and scoffed. “I do not have resting-bitch face.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m fairly certain you were giving me active-bitch face so I’d leave you alone. Lucky for you it didn’t work.” Eve kissed my cheek then pulled back, turning her attention to a plate of couscous, asparagus, and salmon. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t answer me. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve made a new friend.”

  Hearing her say it like that made me feel like the biggest loser. I didn’t regret the choices I’d made that kept me distanced from people. Most people in my experience weren’t like Eve and Bryan. Even so, it was a reminder that I wasn’t “normal” in the sense that I wasn’t conforming to societal standards of what a twenty-eight-year-old man should be. It might have been commendable if it was intentional on my part. I wanted to feel normal, and Bryan was a big help with that.

  “I just don’t want to screw it up,” I sighed.

  “You won’t. Just be yourself. And try this fuckin’ salmon. Sam would never agree to this, but that doesn’t mean we can’t keep pretending.”

  Eve held up her fork for me with a piece of the flaky fish. I bit it off and slowly chewed at first, unsure of what to expect. I wasn’t a huge fan of fish, but that bite was pretty decent.

  “Do I get to see the logo you painted?”

  “Can I show you on Monday? Bryan is coming over tomorrow night and I’m going to show him then.”

  Eve swallowed a forkful of couscous and nodded her head, stray red strands
framing her soft features. “Of course, pet. Should we order more samples? The jerk chicken sounds interesting.”

  We took an extended lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon stuffing ourselves and getting sloshed on pink sparkling wine, which Eve insisted tasted better.

  Bryan came over a little later than what I’d established to be the usual. He apologized and said Mac had a crisis and he couldn’t leave earlier—something about an angry ex and stilettos flying through bedroom windows. Again, reinforcement that being single wasn’t so bad.

  We didn’t make dinner plans, so I’d cooked while I waited for him. The folder with the logo burned a hole through my lap while I’d been holding it and was tossed onto the counter. Bryan’s eyes sought it out before quickly flicking back to me to answer my question about dinner.

  “If you keep feeding me like this, you’re never going to get rid of me,” he said with a lopsided grin, just one dimple pooling in his left cheek.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Saying that I didn’t want to be rid of him might have come off as creepy, and if I joked about not wanting him around it might have fallen flat and that would have been awful. I settled on what I hoped was a casual laugh and turned to plate up some food for us. It wasn’t smooth or subtle at all, and I could feel Bryan’s eyes boring holes into my back.

  I should say something.

  But what? Had it been too long to reply? It would probably have made the situation more awkward than I’d already made it. Maybe silence was best until—

  “You’re thinkin’ too much,” Bryan drawled in a Texas accent his normal speech lacked.

  I spun around on the balls of my feet and mouthed the beginnings of “how,” but my voice refused to cooperate with me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “How did you know that?”

  “The set of your shoulders mostly. Your movements as well. Your shoulders carry a lot of tension when you’re nervous or thinking. What’s on your mind?” Bryan asked, sounding sincerely interested as he watched me from his seat across the island.

  I pushed the plate and a fork in front of Bryan and leaned forward with my palms gripping the edge of the counter. “I was thinking about what you said about me not being able to get rid of you.”

  Surprise flashed across his face, and it was gone just as quickly. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, so, I know it was a joke, but I wasn’t sure what to say.”

  “Because…”

  “Because I guess I don’t want to be rid of you. It sounded… weird to say that in my head. And now you’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads, and I know I shouldn’t have said it.” I turned back around and plated my own food, needing a break from the conversation before I made it worse or passed out from embarrassment.

  “I don’t think that’s weird. You surprised me, but it’s not weird. In fact, I’d say we’re very much on the same page.” His voice was steady, and he spoke with a certainty I doubted I’d ever feel.

  I chanced a look over my shoulder, feeling immediate relief when I took in Bryan’s mouth curved into a smile. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  I nodded to him and resumed fixing my plate before getting us each a beer and taking a seat next to him. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes while I replayed our exchange to analyze where I went wrong and how I could avoid it in the future, but I kept getting stuck on that sudden burst of Texasness.

  “So, what was up with that accent? Your file says you’re from Texas, but you don’t normally have an accent.”

  Bryan swallowed down a bite of the rice pilaf I’d made and grinned. “My daddy used to say that to me when I was a boy. The first time was when he was teaching me to ride horses and there was this really feisty one named Buck that I was scared of. My brothers had all ridden him when they were my age, and it was a kind of rite of passage. Was scared as hell, but my daddy’s words were enough to get me to relax and act.”

  Daddy—must have been a Texas thing. It was kind of endearing. “What happened? Did you ride the horse?”

  Bryan nodded and smiled wide enough for the corners of his eyes to crinkle. “I did. And true to his name, he bucked me off. It took me seven attempts before I was able to get him under control. Anyway, I wasn’t sure if it would have the same effect without the accent.”

  I snorted a laugh and hummed. “I’d say it helped. I was pretty deep in my head.”

  “I hope you’ll always say what’s on your mind.”

  The idea of doing that was foreign to me, but I was willing to try—and that was what I told him. We finished eating and moved over to the couch to be more comfortable. I had the folder with the logo in my hand and clung to it for dear life.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Bryan asked with a lip-biting smile.

  “Yes. It’s, uh, painted. If you like it, I can do it on the computer and make it better.” I still held onto the folder, not quite ready to let it go.

  “You paint? Other than walls I mean.”

  A laugh escaped me, which helped to ease the tension in my shoulders that I was now acutely aware of. “I do—I did. I used to paint a lot when I was in high school and university. It’s been a long time, though.” I took a deep breath and handed—shoved—the folder to Bryan before I chickened out and tossed it out the window.

  I could see that he wanted to ask about my painting, and perhaps why I stopped, but I was glad that he didn’t. I hoped I didn’t give him a death glare to ward him off the topic. Knowing me, I probably did.

  He licked his lips and spared me one more reassuring grin before he flipped the manila folder open. I turned my head away at the last minute, unprepared to see a potential look of disappointment on his face. As such, I couldn’t see his expression, but I sure heard him gasp. He was too quiet for too long, and my curiosity got the best of me. I tilted my head in his direction to sneak a peek, my eyes widening in response to what I saw; Bryan’s lips were parted, and his brow was ever so slightly furrowed and raised in shock? Surprise? I wasn’t sure which, but it definitely wasn’t the dissatisfaction that I was dreading.

  “You painted this?” he finally asked, forehead creasing more as he turned his head toward me.

  I nodded and rubbed my clammy hands across the tops of my thighs. “D-do you like it? I can make some changes if you—”

  “Stop. It’s perfect. This is… beautiful.” He turned his attention back to the logo, smiled, then looked me in the eye. “Thank you.”

  I knew I should have said “you’re welcome” to be polite, but I was stunned by disbelief and ground my teeth instead. “Do you really like it?” I asked, unable to hide how shaky my voice was.

  “I do. It’s everything I could have wanted. The blend of colors is amazing. It’s eye-catching, and maybe I’m reading into it, but you’ve included all of the colors of the rainbow, which reminds me of Pride, though not in an overt or obnoxious kind of way. The colors are there, but it’s subtle.”

  I had indeed included all the colors of the rainbow. The words “Eat Cake” were outlined in thick black ink and filled with a confetti pattern of watercolor paints of various dilutions. “I diluted some of the colors so they wouldn’t be quite as strong. But yes, I was thinking of the rainbow motif. You’ve got neutral colors for the interior, save for some accents and the flowers you mentioned. Having a bold logo is a smart move. It also… reminded me of you.”

  Bryan cocked an eyebrow at me, and I flushed, realizing what I’d implied. “Not because you’re gay. I swear I wasn’t thinking of that. You’re just… you. Unapologetic and just so effortlessly who you are. Confident yet laid-back and always… just you.” My words quieted near the end.

  “That’s how you see me?” he asked.

  I nodded again. “It is.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered, seemingly to himself. “I can see it with this logo. It stands out but not in an over-the-top tacky or flashy kind of way. What kind of paint is this?”

  “Watercolor. It’s outlined in black ink.” />
  “Thank you. This is perfect.” He smiled at me, one of those ones that deepened his dimples and showed his laugh lines.

  “You’re welcome. I’m so glad you like it. I can probably have a 3D render finished in a couple of days for you.”

  “Can’t this be scanned? I really like that it’s painted.”

  “I can do that, yes. I just figured I could make it better and perfectly symmetrical digitally. And I can manipulate how the colors blend.”

  Bryan shook his head, never taking his eyes from the folder. “No. This”—he motioned to the logo—“is perfect as is. How much do I owe you for the rights?”

  “Oh. No, no. I made this for you. So I guess it’s like a gift. Just, please don’t tell Andrea—she’d have my head for giving away free services.”

  “I don’t want you to work for free, Eli. And your boss should know what a great job you’re doing.”

  I was flattered, but insisted on it being a gift, which resulted in us arguing back and forth until we both laughed at how absurd the situation was. We hadn’t reached an agreement on whether to compensate me, though we did agree to shelve it for another day. I was surprised at myself for standing up to him, but I was glad I did. I hadn’t realized what I was doing until after the fact, and I think Bryan knew too by the way he grinned at me. If he knew, he had the decency not to embarrass me by bringing it up and just let me feel surprised and proud of myself.

  We ended up talking on the couch for about an hour longer about nothing in particular before Bryan went home, leaving me and Prince alone in an overly quiet apartment, which had never felt so quiet before.

  Eight

  Bryan

  The next few weeks were some of the busiest of my life. I was impatient and had next to no chill, so I wanted to nail down an opening date as soon as possible. Eli had advised not rushing it, and proposed a soft launch for friends and some local bloggers to create buzz. Of course, his idea was better than mine, so that was what I went with. Eli made some flyers for local magazines and sites and contacted several bloggers or vloggers or whatever—people who he said would be instrumental in whether Eat Cake was a success or a flop.