Page 59 of Hamartia
“I’d really like that,dude.”
He pulls back to grin happily at me before dropping his head into the crook of my shoulder. Drawing my fingers across his back, I do the same, inhaling deeply—he smells so fucking good here.
“And you’re not difficult, by the way,” I say softly. I didn’t like how he said that, how his eyes looked when he said that. “You’re just a bit of an enigma. At least to me.”
“What isenig-i-ma?”
“Kinda mysterious, hard to figure out.”
“Ah, I understand.” He sighs. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t be. I like it. I like you…sort of a lot.”
“I like you too, Raphael.” He says very quietly.
It’s only half true, that he’s an enigma, because the Jae in my arms right now feels a lot less mysterious than he did a minute ago. This one is soft and sweet and likes to cuddle. It isn’t a Jae I’d seen in any interview or music video, any photoshoot or Instagram story.
This was the real him and I’m pretty fucking sure I’m falling harder for him than all the others.
We make it to the Mandarin just after noon checkout. Not that I think they’d have thrown my shit out in the corridor or anything had I not gotten back in time, but I don’t like being late for things. Thatdoesstress me out.
Jae had offered to come with me. Well, technically, he’d asked if I wanted to come with him to his 1 p.m. personal shopping appointment which I’d agreed to. I’d thought little about what might happen if we were spotted together—if he wasn’t worried then I wasn’t worried—and lots about what it would feel like to hang out with him for the day doing somethingnormal. Not that having an appointment at a 5th Avenue designer store was exactly normal. It’s the kind of shit Camille would do whenever we were in Paris, while I stayed home and gamed and it strikes me that Jae and Camille would probably get on well, in another universe, if I wasn’t in the way.
In any case, I feel idiotically upbeat and stupidly excited by the prospect of spending the day with him, of staying at his apartment for the next few days, that not even the consequences of a rogue pap photo of us together can dampen. It’s not like anyone is gonna assume we’re fucking. I had heard him on a call with someone who I gathered was his manager, or certainly one of his people, and I also gathered that they weren’t too happy about my going with him. But he seemed to have won out in the end and so we were going together.
I push all thoughts of Cam, and the conversation we’re going to have to have real fucking soon, to the furthest recesses of my mind. I’m already thinking that I might be able to put it off until after Thanksgiving. After I spend some time at home. After I talk to my mom. After Jae and I see this thing through for the next few days and he flies home.ThenI can look at everything with the benefit of distance and hindsight. I know I’ve no right to feel so fucking buoyant about all this, but I still do.
“I don’t have too much stuff,” I tell him, glancing at the driver. “I’ll be ten minutes tops.”
“I can come up and help you to pack?” He says ‘pack’ like he doesn’t mean pack, he means fuck. It shoots straight to my dick.
I lean close and ghost my lips over his. “If you come up there we’ll definitely miss check-out. They charge for that you know.”
“I always miss check-out.” He shrugs.
I give him a quick peck on the lips. Well, I mean for it to be quick, but his mouth is as hot and wet and addictive as it always is and it turns heavy. Then I remember we’re not alone and so I pull back and glance sideways at the driver.
“Shit, sorry.” I lick the taste of him from my lips.
He reaches up and puts his hand on my cheek, tenderly as he looks at me.
“Don’t ever apologize for that.” He smiles. “We are safe in here.” To punctuate the point he kisses me, licking into my mouth a touch before pushing me away. “Go, hurry. I have many designer clothes to buy.”
I debate settling my bill before I go upstairs, but the reception desk is busy given the time and so I swerve it and head straight for the elevators instead, slipping in just as they’re closing. I’ve got my sunglasses on, but I keep my head low anyway. An older guy in his 60’s asks for my floor number just as the doors sigh closed. I have a moment of panic when I reach my room, in that I’ve not a clue the last time I saw the key card, whether I even grabbed it as I left yesterday. But I find it in the inside pocket of my leather jacket, cursing with relief as I push open the door.
The room is spotless—the housekeeping service here alone is worth the five-star rating—and it takes me next to no time to throw what little I have into my weekender. A second pair of jeans, a couple t-shirts, a pair of gym shorts and vest, sneakers, a toilet bag, and my journal. I spend a few minutes looking for my laptop before I remember I didn’t bring it. I’m wrapping my cell phone charger when there’s a knock at the door I assume is housekeeping.
“Yeah, I’m almost done here,” I shout as I glance around. I like to pack, wedge the door open with my bags, then do a last ‘idiot check’ before letting it close behind me. “You can come in.”
I check the drawers by the bedside and am on my knees looking under the bed when a second knock comes. Room looks clear as I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door.
I’mexpectingto see a housekeeper and a trolley there, but I’mstaringat Camille gripping the handle of a small overnight suitcase.
I feel like I’ve been kicked in the face. She’s wearing big sunglasses, an oversized coat, and one of those floppy hats she loves. She takes off her sunglasses and I see her make-up free face is blotchy and swollen. She looks miserable and tired and sad.
Wordlessly, I step back to let her into the room, closing it again as I drop my bag to the floor. She throws her shoulder bag and case on the bed and takes off her hat and tosses it on top, then turns to me.
“What are you doing here?” I manage. My body feels like I’ve just come off a rollercoaster, my legs weak and my breathing all out of sync with my heart.