Ice Prince: I love it when you call me baby.
That makes me smile, despite the sad, hollowness in my bones. It’s pathetic how fast he can pull a smile from me with a few words. If he asked, I’d probably mail him a kidney too. Maybe both. Who even needs kidneys?
“Who’s next?”
I order a round of drinks for the group of very studious hockey players under Lachlan’s watchful eye in the corner,and an entire apple pie which makes my chest hurt. As much as Brewd and Butter makes good fucking pie, it’s just not on the same level as Get the Fork Out in Iowa.
I miss him. Missing him has settled into my bloodstream. It’s constant, low-grade, but impossible to ignore. I swear my body temperature is permanently a couple degrees lower without him around me.
It’s just that simple. And I hate that there’s nothing I can do to help him. And I hate even more that he won’t just say “fuck it” and walk away from the table.
It’s only going to get worse the longer we’re together, too. The distance will just bruise my heart like a sharp knuckle rubbing back and forth over a sore spot.
He’s as stubborn as his—nope, can’t even think that because that doesn’t bear thinking about. He’s nothing like his father. Alonso de la Peña is a narcissistic asshole, and Artemis is nothing like him.
The guys grunt or nod their hellos as I sit down, and I get a few fist bumps and shoulder knocks as thanks when the barista brings over everyone’s drinks and brain fuel.
I take a selfie with the guys for the socials. “Stay in school, kids,” “hockey players study too,” all that jazz. It’s on the tip of my thumbs to write “just missing a special someone,” in the caption but my thousands of followers would dig to the ends of the earth to figure out who the fuck I’m seeing. And he doesn’t want that yet.
Instead, I pull out my phone and send him a coffee delivery from his favorite coffee place and pull out the dreaded books.
Lachlan snaps at a couple of the guys to shut the fuck up about their holiday flights. “None of you are leaving unless I’m satisfied you’re not flunking.” Dude’s a drill sergeant.
After what feels like a year of studying—in reality it’s onlybeen thirty-five minutes—I check my phone. There’s a message from Ares on the screen.
Ares: Real subtle, Xavi. Having coffee delivered in front of everyone is definitely a choice.
A concrete block lies low in my stomach. Shit. I didn’t even think of who might be with him. I know he’s not ready to tell his friends and family about us, and given everything that’s going on with him, I mean, I’m not okay about it, but I’m not going to rock the boat about it either. At least not yet anyway. But if he wants to keep our relationship in the closet for a little bit longer, I’m going to at least sit with him in the darkness while we wait.
Xavier: Shit. Is he pissed?
Ares: I covered for you. Told the group I sent it to him because dude looks like shit. He’s barely awake, drooling all over the table.
He snaps a covert picture and sends it to me. It does little to help the ache growing in my chest. My guydoeslook like shit, bags under his dark eyes, ruffled hair from his hands running through it over and over… but he’s still as handsome as ever. It’s so unfair. How can he be…thatgood looking?
Even half-dead, he’s stupidly beautiful. It’s infuriating. I look like a potato when I’m tired; he looks like wickedness draped in Gucci-clad exhaustion.
Ares: I can hear your kissy kissy smitten shit from here. *kissing emoji* *love heart emoji*
Ares: Pass the puke bucket *bucket emoji* *vomit emoji* *vomit emoji*
*vomit emoji* *vomit emoji* *vomit emoji*
Ares: You guys are so gross *winking emoji*
Ares: I love you. No, I love you. No, I love you.
Xavier: You okay there, bro? You missing Eloise a little too hard, or what? She’s out of town this week, right?
Ares: *eye roll emoji* *vomit emoji*
Xavier: Don’t hate me cause you ain’t me. *nail painting emoji*
I don’t bother telling him we’re not at the L-word stage just yet. I can’t get his brother out of my mind, so what? My heart does a stupid little swoop anyway. I hate that I’m soft for this man. I hate even more that I don’t actually hate it. It feels so natural, so meant to be… almost inevitable.
So, we spend every precious, spare, waking hour we can texting, calling, or leaving each other lengthy voice notes to answer when we get a second, what’s the big deal?
When we’re not spending waking hours “together,” yes, we’re officially those sad saps who sometimes leave an open phoneline, and I listen to his adorable little snores overnight. It’s embarrassing how normal it feels to fall asleep to the sound of him breathing. It’s like I accidentally rewired my nervous system to require one grumpy, Dominican disaster CEO to function.
