Christian smiles from behind the bar. “Don’t tell me you’re tired,” he says. A moment later, he comes into the living room with two drinks. A square block of ice sits in amber liquid. I take the smallest sip, burning my throat.
“What is this?” I cough.
“Bourbon,” Christian says. “It tastes better with time. Just let the ice melt a little.” He takes out his phone. A second later, music fills the apartment. Something classical.
I hold my breath as I take another sip.
“Did you want some water?”
“I’m fine,” I say, clearing my throat. Then I glance around the apartment. “Your place is really big for one person. Do you really need this much space?”
Christian chuckles. “It is on the bigger side,” he agrees. “Especially compared to my place in the city. I guess I just fell in love with the view.”
“Yeah, it’s incredible,” I say, glancing at the terrace. “You can see the whole city. I remember from the last time I was here.”
“Have you seen the bedroom yet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Would you like to?”
Before I can even answer, Christian rises from the sofa anyway. I take another sip, burning my throat again. Christian smiles as he holds out a hand, helping me to my feet. He leads me up the stairs, taking us to the door at the end of the hallway. He doesn’t bother with the lights when we come in. But he doesn’t really need them. The glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminates the room, showcasing the city like an art piece.
I wander toward the window for a better view. The drink is cold in my hand. Maybe it’s the bourbon talking, but I say, “I can’t believe you get to see this every day.”
“The view is even better from the bed.”
I go completely still. Then I turn around slowly.
Christian is sitting at the side of his bed. His sleeves are rolled up, showing his arms. He runs a hand over the covers, as if to say,come here. I take another sip, hoping it does something for my nerves. Then I walk over and sit down next to him. Christian studies me for a moment. Slowly, he runs a finger over my cheek, circling down to my jaw. His hand feels nice against my skin. “You’re really beautiful, Eric.”
I quiver a little as he leans in closer. His voice is smooth as he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”
I swallow my breath. “Yeah.”
The next thing I know, our lips are pressed together. His mouth is sharp with the taste of bourbon. He takes the drink from my hand, moving it to the nightstand. I’m a little numb from the alcohol. I almost don’t feel his hands as they grip me. The linen of his shirt scratches my skin; his chest presses against mine. I run my hands through his hair as he kisses myneck. Then he moves to my ear and whispers, “You know, I don’t usually bring back guys like you…”
“What does that mean?”
“You know,” he says vaguely.
He continues to kiss me, his lips warm against my neck and shoulders. Even though this feels nice, I’m still focused on what he said. “I really don’t,” I say.
Christian looks at me. “I guess you can say I have a preference. Someone more like Nick, if that makes it more clear.”
I think back to the gallery. He was the blond friend who kept making jokes about the waiters. “Blond?”
“Not necessary blond,” he says.
“Works in finance?”
Christian sighs. “You really need me to say it?”
“I’m just curious.”
He takes a moment to answer. “I’m not into Asian guys. You’re actually the first.”
This catches me off guard. I don’t know what to say. “But you’re Asian,” I remind him.
