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I bet you’re wondering why Adan was sleeping on my couch. So was I. Here’s what happened.
I had dated a few guys after Scott, but not for long and not seriously. I had come to terms with that after a few years, figuring I’d had my great love young and that was that. So it surprised me when I kept thinking about Adan after that first night and it surprised me even more when the sound of his voice on the other end of my phone two days later had my heart doing a long-since-forgotten flip.
“What’re you doing?” he asked after we’d gotten the obligatory hellos out of the way.
“Right now?” I sprayed spot remover on my sofa and scrubbed at it with an old kitchen sponge. “I’m cleaning someone else’s jizz off the back of my couch.”
He coughed and said, “Uh, nice. So you’re a top? Wouldn’t have thought it.”
“Right.” I scoffed, rolled my eyes, and scrubbed harder. “Seriously, though, I think this shit is set in for life. The guy must have, like, super semen or something.”
He chuckled and said, “So Tracy’s been bugging me about the pictures. When can I pick up the negatives?”
“Oh, yeah. I was in the darkroom today. I have them ready for you.” I sat back on my haunches and sighed in resignation as I looked at the white marks on the dark faux-suede fabric. “I’m never having houseguests again.”
“Ah, that explains it,” Adan said.
“What?”
“Someone else’s cum on your couch. So is he gone?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Your houseguest.”
“Oh. Yeah. He left yesterday, but he didn’t mention the little present his trick left on my furniture.” I took a breath and started scrubbing some more. “Why are guys in New York such self-involved, inconsiderate narcissists?”
“Are you talking about me?” Adan asked, deadpan.
I laughed at his joke. Or at what I’d thought was a joke until he said, “What? Why’re you laughing?”
“Uh.” I paused and then told myself he was kidding. He had to be. It was the only reason anybody would respond to a comment about self-involved narcissists by asking if the comment was about him. “I was laughing at your joke,” I said.
“What joke?” he asked.
Okay, so maybe a joke wasn’t the only reason for that type of response. I decided to change the topic. “So how’re you doing? Anything exciting going on?”
“I’m good,” Adan said. “Just packing a bag.”
“Yeah? You going away for the weekend?” I gave up on the couch and stood up, staring at it in frustration before setting the cleaner and sponge on my kitchen counter, which was within arm’s reach, and trying to figure out how I could rearrange my meager furniture to hide the evidence.
“Yup,” Adan said.
“Where’re you heading?” I combed my fingers through my hair in frustration when I realized the space was too small to accommodate the couch in any other location.
“Queens,” Adan said.
“Queens?” He lived in Manhattan. Going to Queens wasn’t exactly a weekend getaway. And I lived in Queens, so I should know.
“Yup.” I heard a door slam and the unmistakable sound of locks turning. “I’m picking up some film from a cute guy and then making a weekend of it.”
I shook my head in amusement. “Did you just invite yourself to spend the weekend at my place?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“What if I have plans?”
After a short pause he said, “Do you?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I’m not sleeping with you. The ‘just met’ thing still holds.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
“Adan, I’m serious.” Though I probably didn’t sound serious through the chuckling.
“That’s okay,” he said. “We already established your couch is empty. So I can crash there if you kick me out of your bed.”
And that’s how Adan ended up asleep on my couch, unwittingly posing for the next picture in the album.
Adan Navarro
I COULDN’T stop thinking about Chase Rhodes. It was ridiculous. I had half a foot and forty pounds on him. He put product in his hair and, I was pretty sure, on his face. When he talked, he flailed his hands around and the mannerisms were so obvious, it made me want to duck and hide my face.
But when I found myself beating off to a mental porno featuring captivating blue eyes framed by long lashes, I knew I’d have to take measures to stop the insanity. It seemed that my libido wanted the queen of Queens even though my brain knew he wasn’t right for me in any way. So I decided the solution was to give my libido what it wanted and fuck the guy out of my system. Then I could stop thinking about him and move on with my life.
I took the train into Queens and, as a last-second move, picked up a six-pack of beer, thinking alcohol might make everything go more smoothly. It didn’t take long to make it to his apartment, and three knocks later, I heard the locks turning.
