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Hen offers to pick me up. He knows. I didn’t tell him so I guess Beej did. He doesn’t mention it, the whole way there.
“You okay?” he asks on our way up.
I give him a vague shrug and he gives me a cuddle.
“Hey—” BJ ducks into my line of sight when we arrive.
Eyes heavier than I like them, weighed down with his worries about me, cheeks pink. He’s nervous.
He’s wearing Pleasure’s embroidered-logo shirt jacket with the naughty angels on the back of it, stone grey logo-print short-sleeve T-shirt from Balenciaga with the black Iron loose-fit trousers by Axel Arigato. Handsome like he always is and maybe extra because that T-shirt makes his eyes extra green.
He wraps his arms around me, feels nervous as he does it.
He pulls back, looks at me again — he looks worried. I don’t want him to look worried.
I try my best to smile convincingly. Try to be finer than I feel. Try not to feel Paili standing between us, but I can’t quite, so I have a big drink.
Beej hangs around me, but what can he do? We’re friends.
I don’t know why we’re friends and I know we’re bad at it, and even though there are certain aspects of him that I find difficult to trust, I do trust that he would only be doing this whole friend fiasco if it was for a reason, so even though I don’t get it, I’m trying. Trying to respect it or whatever.
An outward expression of the inward trust I lied about having.
If we could kiss, all this would go away.
Everything goes away for us when we touch, but the hugs won’t cut it with this. We need a complete recalibration. All my clothes off, his hands on me til we’re back in sync, but then again it rolls through my brain that his hands were on Paili and I get up and walk to the bar. This time he doesn’t follow me.
“Alright,” says a deep voice and a pair of black Timberlands from next to me. “What the fuck is going on with you two?”
I glance over at Julian Haites and roll my eyes.
“Oh, you know what they say — strike while the iron is… tepid.”
He gives me an unimpressed look, shoves his hands into the pockets of his Hayes leather-panelled wool-blend bomber jacket from Golden Bear. Cream cashmere half-zip sweater from Brunello Cucinelli underneath it. He looks handsome. I feel guilty for thinking that. I’m sure I shouldn’t, so I just shrug.
“Nothing. We’re figuring it out.”
Julian cocks an eyebrow and looks over at Beej, who’s watching us, brows low. He looks uneasy.
“Figuring it out?” Jules looks from Beej to me. “He just told me you’re just friends.”
I feel embarrassed. I shake my head. “It’s a loose term.”
“Oi,” Julian puts his head closer to mine than he needs to, “I didn’t stop having the best sex of my life so you could go off and be friends with Ballentine.” I give him a look and he returns it with a steady one. “You deserve more, Parks.”
“Julian—” I sigh. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs, innocent. Like he’s ever been innocent a day in his life.
“You don’t like me like that, remember?” I remind him. “You never have. Relieved to be rid of me.” I give him a tender smile because that one actually hurt my feelings but never mind. “I love him… I think I’ve done a bad job of showing him that.”
Julian juts his chin out a bit and nods. “And him you.”
I peer up at him, my eyes heavy.
“Look at you—” He gestures at me. “That stupid face you’ve got, who’s not with you if they can be?” I roll my eyes and look away but his head ducks after me. “I’m serious, Tiges. What’s he playing at?”
I sigh because I don’t know.
