Heartbeat Repeating - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,10

likes him.

He’s gotten to know him through subtle ways—his gestures, the way his eyebrow occasionally lifts that proves he’s listening to Avery’s inane stories. The way he shifts in his chair, and the way his nostrils twitch in something like a rhythm when he’s annoyed. He always dabs his mouth from left to right, and when he’s lost in his head, he taps out a rhythm on the table with his fingertips that has long pauses in between. He always pushes his chair in whenever he gets up, and he always checks the car door before he unlocks it.

It’s not enough, but it’s something. It’s just the right amount for Avery’s heart to go and do something really fucking stupid—like fall in love with a man who won’t say two words to him on a good week. Alejandro glances at him as he sits, and Avery feels the gift in his pocket pressing into his hip, so he pulls it out and lays it on the corner of the table.

It’s badly wrapped and clunky. It’s a wood carving so it wasn’t going to look pretty no matter what, and he’s stopped caring because he’s gotten Alejandro stupid little gifts before, and then he never sees them again. He supposes it’s only fair, because he knows the same will happen with the watch Alejandro hands him. It’s pretty—it’s a trinket. It fits nicely on his wrist, and he’ll never, ever use it.

“It’s good to see you,” Avery says. He pushes the gift a little closer to Alejandro who glances at it but makes no move to touch it. “You look nice tonight.

A return compliment is not forthcoming, but that’s fine. Avery’s words aren’t a lie. A year later, knowing this man as much as he ever will, and Alejandro is more beautiful than ever. He sighs, and he orders wine, and when the silence feels heavy—he does what he’s best at. He begins to speak. The words flow easy, and Alejandro seems to go into that soft, fugue state, life settles into a routine that Avery sometimes wonders whether or not it’s a taste of hell, and he’ll have to endure this forever.

“…so this kid strolls in…” Avery stops midway through his story when Alejandro’s eyebrow raises just a centimeter—the most reaction he’s gotten out of him all night, even when Alejandro handed over the watch. He had probably been quiet for too long, but after a beat, the moment passes and he goes on. “This fucker’s from the baseball team, so of course he thinks he has the right to do whatever the fuck he wants. Like our baseball team has won anything in years. I think they do it for some sort of tax credit. Or something. Do universities get tax credits for sports teams?”

No answer, but there rarely is one no matter what the question is.

Avery feels like a professional at this whole sugar baby thing now—at least in the art of Alejandro and their fucked-up dates. Like he knows the man’s allergic to eggs and hates onions, but he’ll keep pickled onions on his order because Avery likes to pick them off his plate and eat them when Alejandro’s finished. He matches his shoes to his belt, and his socks to his trousers, and he always wears a blue tie on Thursdays.

He knows Alejandro is from England—where all of his family except his brother lives—but they mostly speak in Spanish when they’re on the phone. He knows Alejandro’s mamá calls every single Saturday without fail, and Alejandro will answer, even if he and Avery are on a date. He knows Alejandro drinks too much and doesn’t sleep enough, and spends a lot of time in meetings. Most of his wealth is in the stock market, but a lot of it is also in property. He carries more cash than most rich guys Avery’s seen, but he thinks that’s probably got to do with the fact that he’s always shoving bills in Avery’s pocket as he climbs out of the car.

He also knows that Alejandro was young once, and probably talked more, and once fell in love enough to get married. Avery catches him staring every so often with something in his gaze that he can’t pinpoint, but the moment Alejandro realizes he’s been seen, it all shuts down. Avery wants more because damn him—damn his fool heart and his ridiculous brain—he broke the cardinal rule of this mess and fell in love.

He has no delusions, of course.