His Assistant - Alexa Land Page 0,38
one I’d used to cover him when he fell asleep. He wore it unbuttoned like I did and had rolled up the cuffs, and while it was baggy on me, it fit him perfectly.
It was surprisingly touching to see him wearing something of mine. I never could have predicted what that did to me. It was just so sweet and intimate, and I ran my hand over the soft flannel and down his chest.
“Is it okay that I’m wearing this? You left it behind and I liked the fact that it smelled like you, but I can take it off if you want.”
He started to reach for the front of the shirt, but I interrupted by catching his hands and saying, “No, keep it on.” I let go of him and added, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Oh good. I wasn’t sure if you’d be sick of me after spending all weekend together.”
“Not even a little.”
“Sorry I drifted off earlier, and I’m also sorry my attempt at dinner was such a disaster. I think it’ll go better this time. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
I shook my head and turned to look at what he’d brought. In addition to bread, butter, and cheese, there was milk and cereal, a box of cookies, some chips, a jar of olives, and a couple of bottles of alcohol. I put a pan on the stove as he asked, “Where do you keep your cocktail shaker?”
“That’s hilarious. At best, I can give you two plastic tumblers and some ice, and you can sort of wedge them together if you insist on your martini shaken, not stirred. Just so you know, I don’t have martini glasses either, or anything else that’s suitable for entertaining.”
“What do you do when you have friends over?”
I shrugged and said, “If someone wants to get together, I meet them at a bar.”
He looked like he had more to say on the subject, but he let it drop and went to work mixing up a pair of martinis. When he finished, we clinked our wine glasses together (because that was the best I could do) and took a sip. “I don’t understand how you can make an absolutely flawless martini but never learned to cook,” I said. “Because really, if you can do one, you can do the other.”
“I guess I’m a product of my upbringing,” he said, as he began working on the sandwiches. “My friends and I learned to mix drinks in high school by watching our parents at their endless cocktail and dinner parties. But we never learned to cook because we had staff for that.”
“I sometimes forget you grew up wealthy, but of course you did. Your dad was in the NFL for years, and he must have made a fortune.”
“Oh, he did, and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget it.”
“You don’t talk about your dad much. Do you two get along?”
He said, “He stopped speaking to me when I came out as bisexual.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is,” he said. “In some ways, it makes life easier. I used to waste a lot of time and energy trying to earn his respect, and now I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Hudson got what he always wanted, the title of favorite son, and I get to live my life on my terms and be happy, rather than trying to please a bitter, bigoted old man whose love comes with strings attached. Silver linings, I guess.”
“What about your mom?”
“She was indifferent, just like she is with everything.”
I muttered, “That sucks.”
He tried to play it off with a shrug, even though I could tell he was hiding a lot of pain. “At least I still had my career. My agent was sure coming out would end it. She said I’d never get cast as a romantic lead, and that middle America would stop buying tickets to my movies. But by the time I came out, I was a huge star, so my career was able to survive the backlash. I was one of the lucky ones, because I know it hasn’t gone like that for every actor who’s come out.”
“Did you ever think about staying in the closet?”
“I did that for twenty-five years, but I couldn’t keep living a lie.” He started sawing at a stick of butter with a butcher knife and changed the subject with, “This doesn’t seem to be going well.”
I took the knife from him and put it in the sink, and then I