Page 6 of Friendly Skies
The sound of André mimicking Darius’ nickname for him threw Luis back to the night of Marissa’s quinceañera and the knock on the bathroom door that had brought his world crashing down. He shoved the thoughts aside, told himself to grow a pair, and opened the door with a shaking hand. The scent of Andrés’ cologne hit him first, but the bile rising into the back of his throat had everything to do with the man standing in the yellow glow of the exterior light.
Andrés smiled, still every inch of the model-gorgeous guy he’d been when Luis was sixteen and had a crush on those blond curls and deep blue eyes. “There you are,” he said and gave Luis a slow once-over. “And looking all dolled up, too. Almost like you were expecting me.”
“Why would I expect you?” Luis asked. His tongue felt like it was made of lead, the sight of Andrés at his door turning every single butterfly to snakes in his gut, but he couldn’t form the words to tell him to get lost.
“You can at least say congratulations.” Andrés brushed past him, shoulder bumping into Luis and almost knocking him over as one of his heels skidded on the tile floor.
One part of Luis’ brain screamed at him not to close the door, not to trap himself inside with Andrés, but that wasn’t the part in control. Luis couldn’t think clearly, his breathing too shallow, too fast, and his entire body felt like it was made of ice.
Andrés remained standing near Luis and cocked his head to the side, arched an eyebrow at him. “Well?” He held his arms out, and for a mad moment, Luis nearly walked into them, thinking Andrés wanted a hug, but he was still frozen in place.
“Congratulations?” Luis managed.
“Thank you. Now you’re showing some manners. Yup. I got let out early for good behavior.”
Andrés touched Luis’ bare shoulder, and Luis tried not to flinch away. Showing fear only made Andrés bolder, meaner. He’d never respected Luis’ few tries at standing up to him, batting away Luis’ feeble attempts with a laugh. Even though he’d never touched Luis after the night of Marissa’s party, the threat of it lived under Luis’ skin, the memories alive and well in his brain. Survival was the name of the game whenever Andrés showed up.
“That’s…that’s great,” Luis said. “I’m sure…Gabriella is happy to have you home.”
Andrés grinned, looking every bit the surfer dude who’d made Luis aware of his attraction to guys. “She is. Very happy. Speaking of which…” He shrugged. “I won’t keep you since you’re on your way out, but I was wondering if you could spot me a bit. I’d like to get Gabs something nice to celebrate. A couple hundred should do it.”
Swallowing even though his mouth was dry, Luis nodded. At this point, he’d do almost everything to get Andrés out of his apartment as quickly as possible, and he was used to this kind of shakedown from him. Before he’d gone to jail—for dealing, though Luis’ family swore it had been a setup by the cops and a bad lawyer who’d forced a plea deal on Andrés—it had been a regular thing for Andrés to ask Luis for a couple of twenties at least once a month.
“Same email?” Luis asked as he opened up Venmo on his phone.
“Same email,” Andrés said, glancing around the condo as Luis tapped on his phone screen. “Place looks nice. You always did have that queer eye thing going for you.” He cackled as if he’d made a hysterical joke, and Luis flinched at the sound.
“Done,” he said.
“Always a pleasure doing business with you, chico.” Andrés reached for the doorknob, but at the last moment, he turned and took hold of Luis’ chin, squeezing and lifting it at the same time. He stroked an index finger along Luis’ cheekbone and leaned in close to whisper in Luis’ ear. “You know, I learned a few things in jail.”
Luis didn’t hear Andrés leave, nor did he have any idea how long he remained standing by the front door. All he knew was that at some point, he came back to himself and immediately locked the door.
On autopilot, Luis turned off all the lights and moved through the condo as silently as possible. Heading for the bathroom, he stripped off his club gear, leaving it where it fell in the hallway. He turned on the shower and set the water for as hot as he could stand it, then got under the spray. Going out was no longer of any interest to him, and he needed to get all the makeup and glitter off his face. He also needed to get warm and turned the water even hotter until it was almost all the way to the red mark, but he still couldn’t feel any warmth in his body.
“Fuck,” Luis whispered. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
He hated the way Andrés could make him feel weak and helpless, hated that he was powerless to stop the asshole from showing up, but most of all, he hated the way Andrés had poisoned the way Luis felt about Darius and made it impossible to say anything after Marissa’s party. Despite what he’d told Darius, he did remember that night. He remembered everything about it, but in order to move on, he’d shoved it all into a corner of his memory and refused to think about it or succumb to panic attacks and anxiety.
Throwing himself into the cheer squad and gymnastics had helped and earned him a scholarship right alongside Darius, sending them off to UCLA together, where he finally woke up to the fact that he was in love with his best friend. Only by then,Darius was too precious to risk losing if a romantic relationship didn’t work out between them. They were closer than family. Soul twins, almas gemelas. And Luis had no idea how he would survive if anything took Darius away from him.
Luis got out of the shower and dried himself off, then grabbed his fluffy pink robe and headed back to his bedroom, where he found comfy sweats and one of Darius’ hoodies. If he couldn’t have his best friend at home, he was damn well going to wear something to remind him of Darius’ strength and comfort.
He rechecked the door and made sure it was still locked, then headed into the kitchen to dump the rest of the Cosmos down the drain and made hot chocolate instead.
Flopping onto the couch, Luis grabbed the throw blanket and wrapped himself up in it before turning the TV on. He flipped through the channels and tried not to think about being alone in the apartment, but it was nearly impossible. Without the comfort of Darius’ presence, the solidness of Greg’s calmness, or even, yes, Ricky’s chaotic energy, the space was too quiet, too still. He was aware of every creak of the stairs outside, the faint bass of someone’s stereo, the echo of people’s voices in the pool. Everything was amplified, and he was a stupid ball of anxiety curled under a blanket on the couch, the leather creaking each time he moved like something out of a horror movie.
He finally settled on some ridiculous dating show and tried to lose himself in the petty dramas and overblown confrontations as the participants navigated their pseudo-relationships. It might be called reality TV, but Luis couldn’t find anything that came close to portraying his dating reality. Even if the show had only been about gay men, it still wouldn’t represent his experience. Despite that, he was able to lose himself in the show for a good half hour, even finding someone to root for and loving it when she was picked to go on the date for that evening. He could almost,almost, convince himself that Andrés had not beeninside the apartment, that he hadn’t stood next to Luis in the entranceway, that the scent of his cologne didn’t still linger in the air. It was simply a matter of pushing it to the back of his mind and forgetting about it. He’d done it before. He could do it again.
At a commercial break, he unwound himself from the blankets and got up. He needed to pee, and he should probably find something to eat even though he wasn’t really hungry. Anxiety did that to him. Tied his stomach into knots so tight the thought of food made him want to throw up. After taking care of business, Luis was back in front of the TV, once again wrapped up in his blanket cocoon. The date was already underway, and Luis could tell it wasn’t going well from the moment he sat down.
“Oh, honey, been there,” he said to the TV, commiserating with the young woman who’d gotten dressed up for a night at an LA club only to have her date take her to a cowboy bar complete with peanut shells on the floor and a mechanical bull.
Luis just about died when they cut away to one of the confessional shots and the guy said he always likes to mix things up at the last minute to see if his date can go with the flow. “If she’s too uptight,” the wanna-be Brad Pitt with overbleached hair and a hickey on his neck said, “I don’t want anything to do with her. You got one chance with me, and then it’sass-ta-la-vista, baby, if you can’t handle it. It’s nothing personal. That’s just how I roll.”
“You’re an asshole,” Luis said to the screen and took a sip of the water he’d grabbed from the fridge.
A fist pounding on the front door made Luis freeze so suddenly and completely he could barely swallow what was in his mouth. Andrés couldn’t have returned, could he? Luis held as still as possible, his heart pounding hard enough he could see the blanket move with each beat of it in his chest. Adrenaline shot through his body, and his hands felt cold and numb.
