Page 49 of Andre in Flight
“Did you like that?” I asked.
He smiled. “Hell, yeah.” And then with less confidence, “Was I okay?”
I kissed his chest. “You were more than okay. You were exceptional.”
Later we walked down to the outdoor market and bought enough food to survive the next few days. We each called in sick to work and turned off our phones, intent on feathering our nest.
Sometime during that second day of our reunion, as I watched him slice tomatoes at the kitchen counter, I simply couldn’t hold it in any longer. I decided I had nothing to lose by being honest with him.
“I fucking love you, Andre. Everything about you, the way you walk, the way you lean, the things you say, your smile, your cooking, your amazing abs, your tight ass, your cock…,” muscles, skin, bones, lips, scent. He drove me wild. The list went on and on.
He grinned, bashfully, then scooped up a tomato and offered it to me.
“I love you too,” he said shyly.
I stared at his long, curling eyelashes and waited for him to meet my eyes, but he seemed too afraid.
I came around to his side of the counter and drew my hand along his shoulder and down to his underarm, touched his arrow tattoo, the symbol of his past wounds. “I know what this means. I know why you left me, like you left Alabama and your dad’s house. One day, you might feel like you need to run away again. But maybe you could think of this as the arrow on a compass, pointing you back to me.”
He was quiet, his body still. The knife lay motionless on the cutting board. Then he kind of sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists like he’d been slicing onions. I wrapped my arms around him. “This is your home,” I whispered. “Right here in my arms, and I promise to try my best to make you happy.”
He grabbed my arms, drawing them in tighter around him.
“I love you, Andre,” I said again. “And it isn’t just about sex or the way you look. I love the person you are and the person you’re going to become. I want you to stay with me forever, but even if that doesn’t happen, I want you to know I’ll always care for you and want to protect you. I might not always be your boyfriend, but I’ll always be your friend.”
He sighed deeply, and I kissed the top of his shoulder. “Cool?”
When he turned toward me, I saw the tears on his cheeks. I kissed each one and hugged him to me, folding him up in my arms. My archer, my slumbering prince, my Andre. I felt the timbre of his voice in my chest when he told me, “Cool.”
My heart thumped in my chest, beating for him.
We were home.
