Page 28 of Grease & Grips
In the middle of a job, halfway through a sandwich, during commercials on a show I wasn’t even really watching. He’d show up crystal clear and dominating all my thoughts, and every time he did, I’d find myself reaching for my phone like maybe if I sent him something, he’d send a piece of himself back.
I figured it was the same thing that happens to everyone. That one day, he probably thought, “Damn, I really gotta text Mack,” and then he didn’t.
Maybe he meant to reach out the next day, or the day after that, but then one day came when he didn’t think about Sycamore, or that night, or me at all.
It hadn’t escaped me that I could’ve been a means to an end. He was being friendly and wanted his car fixed a little faster or needed a place to crash. Maybe he was horny. Maybe he was bored.
I know a lot of men who’ll bend over for a whole lot less.
So many men in my life have disappeared without a word, but I never could put Andrés in that same category so I chosepeace and to be grateful I had that night at all. Because it taught me not everything that ends needs to rot into bitterness.
Some things are meant to be remembered soft.
That softness is what propels me out of my seat and lets me wrap my arms tight around him before I can second-guess it.
I can’t be angry when he’s standing right here. Not that I could anyway.
I spent so long trying to forget what it felt like to be this close to him, and now he’s right here, solid against my chest. It’s hard to believe it’s real, but the weight of him tells me it is.
This is luck. Dumb, stupid luck.
“Didn't think I'd see you again,” I murmur, nose brushing the curve of his jaw.
His arms wrap around me just as tight. “Well, my check engine light came on…”
I bark out a laugh and pull back enough to take him in. Eyes a little tired, hair a little longer, smirk as dangerous as I remember. He looks older or maybe I’m seeing him clearer this time with distance and the light of day.
“Finally getting those tall buildings, eh?” he asks, nodding toward the gate.
“Yeah,” I nod back, a little sheepish. “Gary gave me the week off. Damn near fell out when I asked. Trying to be kinder to myself, you know? See a little more of what’s out there beyond Sycamore.”
“Good for you.”
He slips out of my grip and takes a step back, and my body misses his warmth immediately.
“Where you headed?” I ask, trying to keep it casual.
His eyes light up, playful. “Would you believe me if I said New York?”
“No shit?” My eyebrows shoot up.
“Yeah. For work.”
I glance back at the gate, heart doing this weird little stutter. “So we’re…”
He nods, lips twitching. “Yeah. Same flight.”
Can’t help but scratch at the back of my neck. I’ve been inside this man, painted his insides with motor oil, and somehow words escape me.
“So… how’ve you been?” I ask.
He adjusts his duffle strap and shifts his weight. “Busy. Work’s been nuts. We’ve been shooting commercials for this new campaign, like, nonstop.”
“Yeah?” I nod like that means anything to me. “Still traveling a lot then?”
“Too much. But, you know. It’s work.”
The silence is comfortable for half a second, then awkward enough to chew on. I let it hang there, looking at him, letting myself exist in the same space he does.
