Page 104 of Ambiguous
“I love your bow ties, and I think they suit you. But I’d like to see how you’d look in something more avant-garde.”
Swallowing, I make a decision. “Then dress me. However you like.”
His face lights up, and he claps his hands. “Really?”
I nod. “Really. I mean, I’m not promising to wear whatever you pick out to work or anything, but I think here, with you, I can broaden my horizons a bit.”
He holds my hand as we walk around his closet—which is as big as my bedroom—and he starts shifting hangers, searching through the T-shirts and leather and sparkle and lace and fabric.
Julian pulls out a see-through aqua blouse. “This might look good with your coloring.” He already has a pair of slim black leather pants draped over his arm.
I stare at the garments dubiously.
“Fine,” I say. “I don’t know why I feel nervous. It’s just clothes.” He hands me the shirt, and I slip it on, then tug on the leather pants, freeballing it. It takes some effort to get them up, but thankfully it’s not too embarrassing.
Running my hands through my hair so it stands on end, I examine myself in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection. “I look like one of the glam rock guys from the ’70s.”
Julian doesn’t say anything. He stands behind me, looking at me in the mirror, then moving his gaze down my back.
“What?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and hugging myself.
“Your arse in those trousers would be illegal in several countries.”
I burst out laughing. “Hardly.”
“Very much so.” He tilts his head. “You look wonderful. It makes me want to keep you all to myself a while longer.”
“I don’t mind being discreet for a while. But when whatever this is inevitablydoesget out in the open…”
“Yeah.” He sighs.
“Julian, I understand. You’re not hiding. Though I suppose you are literally in a closet right now.” I chuckle. “But I’m enjoying some quiet time with you, too. And we’re not going to get much of that once we go public.” I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Speaking of which, what about you?”
I furrow my brow. “What about me?”
“Are you going to break up with Kurt Delmont? Publicly, that is?”
“Oh, crap,” I say. “I told the PR team, but they haven’t gotten back to me. I didn’t mean to hurt you with that or make you worry.” I make sure to look Jules in the eye. “I’ll get it done,” I promise.
Even if staying here, in our own private cocoon, is awfully appealing at the moment.
CHAPTER38
Jules
One of the first things I see the following morning is an email from Lighthouse Records asking me to give one of their vice presidents a call. Robin Jackson. I know him. I’ve worked with him before.
Still, it’s never comforting to get a message like that. Heart in my throat, I dial.
After the usual pleasantries, he says, “Julian, we take it that a lot of songs on your record are written from a bisexual point of view.”
“Hmm.” I look out at the Pacific Ocean shining bright and scratch my belly.
“You’re a man, and you are singing songs about a man. Love songs. But you’ve dated women. Does this mean you’re coming out as bisexual?”
“I don’t identify as bisexual,” I say automatically, stopping my pacing. “And you’re focusing on things that don’t matter. There are songs on the album that are to men and songs that are to women. There’s also a song about an octopus. It has nothing to do with—”
