Page 20 of Jealous of the Clouds
The sound of the intercom, the roar of an L train hurtling by, and a blast of deafening thunder coincided at around 12:30 in the afternoon.
I opened my balcony door for a brief, confirming glance that it was Josh who was outside. He stood waiting—and he was drenched. And probably cold. He wore only a long sleeve pale green T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and the Hoka running shoes that I’d bought him.
He returned my look, peering up at me through the rain. “You gonna let me in?”
I hurried back inside and pressed the button on the intercom that would admit him.
When I opened the door, I groaned. “Oh my god. You’re the proverbial drowned rat.”
Josh edged by me and headed to the bathroom without a word. He was in there for a while. When he emerged, he was dryand wearing the flannel bathrobe that hung on a hook on the back of the door.
I was experiencing a dilemma. It would have been so easy to shove my qualms aside and simply pull him into the bedroom. Really easy—because I was a guy who avoided conflict as though it might mean the death of me.
So, indulging my physical desires and putting off the real reason I’d asked him over today was a tempting move—one that had been in my bag of tricks for more years than I cared to count.
But I’d spent the last week worrying and pondering over our future as a couple. Today, I saw, was a make-or-break moment. We’d either become more united and perhaps look at that idea of Josh’s to move in together more closely or, as I feared, Josh would reject me outright for being faithless and untrusting.
“Hungry?”
I led him into the living room and we sat together on the couch. The rain tapped against the windows behind us, making me feel like we were the only two people in the world, cocooned.
Josh ran his fingers through his still-damp hair. He smelled of rain. The chest hair peeking out from the folds of the robe tempted me once more. “I’m okay. No rush. I had a late breakfast—Fruit Loops.”
“You and your health food.” I leaned toward him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Anything more and we would have been in the bedroom. The door to it was just across from us and open. The bed was unmade.
It would be so easy…
“Well, I made us a nice lunch,” I said. “Egg salad, rye bread, tomatoes, cucumber, and red onion salad.”
“Much healthier than my breakfast.” He offered a smile and then snatched it back. “What’s going on? You seem tense.” He reached out to massage my neck, I assumed, but I moved away.
One of my defining character traits, besides conflict avoidance, was my inability to hide my emotions. Of course, Josh would pick up on my anxiety right away.
You need to get this over with. Get things out in the open. Talk. Communicate. See where things stand. For god’s sake, just do it.
Despite my mouth being dry and my hands slightly trembling, I plunged in.
“I have a confession,” I began.
Those words—along withwe need to talk—are probably the most-feared in the English language. He eyed me, leaning back just slightly. “What’s up? Did you cheat?”
“Cheat?” I laughed. “Really? Is that seriously the first thing that pops into your head? Why? Have I given you any reason to think that?” I frowned. “No, no, not at all.”Why would he believe that? I’d never given him even the slightest reason to get the idea that I was fooling around on him.
“What then?” He stretched out. His bare feet tempted me again to just say, ‘forget it,’ grab his hand and lead him into the bedroom, ten feet away.
But I knew, deep down, that want was just as much informed my conflict-avoidance as it was by lust.
I tried to ignore the rat gnawing away at the lining of my stomach. I couldn’t look at him. I stared straight ahead and forced myself to say the words. “You know that podcast, Meat Locker?”
“I know that podcast.” His tone was dead.
“Remember how you said the guy, Bailey—” I stopped myself because I realized I almost said Karl. “Remember you said he might want to get in touch with me? Maybe interview me?”
“I remember telling you he might get in touch.” He took my chin gently in his hands. “I don’t recall mentioning aninterview.” He turned my face a little more. His gaze met mine. He wasn’t happy. “Don’t tell me you let him interview you?”
“No, no worries there.”
“Good.”
