Page 51 of Burning for Alexander
“But it was enough to make you move away?”
“That and a few other things. I was restless. The guy I told you about, my ex?—”
“The one that got away?” he teased, gesturing for me to hand him the onion on the counter next to me.
I moved the onion over to him and got out another cutting board. “Yeah. I was, ah, having trouble moving on. I kind of threw myself into the hookup scene, which made it worse, in a way.”
“How do you mean?”
I thought ofDrunkenPoet, of his inherent sweetness and empathy. Of the way he asked about me and worried about me. Going back online after the accident to see dozens of messages from him escalating in panic and desperation.
And then nothing.I could still see the old messages, but the username was gone. Instead, it indicated the messages had been written by a deleted user. His account had been closed and he was gone. Unreachable.
“There’s a world of difference between being with someone to get off and being with someone you care about,” I said.
It wasn’t until I noticed his slightly flared nostrils and reddened cheeks that I realized how insensitive my words were. I opened my mouth to say something, but there was nothing to say. I couldn’t tell him things were different with him, that I cared about him more than a casual fuck. Because I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to care for Alex Marian at all. And I didn’t want to send mixed messages.
“I get it,” Alex said at length, and something in his tone—ahint of longing I recognized all too well—made me think he actually did understand.
As Alex got out a frying pan, I found myself thinking abouthis“one that got away.” The guy he said had disappeared on him before they’d had a chance to do much together.
The fact that I almost wanted to find the guy and knock some sense into him suggested I wasn’t doing nearly as well at not-caring about Alex as I wanted to believe.
I stayed quiet, and we made awkward small talk for the rest of the time it took him to make a simple chicken and rice dish.
“This is fucking incredible,” I said in surprise after taking the first bite.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said with a laugh. “My uncle’s a chef. I worked at his restaurant and learned from the best. I’ve been thinking Imighteven open my own restaurant one day.” He winked, but I could tell he was a little hurt.Again.
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s not pizza. And I guess I think of you as a restaurant owner, not a chef.”
He straightened the paper napkin in his lap before piercing me with a stare. “It’s possible to be both things. You know, like fire chief and fire marshal.”
“I apologized,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “And I’ll apologize again. I’m sorry.”
Alex blew out a breath. “No, it’s my fault for overreacting. I’m sensitive about it.” He waved a hand. “Family shit.”
I realized then that Alex hadn’t changed the way he spoke to me about family after learning I’d had a shit one and then none at all. It was uncommon for people to be so comfortable with it. I almost asked him if he’d known someone in the system, but I held back.
Until I remembered Tavo.
“Tell me more about Tavo,” I said.
And it was the exact wrong thing. Alex’s body stiffened, and his eyes widened. “Why?”
“He in the system?”
Alex sat still for a beat like he was considering how to answer. And then he stood up and cleared his plate to the kitchen, rinsing it in the sink and setting it in the small dishwasher, where he’d already put the dishes he’d used making dinner. “Sorry, I have to head out. Thanks for the, uh, lesson.”
I stood up and approached him carefully. “Alex, whatever I said?—”
He turned a smile on me that would have been radiant if it hadn’t been so damned fake. “Don’t worry about it. I really do have to go. Besides, we’re done here, right? Physical transaction. No emotions. And I told you I’m good with that.”
He leaned in to drop a quick kiss on my cheek in the most platonic way possible. As if we were acquaintances and nothing more. Which, I guessed, was probably true…
Since that’s what I’d done my damnedest to make clear to him.
