Page 36 of Brushed and Buried
“Oh, I bet you do,” Becca says with a knowing smile that makes my stomach tighten. “Trevor’s told me about some of the…creative gatherings you’ve helped with.”
The way she emphasizes “creative” makes Adrian nearly choke on his wine. One of the bridesmaids just looks confused. “What kind of gatherings?”
“The fun kind,” Trevor supplies unhelpfully, grinning at Adrian’s mortified expression.
“I helped with a friend’s art show opening once, and also on some themed parties,” Adrian says quickly, clearly trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. “I’ve done some backstage work too, both in school productions and a few professional theater gigs. Nothing too exciting, really.”
I feel that familiar tightness in my jaw whenever I’m reminded of all the parts of Adrian’s life I don’t know about. The friends he’s helped, the parties he’s thrown, the whole rich existence he’s built without me in it. But watching him fumble for his composure, the slight hunch of his shoulders, I recognize a tell I’ve seen before, though I can’t place where.
“Vince?”
I blink, realizing Lance has been talking to me. “Sorry, what?”
“He was saying you’ve been staring at our boy, Adrian, for a while now.” George grins, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Lance snorts into his beer. “More like what’s not going on up there, and probably down here,” gesturing at my crotch.
A prickling warmth rises to my cheeks and neck. I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing, keeping my attention focused where it needs to be. Apparently, that skill hasabandoned me completely where Adrian is concerned. “I wasn’t…”
“Oh, you absolutely were,” Lance presses. “That’s the same look you get when you’re analyzing defensive formations. All focused and intense.”
“Except Adrian’s not running a playbook,” George adds with a smirk.
Isn’t he? I think, but keep it to myself. Because watching Adrian navigate this group feels exactly like watching someone run plays. The way he deflects personal questions with humor and draws attention away from himself by asking about others makes everyone feel included without revealing too much of himself in return. It’s masterful, really.
I’d been an asshole on the boat the other day, trying to convince myself and him that he didn’t really belong in the group. I could see he’d figured it out long before I even said it. It had been my stupid way to deny the fact that he’s back in my life.
Instead of answering, I deflect with a shrug. “Just a little tired.”
I can feel everyone’s attention on me now, the sharpness of their collective curiosity. Even Adrian has stopped sketching, his pencil frozen mid-stroke.
As if sensing the shift in mood, Trevor leans closer to Adrian. “You okay? You seem…tangled up more than usual tonight.”
Adrian’s laugh is soft but edged with strain. “It’s nothing. Just a lot to process, you know? This whole week so far has been…”
He trails off, glancing at me before looking away. “Different than I expected.”
I know exactly what you mean, I want to say. Instead, I take a long pull of my beer and try to ignore the way Adrian’s voice goes quiet and thoughtful.
“Different how?” Becca asks, and I can tell she’s genuinely curious, not just making conversation.
Adrian considers this, twirling his pencil between his fingers. The gesture strikes me as familiar. “I guess I forgot what it was like to be around people who actually want to get to know you, you know? Not just what you can do for them.”
There’s something in those words that makes me look up sharply. In the soft restaurant lighting, Adrian looks younger somehow, more vulnerable than the confident performer who walked into Trevor’s suite just days ago.
“L.A.’s rough like that,” Holly says sympathetically.
“Well, you’re stuck with us now, mate,” Trevor declares, raising his glass. “We want you for your ability to make us feel cultured.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lance says. “I mainly want him for his surprisingly extensive knowledge of sports medicine. Did you know he can diagnose a pulled hamstring just by watching someone walk?”
“Stage combat training,” Adrian explains, looking more relaxed now that the conversation has moved away from his personal life. “You learn to spot injuries before they become serious problems.”
“That’s actually incredibly useful,” George says, and I can hear the genuine respect in his voice. He doesn’t give praise lightly. “How’d you get into that?”
“Community theater,” Adrian says, and a knot forms in my chest without warning. “I was just doing set design, but they needed fight choreographers and I had dance experience. I helped out with some little roles too.”
A half-formed memory stirs in the back of my mind, someone moving with careful precision. But it slips away before I can grasp it fully.
