Page 53 of Deliverance

He’s gotten even more beautiful since the last time I saw him, which was right after I met Santiago. So, years. Yes, definitely years. Although my libido is retired and I’ve rejected all the pleasures of flesh indefinitely, as a person who’s used to working with human bodies, I can appreciate the man’s physique.

There’s a difference between appreciating and wanting, and I can still do the former. Rhys may have beaten many things out of me but not that, not my ability to recognize an object’s worth. Not my ability to enjoy what my eyes see.

I blame the absurdity of my thoughts on the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed. Jean-Luc is definitely not an object. And you wouldn’t normally describe a man as beautiful. Men are rough, demanding, sometimes fierce like Cash Webster or roguishly handsome like Zander Shaw.

But never beautiful.

Except for Jean-Luc Le Mois.

His features are an intricate blend of sharp and soft and he’s cut like a Michelangelo statue. Tall, graceful, lean corded muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. I can understand why Santiago would have a crush on him. Besides, the man has a great sense of humor and not a typical douche this industry seems to favor over genuine people.

The first thing Jean-Luc did when he arrived was buy a round of shots for everyone.

Cliché. But a nice gesture nonetheless. Since he didn’t have to.

“So, what happened?” Zander asks, his lips are dangerously close to my ear and I can feel his hot breath skating across my neck and down to my collarbone, caressing my chest.

A shiver rushes through me and a gazillion goose bumps break out beneath the soft fabric of my dress, which suddenly feels too small and too tight.

“Nothing,” I reply, my gaze drifting back to Santiago.

I don’t know why I decided to disclose his short-lived platonic affair with Jean-Luc to Zander. I normally don’t tell the stories that aren’t mine to tell, but the entire movie cast knew what was going on. Besides, anyone who Googles Jean-Luc Le Mois and his men will come across a whole lot of intimate photos of him and Santiago Ortega taken during the filming. After all, the relationship--if you can call it that--went on for three months.

“Who ended it?” Zander’s arm is stretched over the headrest behind my back and our thighs are pressed together and I’m only now realizing that there’s hardly any space left between us.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother me.

“I don’t think it ever ended.” I continue to study Santiago, who’s engaged in what appears to be a very heated conversation with Jean-Luc. They are laughing like old friends. As if there has never been a falling out and I wonder how he does it. I wonder how he’s able to not let his past overshadow his present. I wonder how he’s able to allow someone in.

Because I can’t seem to find the courage. I don’t want for another man to ruin my life all over again. There’re not enough untainted bones left in me to build a new empire from. Everything I had I used to assemble a ship that’s taking a course I’m on. Taking a course to the destination where my art matters and where it’s seen.

Heaviness pushes against my chest. “Hey.” I hand Zander my glass. “Will you excuse me for a second? I’ll be right back.” Phone in hand, I rise to my feet and make my way across the booth to snag Santiago.

He’s still starry-eyed, with a silly grin on his face when we reach one of the balconies where music isn’t as loud. My throat hurts from all the screaming and I’m certain I’m about to lose my voice.

“He asked me to dinner!” Santiago squeals, his excitement so palpable, I can feel the rush hot on my skin, but my anxiety doesn’t give a shit about the fact that my best friend may be finally getting what he’s been wanting for years. I’m shaking and my mind is in overdrive. The cocktails are finally catching up with me.

“I’m freaking out,” I confess.

“Why areyoufreaking out? Are things looking hot and heavy?”

I blink back the blur in my eyes and focus on breathing. “No! I don’t know.” The words are stuck somewhere between my lungs and my tongue, pressuring from the inside. They are too much to hold, but I’m not certain how to build a coherent thought because my brain’s a pool of mud. “I’m drunk.”

“I know.” Santiago rolls his eyes, arms folded over his chest. “You’ve been mixing cocktails the entire evening. Do you want me to get you an Uber to take you home?”

“Geez, no!” I release a sigh of frustration. “I’m just... I feel like I’m losing it. I have no idea why I asked him to come.”

Santiago quirks his brow. “Zander?”

“I don’t go out with people who buy my art. Ever. Let alone bring them to meet my friends.” The beat of the song is pulsing in my ears. “It was a mistake. And I don’t know how to fix this mess.”

“Babe.” Santiago palms my cheeks, something he rarely does. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“The hell I am!” I whip out my hand and gesture at the door leading back to the mezzanine area. A few people gathered nearby shoot me suspicious stares. “I’ve got a hot and perfectly available male waiting for me at the table and I need to figure out how to tell him not to get his hopes up.”

“You’re too drunk to make decisions right now.” Santiago’s gaze is locked on mine and he continues to hold my face. “Breathe for me and try to relax.”

I close my eyes and inhale sharply. My mind is racing, my body is light like a feather and I can’t feel my limbs.

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