Page 40 of Charming Like Us
And I was worried that he heard me groan. Shit. I shoot to my feet. Embarrassment deflating me more. “Yeah, thanks for the heads up.”
He grins, hopefully just at my choice of words. “Hey, it happens to the best of us.” He pats my shoulder, and again, the placement of his hand on me catches our breath.
I stare at his hand for a second too long. That hand was just wrapped around my shaft, and it’s not just an act I want to stay in my head.
I’m not straight.
I can’t be straight with how drawn to him I’ve been. With how aroused I become, and the attraction is too clear to deny or question. Those clouds are gone.
But the endgame of my future is nothing but a fog. My life’s plan—what does that even look like now? I’m used to having the big picture mapped out. High school. Prom King. College. Swim Team. Producer. Wife. Children. Awards. Happiness. Retirement. More happiness.
I’ve erased essential parts of my map! But the fuck if I even know what a map is anymore. Or maybe, I’ve added question marks to it. Husband? Or wife? Or spouse? Children???
What even is my sexuality if I’m not straight…I don’t know.
Oscar drops his hand.
I slide out into the aisle, catching his eyes. I think aboutwork.I’m here to film Charlie, and I can’t open the floodgates to me and Oscar in this moment—that’s if he’d even want me.
I need to play off what just happened. So I say, “What is that you told me?I don’t need an emotional baby blanket. Same goes for me, Oscar. Treat me how you’d treat any of your other co-worker non-friends.”
He nods slowly. “Nice woodie,” he says casually.
“It’s even bigger without the pants,” I say, just as casually, and then I turn around, hoping he’s burning up just as much as I am. Every step to the bathroom feels like crossing molten lava. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m still mortified or if it’s just jacked-up levels of attraction. Probably both.
Definitely both.
10
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
No earpiece.No radio. I don’t need them. I’m in Paris without anyone from SFO. Officially on my own, and it’s just another day at work.
My current office is The Louvre. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve been here, but I try my best not to take these things for granted.
No matter how many times Charlie comes back to see the Winged Victory of Samothrace, a gorgeous eight-foot marble sculpture of a winged goddess, he still has that same awed reverence in his eyes as the first time I saw him here. It’s a gift not to become jaded by beauty.
My gaze drifts to Jack.
With a Canon in hand, he’s busy talking to Charlie, and I hang back out of earshot, only because it’s a busy day at the museum. I had hoped we’d be going to the Musée d'Orsay. It’s less crowded. Smaller. Easier to coordinate with the museum’s security, and one of Charlie’s favorite places in the city.
Landing here, and being on the same floor as the Mona Lisa, isn’t ideal.
But ideal went out the window the moment I became Charlie’s bodyguard. So here I am, quietly telling a girl in French that she can’t get an autograph from him.
She already has a marker in hand, one she dug from her purse. Her crestfallen expression is one I’ve seen a thousand times. “Cela ne prendra qu'une minute. S'il vous plaît.”It will only be a minute. Please.
I reply in fluent French, “Pas aujourd'hui.”Not today.
She can’t be older than twenty. Sighing heavily, she stuffs the marker in her purse. I watch as she uses her phone to snap photos of the back of Charlie’s head, then shuffles away. Rinse and repeat thirty more times. The only upside I have is that Charlie’s less recognized overseas. If this were Philly, he’d have a swarm of crowds already.
It makes it easier to politely bar access to him.
Truth be told, every day is different with my client. Sometimes he won’t care if they want autographs. Other times, like today, he asks me to keep everyone away from him. As if he, himself, is radioactive.
Jack leaves Charlie’s side, and I watch him disappear down a different hall. It takes all my effort to keep my feet planted and not follow him.He’s not your client, Oliveira.
He’s alsonotfamous. Doesn’t need a bodyguard. Straight.
