Page 10 of Announcing Love
“I don’t know about dwarfing you.” Another nervous laugh. He was adorable. “But I’m six-eight.”
“Damn. Can you even shower comfortably? Because I’m fighting for my life at almost half a foot shorter.”
“It’s a struggle, for real. Being on the road is the worst. Hotel showers are always short as hell. Obviously, it’s not like that at home, but everywhere else is a chore in frustration.”
Artem nodded along, taking the conversation seriously. He imagined most people thought it would be cool to be that tall. Artem thought it was more likely irritating. Like now, their knees bumped beneath the table, and they kept shifting to give each other room.
“So, what do you do?”
“I’m in college.” Artem appreciated that Jathan hadn’t automatically assumed Bandit took care of him financially. “Plus, I work part time at Crafts Appeal.”
“Which one? I love that store.”
“The one by the campus.”
Jathan nodded. “Yeah. I don’t really go to that one. They don’t have as big of a selection of acrylics or glaze as the bigger midtown location.”
“You paint?” Tip was all but forgotten. Jathan had his full attention.
“Just pottery, and only as a hobby. I took this pottery-making class with my mom about six years ago as a Mother’s Day gift. She really wanted to try it, but she didn’t want to go alone. I expected to hate it, but I love her, so you know.” He shrugged. Artem couldn’t stop smiling. “Anyhow, I made this really great bowl on the first try and had a lot of fun doing it, so we kept going. Finally, I broke down and bought all the shit to do it at home. It calms my nerves, and I don’t know. I’m kind of proud of what I’ve made, even though it’s not like professional or anything.”
“That’s amazing. I don’t meet a ton of artists outside of school. I’m an art major,” he explained. “Painting, sketching, photography, and basically anything that has to do with creating things is my life. I recently tried sculpting, and I’d kind of like to lean into that too.”
Jathan had sat forward halfway through Artem’s speech—like engrossed—and hadn’t looked away since. Artem had never felt so seen. “I’d love to see your work. If you want, you can come play in my home studio. I call it that, so I don’t feel quite so boring. Making pottery probably isn’t a hell of a lot different from sculpting. Maybe. I don’t know. You should just come by sometime.”
He really was awkward as hell and Artem loved it. Jathan had no idea how his sudden appearance had saved Artem. “I’d love that. But you have to come check out my work too, and we can seewhat happens when you put your paintbrush to canvas instead of clay.”
“Deal.” They shared a smile and Artem felt less alone than he had in a long time. He didn’t need a conceited asshole with more money than personality. It didn’t matter how much Artem burned beneath Tip’s hands and mouth or that he plagued Artem’s dreams. Jathan didn’t make him feel small and less than. A new friend beat the hell out of that bullshit any day. Fuck that guy. Artem didn’t need him.
Tip sat in the reading chair near his bed and brooded. He hadn’t moved since Artem stormed out. His gaze stayed locked on his new painting while his mind churned. Tip was furious, and he didn’t know why. What in the fuck was it about Artem that drove him out of his head? Tip never lost control. He was all about control in all things—money, his body, and most of all, sexual relationships. Tip knew he owed Artem a huge apology, but he couldn’t decide why he was still so damn angry. Artem obviously wasn’t the guy for him. Someone like Tip didn’t need to be within ten feet of innocence. But Tip couldn’t stop seeing the way Artem had looked at him while obviously searching for a final scathing remark to Tip’s treatment. It was ridiculous how deeply that“yikes” had cut. Maybe because it was true. Tip was ten years older than Artem, with a lifetime of experience and way more money, but Artem was so much better than him. It didn’t make sense, but yeah. Yikes. He had acted like the biggest asshole on the planet. The worst part was, Tip didn’t treat anyone like that. So again, what the fuck was wrong with him?
Tip pushed to his feet. He needed to find his wallet and shit before he went to apologize. Tip’s feet froze before he made it two steps. His gaze locked on the painting and didn’t move. It hit him. He got it. Tip saw the picture for what it was, and his throat swelled. His eyes burned. It was the perfect representation of loneliness crashing against helpless rage. Tip nearly doubled over. Artem’s babbled confessions came back to haunt him. His parents had been killed, leaving him a huge responsibility. Like Tip, he had been forced to think of everyone but himself. But unlike Tip, Artem didn’t have the resources to do that. He had been thrust into adulthood without the perks of being an adult. Artem had to be so tired, and Tip had rejected him for all the things life had stripped from him. Things were so much worse than he thought. Artem shouldn’t accept his apology. Tip wouldn’t in his shoes.
Shit. He needed something better than an apology. Tip found his shoes and keys and was out the door in no time. The longer he went without acting, the worse it would be. Unfortunately, he didn’t consider—until he stood on Artem’s front steps—that Artem might have already told Sacha and Bandit everything. Tip couldn’t worry about that. He just had to get to Artem. A woman in a nursing uniform answered the door.
“Who is it?” Baba yelled from the background.
Tip pasted on his brightest of smiles, trying not to show his panic. “It’s Tip.” He said the words loudly, hoping she heard.
“Let the boy in.”
The nurse stepped back and Tip went inside.
Baba kept her gaze locked on the TV. She motioned toward the stairs. “Artem is in his room.” She finally looked his way. “I assume you know where that is.”
His smile turned genuine. He liked the naughty old bird. “I do.”
“Good.” She went back to watching her show.
Tip wasted no time jogging up three flights of stairs. At the top, he heard male voices and laughter pouring from Artem’s open bedroom door. Damn. Artem wasn’t alone. Tip poked his head inside and knocked on the door. Two easels stood back-to-back. A familiar face stood opposite of Artem. His light brown gaze locked on Tip and his smile vanished.
“Oh, look. It’s Tip. Seems he plans to break you in after all.”
Well, fuck. Jathan Dexter was a gay man in sports. They ran in the same circles and went to the same clubs and parties. Jathan had never liked him. Tip had never understood why, but the guy had a reason now. Goddamn it. Tip hadn’t known they were friends. He ignored Jathan.
“Is it okay if I take some video of your paintings?” Tip motioned toward the canvases leaned against the wall.
Artem still didn’t look at him. “Knock yourself out.”
