Page 28 of Sebastian

There are still a few hours before I need to leave for Christian’s and now I’m too worked up to sit down and try to edit some more. So I change into my running gear to work out some of this pent-up anxiety.

I have a set route that takes me through Prospect Park. At about the midpoint mark, I stop for a short social media break—no rest for the entrepreneur, remember? I frame up a selfie and take a dozen before there’s one I like.

Taking a break from editing the most epic video with a certain special guest star. New content dropping in a few days!

Two seconds after I hit post, the likes and comments start rolling in. Fans are guessing who the guest star will be and the early favorite is Noel. I smile to myself. It’s definitely not Noel and they’re definitely not going to be able to guess.

I tuck my phone away and finish the second half of my run. The comments have exploded by the time I get home and I carry that rush of validation through a long, hot shower.

I take the time to brush my teeth too and fuss with my hair, then I pull on my favorite pair of jeans and the olive-green t-shirt that contrasts nicely with my skin. Not that this is a date or anything. But I should look good for a professional meeting too, right?

By the time I’m changed and ready to go, my fans have decided that the guest is either Noel or another popular camboy named Bellamy Blais. They are going to be in for the surprise of a lifetime.

Christian lives a couple subway stops from me and I practically bounce the whole way there. My skin is all tingly and my stomach is all fluttery and I’m vibrating with so much energy I might burst. I’m at Christian’s building. I’m going to be in his apartment. This cannot be real.

I hit the buzzer next to his name and nothing happens for a moment. Shit. I’m early—am I too early? Should I press the buzzer again? Should I try texting to let him know I’m downstairs? I double-check the address to make sure I’ve got the right building.

I’m just about to buzz up again when there’s a hum and the door unlocks with a loud click. Christian’s door is propped open when I approach and I give it a firm knock before easing it wider.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, come in. I just need a minute.”

I slip through the door and shut it behind me. “Sorry, I guess I’m early.” I cringe at my own eagerness, at my apparent inability to regulate my enthusiasm. I should have waited downstairs or walked around the block rather than show up before Christian was ready.

“No worries.” He comes out of the bedroom and I forget how to breathe. He’s wearing a pair of joggers that cling to his hips and are fitted enough to show off how thick his thighs are. The tank top he’s wearing leaves his bulging biceps and most of his chest and ribs bare. His hair is darker than normal and he’s running a towel over his head like he just got out of the shower.

Probably because he just got out of the shower.

Damn, now I wish I’d shown up even earlier. Maybe I could’ve caught him in nothing but a towel.

I drag my eyes back up to Christian’s face. “Hey.” My voice cracks. Goddamn it.

“Hey.” Christian’s voice is too low to crack and he’s smiling at me like he knows where my thoughts have drifted.

“Um.” I swallow. “You’ve got a great place.” Not that I would know since I haven’t bothered to look at anything but Christian since I set foot inside.

“Thanks. You want something to drink?” Christian disappears into the bathroom for a second then comes back out without the towel. “I’ve got…” He goes to check the fridge. “Beer and water.”

He glances up at me, a little sheepish and the butterflies in my stomach go wild.

“Beer’s good.”

Christian pulls out two bottles and pops the caps off both. My fingers brush his when he hands one to me and a shiver runs up my arm that has nothing to do with the coolness of the bottle.

“What do you want for dinner? I thought we could order something. There’s El Pescador, a really good Mexican place not too far from here.”

I take a gulp before answering. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’m good with anything.”

Christian nods to the couch. “Grab a seat. I’ll send an order through.”

I sit on the couch and force myself to actually look around. The apartment is nice—way nicer than mine. Not luxury, but big by New York standards and effortlessly comfortable. The furniture is understated yet stylish. The couch I’m sitting on is large enough to take up almost an entire wall. The TV on the opposite wall is both huge and discreet somehow. The windows look out onto a tree-lined street that’s quiet enough that the constant noise of the city is at a minimum.

Christian comes to sit next to me, not close enough that we’re touching, but not on the other end of the couch either. He drapes one arm over the back of the cushions and turns toward me.

“I hope you like tacos,” he says.

“I love tacos.”

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