I'm Not in Love

Tristan

The way Remilooks at me after we make love—well, it should scare the hell out of me. It isn’t warm or fond. It’s far closer to cold and callous… as if he doesn’t know me. Or maybe like he wishes he didn’t. But it doesn’t freak me out as much as it probably should because I’ve decided to trust him. Trusting in the truth of what he said is part of the deal—and Remi told me what we just did meant a lot.

After gawking at me for a few ice-cold seconds, he hastily rolls off the edge of the bed rather than holding me close. “Are your muscles loosened up, Tristan? Because you owe me two more hours of posing.” A warped giggle rises from his throat.

I refuse to be insulted by awkward behavior that makes no sense after the intimacy we just shared. “Uh, yeah. I feel much better now.”

“Great—I aim to please.” He turns toward the doorway, presenting me with an ass that’s every bit as perfect as he says mine is.

“You did.” But I can be stubborn; I refuse to move until he looks at me again.

Remi scurries to the robe that I carelessly cast away in my rush to get to his bed. He picks it up and faces me, holding it out like a peace offering. His dark eyes—that are still not focused on mine—are glassy. Which doesn’t match his lighthearted banter. “Maybe you want to put this on… and uh, I’ll catch you in the living room.”

Reaching for the bathrobe, I refuse to answer.

“Does that sound like a plan?” he asks warily.

“Sure.” I don’t move so much as a baby toe.

He grabs his jeans, pulls them on without boxers, and steps toward the doorway, eyes studiously downcast.

“Remi,” I say softly.

He stops walking. “Yes?” I wish I could turn up the volume on his voice—it’s even quieter than mine. I’m sure this is intentional—another way of hiding.

“What we did—it was really special.”

Remi shrugs a few times, leaving his shoulders up by his ears.

“Was it special for you too?”

First, he huffs—like he can’t believe I asked that question. Then I hear a noisy gulp.

“Look at me.” He’s demanded this of me twice today. It’s my turn—fair is fair.

With an agonizing lack of speed, Remi turns to face me. His eyes are now dry, but there are red splotches beneath them. “What do you want from me, Tristan?”

I take a deep breath and then blow it out as I search for the necessary mindset. Because Remi is clearly off his usual “no worries—I’ve got this” game. And he needs some help. I happen to know how these things work; Jared and Tara try to avoid experiencing their emotions all the time.

“Everything’s okay,” I assure him.

His shoulders drop. “I don’t know if it…” He sighs instead of finishing his thought.

“It is.” I assure him. “We are.”

He nods. “Okay.”

I think I understand what’s happening. Making love to a person he cares for is uncharted territory for Remi. His behavior indicates anxiousness bordering on awkwardness. And I can deal with this.

“You could use a hug… and so could I.” Truth is always refreshing. I wonder if Remi’s aware of this.

He rushes toward me and nearly faceplants on the bed before pulling me into his arms. “I don’t know why I feel so… messed up.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t overthink it.” I wrap my arms around him to find that he’s shaking. Remi will be okay; he simply needs time to come to terms with his feelings.

“Okay,” Remi says again. His voice is muffled, as his face is now stuffed into the hollow of my neck.

I give him a reassuring squeeze.

“Thanks for, you know…” He lifts his head. “Want to maybe go for a walk?”

Fresh air is almost as refreshing as honesty. “I’d love that,” I reply.

“We can finish the modeling tomorrow morning… you know, first thing. That is, if you want to stay over t-tonight.” His voice breaks like a thirteen-year-old’s.

“I’d love to stay with you tonight.”

When Remi pulls away, the red patches beneath his eyes have vanished, and his smile is almost chill. “Sounds like a plan.”