He and Rafa might both be gay, but nothing was ever going to happen. Could never and would never, so there was zero point in even thinking about it. Zero point in thinking about the fact that there was something about Rafa tugging at Shane in a way he couldn’t explain. Zero point in thinking about how Rafa’s nose wrinkled when he smiled for real, instead of for the public or his mother or whoever.
Zero point in thinking about how much Shane wanted to kiss him again. Zero point in thinking about how he wanted to make Rafa smile. And how Rafa made him smile, and feel lighter than he had in a long, long time.
No point at all.
Chapter Nine
As the underwater bing-bonging that signified a Skype call filled the air, Rafa muted the TV and picked up his tablet. It was Ashleigh, of course. His finger wavered over the answer button, but guilt kicked in, and he tapped it. He hadn’t spoken to her in more than a week aside from the odd text. He picked up the tablet and propped it on his knees, his feet braced on the coffee table.
“Bonjour, ma cheri! Or cher, perhaps? I don’t know, my French is still très basic.” Ashleigh smiled as she twisted her blonde hair up into a knot on her head. “I’m getting ready for bed, but we haven’t talked in forever. Things have been crazy here, sorry.” She tilted her head. “Where are you? I thought you’d be in the kitchen.” Behind her, he could see pillows and the bottom of a painting of high-heeled shoes on the wall.
“Solarium. Just watching TV.” Along with the traditional couches and potted plants in the windowed room, they had a big-screen TV with surround sound. The White House had its own little movie theater, which had been fun when he was younger, but now Rafa would rather flop on the couch. Especially on a day like this.
“Okay, what’s wrong? You look like warm spit.”
He huffed out a laugh and ran his hand through his tangle of waves. He hadn’t bothered slicking them back since he had no plans to venture off the third floor, and he most definitely didn’t have to fix his hair for Shane. Even if Shane had been on duty, no way would he have come upstairs after what Rafa did. “You’re great for my ego, Ash.”
Her brow furrowed. “But seriously, what’s up? Are you sick?” He could tell from her expression that if they’d been in the same room, she’d have pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.
The lie was on his tongue, but instead he shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m fine. Just mopey or whatever. Tell me fun things about Paris. Any good art showings?”
But she ignored him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He sighed. “I screwed up. Like, big time.”
“Like, you-said-something-that-mortified-you-and-no-one-else-gave-a-second thought-to kind of screwed up? Or more like sophomore year, accidentally deleted your term paper and had to engage the White House tech squad to dig it up?”
“So much worse.” His stomach churned, and he thought it was very possible he might cry before this Skype conversation was through.
“I bet it’s not as bad as you think. Let’s work through it. Jump in the way-back machine and start at the beginning.”
“I can’t, Ash. It’s…we can’t talk about it like this. Only in person.”
Her eyes widened for a second. “Oh. Okay. Well, let me tell you about my wonderful week in the City of Lights.”
She talked for a few minutes, making him smile and even laugh a few times. Then, as he knew she would, she brought the conversation back around. “You would have loved this motorcycle I saw. Little Japanese number, all slick and chrome plated. Seen any good rides in DC lately?”
His mouth was dry, and Rafa swigged from a bottle of soda. “Yeah, actually. A really great one. The best I’ve ever seen in real life.”
“Wow. Tell me more. Contemporary or classic?”
“Classic. Harley. A little rough around the edges. Tough, but…really cool. Intriguing.”
“Hmm. Did you want to take it for a test drive real bad?”
“I…I actually tried to.” His face flamed, and he wished she couldn’t see him.
Ashleigh’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. Seriously? That’s a first.”
“And last,” he muttered. “It was such a mistake. I’m so stupid.”
“Why? It wasn’t…a good fit?”
“No, it was. It so was. But it was highly inappropriate. Not the right bike for me.” He scrounged for ways to keep the motorcycle code going. He’d never even kissed a guy before, so this was a first. “I knew it, but I couldn’t resist.”
“Okay.” Ashleigh seemed to be processing it. “Where’d you see this ride?”
He shifted. “Um, here.”
She blinked owlishly. “Wow. That was unexpected.”
“I know. Believe me.”
“Well, that explains why you look like someone just ran over your dog and mounted it over the fireplace. This classic Harley…how classic are we talking? How much older than you?”