Ropes and Lace | MM Romance PREVIEW

Chapter 15 - Confront Me

"Did you really have to come dressed like that?" I whisper with frustration, pinching the bridge of my nose with my index finger and thumb.

We have been in the waiting area of a clinic not far from his apartment for half an hour now to get tested for STDs. Our meaningful and very enlightening talk this morning concluded with a breakfast shared in friendly silence, as we became so engrossed in assimilating the transcendent statements exchanged that lust fizzled out and refused to resurface. As we cleaned the dishes side by side, an exact imitation of the first night I spent in his immaculate home, we decided not to postpone the inevitable and cross this task off our to-do list.

I'm nervous about the blood sample, I've never been a big fan of needles and my interactions with strangers are usually very regrettable and embarrassing, but my current source of anxiety is the outfit Elliot chose for our ordinary adventure. His tennis shoes and jeans are fine, but he has a thick long-sleeved shirt and, on top of that, a heavy coat that goes down to his knees. He removed his mask once we checked in and entered, instead his handsome face is covered by huge sunglasses, and his abundant hair is hidden under a bucket hat. All the clothes are black and that should serve to shelter him in anonymity, as was undoubtedly his intention, although the reality is that it produces the opposite effect.

He looks like a celebrity.

There are at least thirty people around us and I'd venture to argue that most of them started conjecturing theories about Elliot's identity as soon as we crossed the threshold, giving us not-so-discreet glances every few seconds and mumbling enthusiastic hypotheses in the ear of their companions or WhatsApp audios. One girl even took a photo or recorded a video when she thought we were distracted. It's unsettling to be at the center of such a hurricane, having to endure being inspected and judged by complete strangers, like an insect immobilized by pins while the utensils intended for its dissection are being prepared.

Any insecurities and complexes you may have inescapably float to the surface, giving you goosebumps and putting your nerves on high alert. I don't usually worry about the opinion others may have of me, but I have no escape in situations like this either. Questions like "do I have something in my teeth?" or "did I wear my socks with no holes?" fly in circles over my head like little birds in the best style of my childhood cartoons, endlessly mocking my composure and self-control. I have absolutely no idea how artists can face this kind of scrutiny every day without going insane.

It's terrifying.

"Yes," Elliot simply replies. In contrast, he's at ease, checking notifications on his phone with a slight air of indifference. We haven't talked much since we sat down and the fact that he's ignoring me now bothers me more than it should.

"Why?" I press because I can't figure it out no matter how hard I try. No one is aware of his legitimate identity because he's meticulous about not showing his face on the social media he created for his work, not even on OnlyFans and that's his main source of income, so he's in no danger of being discovered.

"Someone commented "I don't celebrate Christmas, but I wish I had you as a present so I could open you up" on the post I uploaded to Instagram yesterday," he laughs, his deep voice causing tickles in my belly even though it irritates me that he continues to act like I'm not here.

"Elliot," I angrily growl his name, because I figured we were past his infuriating mind-game phase, but apparently I was wrong. However, when Elliot blocks the screen and finally looks at me with those piercingly beautiful eyes, appreciable even though he still has his glasses on thanks to the almost non-existent space between us, the feeling is swiftly replaced by delight... and a minuscule hint of arousal.

"Ashton," he snaps back at me with feigned innocence, then grins mischievously when I frown at his insolence. I open my mouth to suggest where he might shove said insolence, but then his expression hardens and he admits. "The other photographers I've had know who I am."