Laughing, we move on to other subjects. When we’re finished eating, Kiet invites me to go clubbing with him Saturday night.
“I think I’ll pass. I’m going to paint all weekend.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. When’s the last time you got laid?” Kiet demands.
Months. The weekend before I met Rama, to be exact.
“A while. But now that I’ve started painting again, I want to take advantage of it.”
“Fine. I’ll go with Book.”
I laugh. “Be careful. Book’s always falling into trouble.”
Why did Kiet have to bring up sex? On my way home, all I can think about is Rama. I haven’t seen him naked, of course, but I’ve seen enough—his smooth chest, small brown nipples, narrow hips, and long legs—to be able to piece it all together for one sexy-as-sin fantasy.
I’d be a liar to claim I didn’t want him. Of course I do—I’m gay and he’s beautiful. But it’s more than lust I feel for Rama. And more than friendship. Kiet isn’t wrong about the difference there—when I’m with Rama, the need to touch and cuddle him is nearly overwhelming and completely separate from the desire that coils in my gut at themost unexpected times, like when he’s fallen asleep next to me during late-night filming.
I don’t regret turning Kiet down about the club. The last thing I want to do is hook up with some stranger. At this point, I honestly don’t think I could do it. Maybe after some time passes, things will be different, but for now I have no desire to touch any man but Rama, and as that’s impossible, my right hand will have to do.
Back in my apartment, I change into sweats and a T-shirt and immediately sit down at my easel. I work for a long time, stopping only once to get a glass of water. When I’m finally satisfied with what I’ve accomplished for the day, the sky outside the windows is changing from pink to gray. My muscles ache from sitting so long, and I take a moment to stretch before shuffling to the kitchen to see what there is to make for dinner.
Checking my cell phone, I smile when I see a text from Rama.
This internship sucks donkey balls.
That bad?
I’ve just finished making my sandwich when I hear the phone ping.
Worse. My boss made it clear that as the owner’s son he expects me to be better than everyone else, and the guy I’m partnered with thinks of nothing but sex. Oh, and the office is fucking freezing.
He’s partnered with a guy who thinks only of sex?
If you were here, I’d give you a hug. You’ll make it. I believe in you.
I’m half-way through my sandwich when Rama textsback.
Thank you.
My heart clenches. During our time together, I learned some important things about Rama: He never seeks or seems to appreciate physical touch. He will go to great lengths not to show his vulnerability—preferring to suffer rather than admit he needs assistance. Of course, none of this applies to me, and that fact fills me with warmth. For some reason, Rama trusts me and has from the start. Again and again when we first started filming, I overheard members of the cast and crew describe Rama as unapproachable and disagreeable only to witness their stupefaction when they see how he is with me.
Rama Sathianthai awakens every protective instinct I have. And, while nurturing by nature, I’m not the type of guy who could be called protective or possessive when it comes to my relationships, romantic or otherwise. I worry about him now. Surrounded by strangers in another country, he’s got to be having a difficult time.
Perhaps the reason he so easily attached himself to me when we met is because I offered support and comfort in a similar situation. Now that he’s so far away, will he turn to someone else? Will it be this newpartnerhe has in the internship? The one who can’t stop talking aboutsex?
Ugly jealousy bubbles up from my gut. I don’t want anyone else stepping into what I consider to be my territory. But with Rama thousands of miles away, there’s little I can do about it, and I have to remind myself I don’t have the right to anyway.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Rama
Three months pass more quickly than I would have believed possible when I arrived in New York. It’s because I keep myself busy at Thai Auto Exports where I’m doing my internship. Determined to prove myself to the company manager, I work from sunup to well over sundown, skipping sleep and eating meals on the fly. Pete and Alex have busy lives as well. On the weekends we talk, have meals together, and sometimes take in a concert, visit a museum, or attend one of Alex’s productions, but during the week it isn’t odd for us to never cross paths at all.
“You’re doing an excellent job,” my boss tells me one evening as I’m putting on my jacket to leave.
Surprised, it takes me a moment to reply. “Thank you.”
“I’ll admit I expected you to try to take advantage of your position as the CEO’s son, but you’ve surprised me. Keep up the good work.” He pats my back and walks out of the office.
As I clean off the desk, my stomach growls. When was the last time I ate something? I take the elevator to the lobby and when I step outside the building, I suck in a deep breath of muggy night air and let it out, leaning against the building to wait for my Uber. I’m exhausted. A rat scurries across the sidewalk to a pile of garbage near a dumpster, and in the distance a siren wails.