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Authors: Gracie C. Mckeever
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melodramatic!
Ingenue’s Choice
53
Patryk finished his food and dumped his garbage before sliding his hand into Keir’s and following his lead out of the park.
They passed Cherry Hill, a flat paved circle where few people were. It was a great place to practice new skating maneuvers, which was something Keir used to do back in the day several years ago when he was into aggressive skating.
He’d love to show Patryk some of his moves, and not just in the bedroom.
He wanted to do a lot of things with Patryk besides just have sex and paint him.
Keir liked him, enjoyed his company, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d just enjoyed being with someone, not since the early days with Elijah.
The later days hadn’t been very enjoyable for either of them.
He squeezed Patryk’s hand as if this action could ward off the guilt and horror of that night, as if it could eradicate the sight he’d beheld on that highway three years ago.
Keir didn’t think he would ever forget the look on Elijah’s face when he’d caught Keir in the arms of Keir’s agent, Tom Curry, didn’t think he would ever forget the betrayal and hurt in his lover’s eyes when El turned and fled out of Drea’s Art Gallery into the night.
He’d rather cut off his right arm than see that look in Patryk’s eyes, would rather die than hurt Patryk the way he had hurt Elijah.
“Where are we going?”
“I have a loft in the Village.” Keir turned to Patryk as they exited the park at East 72nd Street and saw the smirk. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“C’mere, smarty-pants.” He drew Patryk into his arms for a kiss, a hard, brief one on the lips, before he released him to take his hand again. Keir smiled as Patryk breathlessly followed him to the subway.
They caught a train almost immediately and rode the several stops to Keir’s loft apartment in Chelsea.
Keir held Patryk’s hand the entire trip and didn’t release him until he took out the key to open his door.
He let Patryk enter the apartment in front of him and closed the door behind them. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
54
Gracie C. McKeever
“Probably the only humble thing about you,” Patryk joked and, in the middle of the spacious wooden floor, turned and stared as if to get his fill.
Keir held his breath waiting for his reaction, not realizing how important Patryk’s approval was to him until he finally turned to Keir with a smile and nodded.
“I really like this. It’s so…Bohemian. Spartan, yet homey.”
“You sound like one of the guys on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. ”
“More like Queer Eye for the Queer Guy .”
Keir chuckled. “Anyway, I’m glad you like it.” He tossed his keys into the candy dish on the ebony coffee table then took a seat on the adjacent black velvet futon.
There’d been a time when he would have had to traverse a maze of easels and canvases of various works-in-progress in order to get to the sofa. That had been three years ago when painting had been his life, before he realized that life was fleeting and love even more so.
“You already painted me!”
Keir glanced over his shoulder to see Patryk standing before the painting he’d done earlier, and Patryk wore the same admiring expression he had when he’d complimented the skaters in the park. “Oh, that’s nothing. I was just messing around.”
“What do you mean it’s nothing? It’s beautiful.”
“Not very modest, are you?” Keir teased and watched as Patryk expectedly flushed.
“You know what I mean, the artistry, not the subject.”
“I beg your pardon, but I happen to think the subject is perfectly beautiful.” Keir stood and circled the futon until he was standing right behind Patryk.
The man didn’t move a muscle, just stood staring at the picture as if it had been done by one of the masters.
“Okay, I know I’m good, but not that good,” Keir put a hand on Patryk’s shoulder and squeezed, easily
Ingenue’s Choice
53
Patryk finished his food and dumped his garbage before sliding his hand into Keir’s and following his lead out of the park.
They passed Cherry Hill, a flat paved circle where few people were. It was a great place to practice new skating maneuvers, which was something Keir used to do back in the day several years ago when he was into aggressive skating.
He’d love to show Patryk some of his moves, and not just in the bedroom.
He wanted to do a lot of things with Patryk besides just have sex and paint him.
Keir liked him, enjoyed his company, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d just enjoyed being with someone, not since the early days with Elijah.
The later days hadn’t been very enjoyable for either of them.
He squeezed Patryk’s hand as if this action could ward off the guilt and horror of that night, as if it could eradicate the sight he’d beheld on that highway three years ago.
Keir didn’t think he would ever forget the look on Elijah’s face when he’d caught Keir in the arms of Keir’s agent, Tom Curry, didn’t think he would ever forget the betrayal and hurt in his lover’s eyes when El turned and fled out of Drea’s Art Gallery into the night.
He’d rather cut off his right arm than see that look in Patryk’s eyes, would rather die than hurt Patryk the way he had hurt Elijah.
“Where are we going?”
“I have a loft in the Village.” Keir turned to Patryk as they exited the park at East 72nd Street and saw the smirk. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“C’mere, smarty-pants.” He drew Patryk into his arms for a kiss, a hard, brief one on the lips, before he released him to take his hand again. Keir smiled as Patryk breathlessly followed him to the subway.
They caught a train almost immediately and rode the several stops to Keir’s loft apartment in Chelsea.
Keir held Patryk’s hand the entire trip and didn’t release him until he took out the key to open his door.
He let Patryk enter the apartment in front of him and closed the door behind them. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
54
Gracie C. McKeever
“Probably the only humble thing about you,” Patryk joked and, in the middle of the spacious wooden floor, turned and stared as if to get his fill.
Keir held his breath waiting for his reaction, not realizing how important Patryk’s approval was to him until he finally turned to Keir with a smile and nodded.
“I really like this. It’s so…Bohemian. Spartan, yet homey.”
“You sound like one of the guys on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. ”
“More like Queer Eye for the Queer Guy .”
Keir chuckled. “Anyway, I’m glad you like it.” He tossed his keys into the candy dish on the ebony coffee table then took a seat on the adjacent black velvet futon.
There’d been a time when he would have had to traverse a maze of easels and canvases of various works-in-progress in order to get to the sofa. That had been three years ago when painting had been his life, before he realized that life was fleeting and love even more so.
“You already painted me!”
Keir glanced over his shoulder to see Patryk standing before the painting he’d done earlier, and Patryk wore the same admiring expression he had when he’d complimented the skaters in the park. “Oh, that’s nothing. I was just messing around.”
“What do you mean it’s nothing? It’s beautiful.”
“Not very modest, are you?” Keir teased and watched as Patryk expectedly flushed.
“You know what I mean, the artistry, not the subject.”
“I beg your pardon, but I happen to think the subject is perfectly beautiful.” Keir stood and circled the futon until he was standing right behind Patryk.
The man didn’t move a muscle, just stood staring at the picture as if it had been done by one of the masters.
“Okay, I know I’m good, but not that good,” Keir put a hand on Patryk’s shoulder and squeezed, easily
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