Minutes later, we’re back on the road and taking another long route to my apartment.
We park our bikes and head upstairs.
Even though he’s frowning up a storm, I can’t help smiling as I open the door to my apartment for him. I moved in only a few months ago, and it was my first big step towards claiming my own identity away from the club.
I still get a thrill every time I put the key in the lock and realize I’m about to be stepping in to my own place. A sanctuary from the rest of the world. A space that I control, where I can shut out the world or work on my photography to my heart’s content, without having to worry about enemies or threats to the club.
At least, that’s how it used to be. Now, I’ve got a bodyguard — though a handsome one.
“Here it is: home,” I say, opening the door.
He enters, his only comment a grunt, and I feel my smile slipping.
I follow him in, locking the door behind me, and I take his hand and give it a squeeze.
“Would you like a tour?”
“Sure, Addie.”
I extend my arm and sweep it in a wide arc over my tiny living room.
“This is my living room, and I’m sure you’ll find the couch is very comfy. I’ve slept there many times when I couldn’t be bothered to walk the ten feet to my bedroom. The TV gets every free channel available within a five mile radius, thanks to its broken antenna. I hope you like public access television and watching Jeopardy through a snowstorm of static.”
“Sounds fucking luxurious. I’m not sure I can afford this place,” he says.
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but I want more, need more.
I squeeze his hand again and lead him deeper into my tiny apartment.
“The kitchen comes with a fridge that works sometimes. Except everything you put in the freezer will only get lukewarm, while everything in the vegetable compartment in the fridge will become a popsicle. The dishwasher works, but you need to kick it and say seven ‘Hail Mary’ prayers first. In Latin. If you say them in English or, heaven help you, Greek, it might start a fire.”
“Sounds like some serious five star accommodations you got here, Addie.”
His smile is a little larger, but I’m not done yet.
“You think that’s great, let me show you the bathroom,” I say. I take his hand and lead him into the bathroom. It’s small. Not much bigger than a closet. The sink, shower, and toilet look almost like they’re stacked on top of each other like some kind of Escher drawing. “The shower works. And so does the drain. But not at the same time. And, if you flush the toilet, all the water in the apartment becomes the temperature of magma for about five minutes. So keep that in mind.”
“How do you live here?” Snake says. “This place is more dangerous than some of the forward operating bases I was in in Afghanistan.”
“Because it’s all mine. And I love it,” I say, smiling. I’m caught up in the enthusiasm of showing off my place which, as humble as it is, is still every bit mine. “Now, follow me, there’s one last room to show you.”
Tightening my grip on his hand, I take him from the bathroom to the bedroom.
“This is my bedroom,” I start. And I run my hand in a slow gesture that encompasses the entire tiny room. “That’s my desk. Come over here, let me show you something.”
I don’t wait for him to respond, I’m so caught up in sharing my place with the man that I’ve had my eye on for years. The man who, even when I was younger than I’d like to admit, I thought about on lonely nights. He’s always been just out of reach, kept at a distance by my father and by how far apart we are in age.
But now?
Now he’s here with me, and I’m going to enjoy the moment.
I lead him over to my work desk. It’s covered in photographs representing only a portion of the photography I’ve done, but it’s some of the stuff that I’m most proud of.
Snake’s eyes widen as he gets a closer look at my work, and he even takes down a photograph. It’s a black and white portrait of my mom on her Harley, with some of Lone Mesa’s desert vista in the background. That one is one of my favorites; I caught the light at just the right moment, and there was this perfect gust of wind to ruffle my mom’s hair. She looks so beautiful.
“These are really fucking good,” he says. “You took these?”
I turn away for a moment to hide my smile. It’s big and dopey enough that I’d be embarrassed if he saw it.
“Yes. These are some of my better ones. I like to take my favorites every so often and hang them up. That way I can motivate myself — I can see how far I’ve come, and also how good I’m doing.”
His hand touches my shoulder.
“I stay away from this kind of stuff — I don’t know art, and I’ll be damned if I could explain to you what an Instagram filter is. Or Instagram itself, for that matter. But even a guy like me can see you’re really talented, Addie.”
Another stupid, beaming smile breaks my lips apart and forces me to hide behind a turned shoulder.
I clear my throat, take his hand, and continue the tour before I say something that’ll embarrass me. I’ve wanted Snake for so long, now that
