All's Fair in Love, War, and Drugs

He's Like Art, Terrible Art, But Still, Art

    The next week for me went as follows:
I did three deals, two of which were only a day after the first deal. I had my monthly grocery trip, followed by a night of eating most of the food from the month before that was about to go bad, but wasn't quite bad, while, of course, watching as many cheesy Netflix Rom-Com's I could fit in a 17 hour time frame. A short run a day, and today, Sunday night at 6:45 p.m, I'm being picked up for a dinner "date" with Sir.

   I suppose you could call us boyfriends but I believe Sir only uses those labels to introduce me to important people in meetings and dinner parties. He gets more respect in the community for being a gay man in such an honorable and powerful leadership position.

   This is my first time seeing Sir since he handed me the replacement phone with the fixed alarm app. I was instructed to leave the unused one with his assistant, so I turned it into her desk that same day.

   To say I was nervous would be an understatement. The brunette coming out of Sir's bedroom that day has been on my mind for the entirety of the week. I've known since I started working for Sir that he had many meetings with many different people, of many hierarchal positions, but also of many genders. I've never once questioned someone Sir may have had in his room, however her lingerie and his disheveled appearance, I can't help but wonder. He's called us each other's boyfriend's a many a times, however, he's never exactly acted upon it. Sure, he takes me out on dates, and my pay has an allowance depending on how I may act that week and how I do on my deals. But never any more, never any less.

   Suddenly, a sharp knock sounds at the door, scaring me out of my thoughts. I give myself a once over in the floor length mirror, gently smoothing out and wrinkles I may have cause before I quickly step in the way of the door. I check through the peephole to make sure it's someone I recognize, and upon seeing Sir's driver, I quickly unlock the door.

   "Good evening, Mr. Thomas. Sir Colin and Mr. Olin await in the car." He steps off to the side, extending his arm to instruct me out of the apartment.

   "Thank you." I step out of the apartment, quickly turning to lock the door before I head down to the street with Sir's driver.

   Seemingly seconds later I find myself down at the curb, having the door to the car I do easily recognized open for me so I may slip in. I do so, repeating a familiar action of smoothing out my suit as I slip into the back of the vehicle. As I look up and my eyes adjust to the dimness of the car, I fully realize there is another man, whom I cannot recognize, sitting in the back of the car, along with Sir and I. 

   "Tommy, this is Olin. My new right hand man and bodyguard. If I am ever away or am not in need of a bodyguard, he will accompany you." His voice is gentle and sweet, the one he uses when I am his boyfriend. If I was anyone else that knew Sir, I would have been caught off guard, especially with the use of a nickname. His voice is much softer and kinder than the one he uses on the phone with me, but no matter what, I still hear the underlying threat that is still there if I do not behave and be kind.

   "It's nice to meet you." I smile politely and shake his extended hand.

   "It's nice to meet you as well." His voice is velvet and his handshake a protective husk. I put my hands folded neatly in my lap and watch as the two men converse. I know my place, not speaking unless spoken to, no more niceties than socially acceptable, and never leaving Sir's side.

   I run over those rules in my head to remind myself how to behave tonight, but I quickly become distracted, finding my eyes drifting to gaze at Olin. His long, curly hair is slicked back just enough to rest behind his ears and to give him a clean look. His skin was a lighter russet brown, suiting his dark curls and equally dark eyes well. He quite frankly looked like a painting, a wonderful work of art... Well, if he's able to work as Sir's right hand man, he's a terrible work of art.