That summer was fantastical beyond belief, and hopeless beyond measure.
That summer, I came to know him, and I lost him.
1) My Perfect Stalker
It seemed my love had somehow turned into something complicated, inscrutable, and faint in presence. If it had been something obvious on the surface—like Jimmy Myers, whose face would flush red before he could even greet me whenever he saw me—it would’ve been easier to recognize.
Feelings that are impossible to detect… I couldn’t even tell whether they were hiding somewhere inside me or if they were something I had to search for outside and fill myself with. Did I even truly want to understand love? Even that was questionable.
Maybe I’d already stepped into a fate where I’d spend my whole life keeping my distance from love. Back in those days, when I was naive and a little stupid. Perhaps I’d already poured out all my passion along with the sweat dripping from my forehead back then. Perhaps all the warmth I possessed had been stolen away by the soft skin wrapped around my tongue.
Someone once said love was the privilege of the courageous. I agreed with that statement well enough, but that didn’t mean I intended to classify myself as a coward. Even if the privilege called love had never been granted to me, the responsibility for my loss of that privilege belonged to someone else.
I know the world’s worst coward, and he’s the prime suspect behind why the existence of love feels so vague inside me.
“…You have to. Gillian’s going to ask you to do either the opening or closing for the show. Of course he will. The brand value’s tanking because of all the pampering for rich young masters, so they need a drastic remedy.”
Anyway, free from responsibility, I insisted that it wasn’t because I lacked courage that I couldn’t love—it was simply that I was free, unbound by love. There was nothing wrong with living without knowing love.
Of course, even if the day came when I could recognize my own love, I had no intention of stubbornly turning my back on it.
“I’m not trying to lump all rich boys together and trash them. Haha, what should I say… you’re different from them. You don’t use your family background to your advantage. You know what I mean, right?”
In short, what I was trying to say was this: the final destination of all these endless trailing thoughts was that I simply had no luck when it came to romance. A hedonistic life keeping love at a distance and enjoying only sex was waiting for me—
“Goddammit, Somerset Quinn! You zoned out again, didn’t you? What the hell is your problem? Wasn’t growing muscles in your body enough—did your ears grow muscles too? Are you even listening to me?!”
It wasn’t until the thunderous voice made my ears sting that I finally acknowledged the other person.
A face mottled red and blue with irritation was huffing right in front of me. To be honest, I hadn’t heard a damn thing she’d been rambling about, but since she was agency director Mag Able, it was difficult to admit that outright. So instead, I simply pretended to look drained because of something or other.
“Sorry. Since yesterday, seriously… ha…”
When I let out a long sigh and brushed back my hair, Able’s expression wavered sharply. She was hot-tempered and quick to flare up, but her heart wasn’t particularly hard.
Behind Able as she leaned forward to inspect my condition sat one of the magazine spreads from her modeling days, and the sight felt strangely surreal. Twenty-something Mag Able, staring into the camera with heavy smoky makeup, and the woman looking at me now with lightly made-up eyes—it was like one of those spot-the-difference puzzles themed around the passage of time.
The outward differences stood out immediately, yet they felt trivial. Compared to someone’s entire personality changing completely in just a few years, wrinkles around the eyes were nothing.
“If you’re exhausted enough to look like this, it must not be something ordinary.”
After sighing repeatedly, I lowered my gaze and shook my head. Getting lost in endless useless thoughts wasn’t anything extraordinary. If anything, it was less than ordinary. And if every single one of those thoughts was aimed at a specific person—targeting only one individual like a bullseye—then it was even more hopeless.
I absently rubbed my jaw, which had unconsciously tensed, avoiding the issue, when Able—who had been gently offering me coffee—suddenly paused. Her slightly drooping eyes twitched.
“You didn’t cause some kind of scandal that could affect your career, did you?”
A very businesslike concern.
“What exactly do you take me for? Anyone hearing that would think I go around causing trouble all the time.”
“Maybe not scandals, but people definitely need to be careful not to get swept up by a man like you.”
After comparing me to the eye of a typhoon and lecturing me on my dangerousness, she quickly asked:
“You didn’t already make a move on Owen, did you? I’ve told you over and over, he’s off limits.”
Owen Alexander was a model Able had poached from another agency through underhanded means. He had a delicate charm about him and was constantly trailed by rumors involving a male designer, but during a recent drinking session he’d invited me to, he’d revealed the rumors weren’t true.
He said his girlfriend—the girl he’d gone to prom with—attended university back in his hometown, and on his days off he went to visit her. Just thinking about her seemed to make him happy; he’d grinned stupidly, showing the gap between his front teeth.
“I’ll say it again—what exactly do you take me for?”
I boldly proclaimed my innocence and sprawled across the sofa. Lying there with my head resting on a purple velvet cushion matching the couch, I recalled Brian Alexander’s smooth waist. The memory of spending a thoroughly messy night with him—Owen Alexander’s cousin and manager—was still vivid.
Brian had joined Owen’s drinking gathering late, and at first glance he resembled his cousin enough to pass for twins. Unlike Owen, though, his teeth were straight and freckles dotted his cheekbones.
He carried himself with a fairly sophisticated air, volunteered to play chauffeur for our drunken selves, and after dropping off his cousin first, asked me where I wanted to go. When he gave me the choice between my home and a hotel, I liked the boldness with which he chose the latter without hesitation.
Though in bed, he’d been awkward as hell.
He flinched several times under my touch before admitting he wasn’t used to this sort of thing. His face flushed pink with embarrassment, and I kissed him deeply. Since he worried about seeming like some innocent country boy, I advised him not to tense up too much and licked over his freckles.
Because it was his first time being taken by another man, I carefully loosened him up, and the foreplay that night ended up lasting quite a while. I worked my way into him with enough devotion that “more” kept spilling from his lips again and again.
If I’d been a good man, maybe I would’ve treated him with endless tenderness, but I maintained just enough distance to avoid giving him the wrong idea about our relationship.
Remembering the sight of Brian sitting on top of me while I gripped his waist and rocked him made me swallow hard.
To be honest, it wasn’t because it was some unbelievably incredible memory that I treasured it so carefully. It was because, damn it, no other experience had managed to replace it. A few days after sleeping with Brian, I’d slept with a friend I was highly compatible with, and since then I’d unintentionally been living a wholesome everyday life.
Fuck.
Anyway, I hadn’t touched Owen, whom Able treasured so much. I had kept in contact with his cousin after that day, but we’d only had sex once, and—
“If it was a misunderstanding, then sorry.”
Able apologized quickly and stood up. Draping her yellow suit jacket over one arm, she kicked off her comfortable slippers and changed into heels.
“I’ll go take care of something else for a bit, so rest and sort out your thoughts while I’m gone. Let’s talk again later.”
“Thanks. I’ll try.”
Of course, that was a lie.
Once Able left and I was alone, I absentmindedly pulled out my phone.
I logged into my social media account, skimmed through acquaintances’ posts, and checked my unanswered messages in chronological order, starting from the oldest.
Sam Youth
[Quinn, if you think of me tonight, give me a call.]
Thomas Racer
[I’ll buy drinks. Wanna come out?]
Sharp McAvoy
[Baby, you didn’t delete my number, did you? That day was my mistake. I won’t say things like asking you to date me again.]
Susan Whitaker
[I heard rumors you’ve been abstaining lately. If you’re not doing that, you must have too much free time. Let’s meet.]
[When are you free?]
I replied only to Susan and ignored every other message. Then, before opening the long-awaited one, I took a deep breath like it was some kind of ritual.
It was the most recent message.
Stalker
[Still in the meeting? I’m waiting. No point trying to sneak off somewhere else from behind your car.]
Even though I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, repeatedly trying to calm myself, all that effort went to waste.
The moment my eyes took in the arranged letters, irritation exploded violently enough to heat the back of my neck. I rubbed at my burning skin with my hand and muttered:
“This is exactly why my thoughts keep drifting back to you.”
My fun and promiscuous lifestyle was under threat. Because of that fucking stalker, Eden Reed.
***
—Somerset. Where did you disappear off to already? I told you to wait.
“I think it’s Able’s fault for expecting me to sit quietly and wait for an hour and a half.”
I’d already done more than enough by lingering around her office for over thirty minutes before leaving. Unable to come up with a rebuttal, Able explained why she’d been delayed.
—Williams showed up without warning, so I had to rush into a meeting. That man seriously does whatever he wants.
Apparently she’d suffered because of the whims of an investor who was practically her business partner. Thinking about George Williams’s nasty face—the sort of man who looked like he’d nitpick even a single eyebrow hair—naturally stirred sympathy for Able, but the thought that he probably viewed her the same way canceled it out.
Knowing Able’s circumstances didn’t really change anything. I covered my mouth with my hand, yawned, and asked:
“So?”
—I’m sorry for making you wait. But we still need to finish talking about your schedule before you leave.
“Discuss it with my manager. That’s why I hired one.”
—I’ll be honest. Your manager makes me uncomfortable. He reminds me of the manager I had back when I was still active.
“You know you’ve been saying that for a year now, right? I can’t play Golden Gate Bridge every single time.”
If I was going to handle everything myself, then why bother hiring a manager?
—I’ll do that next time, so just this once—
“I’ll call you later. I’m busy right now.”
I ended the call and quickened my pace.
“Sorry. It was an urgent call.”
As I approached the people gathered in front of the display cases chatting amongst themselves, they smiled, finally ending their wait.
“It’s okay. We all had things to organize anyway.”
“Then shall we continue? Let’s work hard enough to finish before sunset, Quinn.”
Officially, I have two professions: model and freelance exhibition designer. I have a particular talent for decorating spaces according to a given theme.
