Part Seventy-Two: Obsessed With Ian

I can't stop staring at Ian. I mean, not the normal staring. I'm talking about over the fucking moon in love staring. I have memorized Ian's fucking face. I know the placement of every fucking freckle, and exactly how much gold is in his green eyes, and the way his nose twitches when he's thinking. I know the angles of his face and the slant of his jaw. I could close my eyes and draw Ian, if I could draw. I know the size of his hands, and the tiny hairs on his knuckles. If Ian were a subject in school, I'd have received straight fucking A's.

"You need to slow down, Mick," says Ryan while I'm staring at Ian while he's dancing in the kitchen and listening to his iPod. He's off in his own little world while working on plastering a hole that has been in the wall for longer than I've been alive.

"Why?" I ask, taking a drag off my cigarette. Ian bends over to pick up something and I admire his ass. My heart is thumping like a fucking bass drum. I can barely hear Ryan over the sound of it beating.

"Because you're obsessed," Ryan says.

"I can't be obsessed with my own boyfriend. Obsession is for stalkers and pedophiles," I argue. The baby cries. Ryan rocks him. I am supposed to be watching him technically, but I can't pay attention to him when Ian's around.

"You're so full of shit."

My gaze lands on Ian's jaw and cheekbones. I feel a sigh coming up and stop it. Is Ryan right? Am I obsessed with Ian? I'm around him all the time and I fucking love it. I would never admit it out loud. The domesticity of our situation hasn't scared me at all. I thought I would be hesitant to allow myself to be this open with Ian, but I'm not.

I can get use to this, to be honest. I can get use to having Ian around all the time. It's better than him not being here at all. That I know for a fact I can't stand to think about. I lean my head to one side and look at Ian's ass again.

"Fuck you, I'm not obsessed."

"You're a terrible fucking liar. Take some time away from Ian and have a day to yourself. Better yet, let's hang out."

I consider it. I am not the "let's hang out" type, but I should probably maintain my stance on not being obsessed with Ian by going along with Ryan's plans. "Hey," I holler at Ian. He can't hear me over the sound of his music, and the little ass wiggle he does hits me right in the groin and I flinch. I shake it off, and tap on Ian's shoulder.

"I'm going out for a while," I tell him. I resist the urge to touch and kiss.

"Okay. Want me to watch Yev?" Ian asks.

"Sure, man," I say. Ian pecks me on the lips and I can almost see Ryan shaking his fat fucking head. I pat Ian on the back and leave with Ryan. When I look over my shoulder Ian is mixing formula for Yev.

Ryan decides we should play fucking mini golf. He pays. I hate golf, and I make it abundantly clear. Ryan hands me a pink golf ball. I flip him off. He uses yellow. "Every time you talk about Ian or your eyes glaze over thinking about Ian, you have to use the pink ball."

"Fuck you, I'm not obsessed with I—I am not obsessed," I say catching myself from saying his name, "Besides, I thought you were on Team Mickey/Ian," I say.

"I call it Team Gallavich, you know Gallagher and Milkovich—Gallavich," says Ryan. I roll my eyes. "And I am, but I think you're at a point in your transition, Mickey, where you're a little too attached. I think you need to slow the fuck down. You're so in love you can't focus on anything else."

"I am not."

"To you Ian hung the fucking moon."

"What are you getting at, Ryan? Want to me to admit that I love him? Fine, I fucking love him. I'm over the fucking moon. Happy now? Give me the damn ball," I say snatching the pink ball from Ryan's hand. I tee off and get my ball into the easiest hole on the course on the first try.

"You just admitted you love him."

"So what?"

"Have you told him?"

I don't answer. I move on to the next hole. Ryan follows. It took him two tries to get the ball in on the first hole. I make it in again. Ryan rolls his eyes and waits for me to answer. He can fucking wait forever.

"You haven't told him. What are you waiting for?"

"Do you think this is easy for me? I am not used to blurting out my feelings. That's not how we do things in my fucking house. No one says I love you. I just fucking got used to calling myself Ian's boyfriend. Give me some fucking time, okay."

"You bought him a ring," Ryan says.

I spin around, "Where the fuck did that come from?"

"I saw you at the jewelry store. Ian, Mandy, and I followed you one day. We saw you in a jewelry store talking to someone about something in one of the display cases. We were almost certain you bought Ian a ring."

"I never bought him a fucking ring."

"Then what did you buy?"

"None of your fucking business," I tell Ryan.

"Seriously, what did you buy?"

"I bought—go fuck yourself," I throw the golf ball at him and storm off. I go outside and light up. I don't need to explain anything to that fucking asshole. A young man outside has been staring at me since I came out here. "What the fuck are you staring at?" I ask the man.

He comes over to me. I step away to put a few more feet between us. He has long fingers like Ian. I look at his face. Blue eyes instead of green. Not fucking interested.

"So, it's getting warmer," He says.

"Yeah," I say. He seems harmless.

He scoots closer when he thinks I'm not watching. He wears glasses unlike Ian who seems to have the vision of a fucking hawk.

"You can see the sky today. It's pretty. The blue matches your eyes," He says. I roll my eyes. Seriously? Fuck.

"Fuck off, man."

"Do you want to fuck?" He jumps right to the point.

"No, I don't want to fuck."

He touches me. Get your fucking hand off my arm or I'll shove it so far up your ass you'll never be able to shit again. He squeezes my bicep. I'm ten seconds away from ripping his fucking arm off.

"You're my type," He says cupping my dick. I deck him. "What the fuck?"

"Yo, Pee-Wee Herman, fuck off or get beat up, those are your options," I tell him after I grab him by the back of his neck. "I don't take too kindly to strange men who grope me in public; I'm kind of funny like that."

"I'm sorry I thought you were gay. You walk like you've been fucked up the ass too many times," He says. I punch him in the gut. "Your boyfriend must have a big dick." I hit him again for bringing up Ian's dick. "Look, all I wanted was a blow," he says.

"Go blow yourself," I release him and he doesn't run off. He grabs at my zipper. I knee him in the face.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"You're the dumb ass who put your face in level with my knee."

"Mick," says Ryan, Where the fuck were you? Watching I bet.

I kneel beside the man whose ass I'm about to seriously kick if he doesn't get the fuck away from me. I smack his ass, "Look, I don't want to give you a beating and you don't want me to give you a beating so why don't you do us both a favor and get the fuck out of here?"

"Just let me blow you, please," He begs.

I walk away. This man needs help. I don't have it in me to hurt him anymore. I walk away and join Ryan. We walk away without looking back. The man is crying for me to come back. I ignore him.

"What the fuck was that?" Ryan asks.

"The fuck should I know man. He was on something though."

"Had to be to want to suck your tiny dick," says Ryan, "Would you have fucked him?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Would you have fucked him?"

"No," I say before lighting up.

"Why not?"

I don't answer. I blow smoke in Ryan's face intentionally.

"We made a pact," I tell Ryan.

"What?"

"Ian and I agreed that while we're doing this, we're not with other people," I tell him remembering the pact we made that seems so long ago.

"Holy shit, you're already married to him in your mind," Ryan says. Here he goes again, talking about mushy bull shit.

"Can we change the subject? I was groped by a fucking man," I say, it's not a great subject change but at least I don't have to talk about my feelings.

"You're gay, I don't see the problem, unless you've never been giving that sort of attention from men before. Holy shit. You lost your virginity to Ian didn't you?"

"No."

"Don't take this away from me," Ryan says.

This day of hanging out with Ryan has me shaking. Everywhere we go some random jerk-off hits on me. It's fucking weird. There was that one guy who was so good at flirting I turned into a blubbering mess when I tried to tell him to fuck off. I almost told him to fuck me, which would have been disastrous.

Ian has cooked dinner for us when Ryan and I get back. My heart lodges in my chest and guilt washes over me. I don't look him in the eyes. How can I after I nearly let some charming motherfucker fuck me? I let him put his hands on me. Nothing happened. He copped a feel.

"I can't be around you right now," I tell Ian. I blow off dinner and shut myself in my room. Ian paws at the door. My heart breaks hearing his fragile voice.

"Mickey, are you mad at me?" Fuck no. I'm mad at me. "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry." His voice sounds so earnest and sad. I kick myself. "I made spaghetti. I can't fit it under the door."

"I don't want any fucking spaghetti."

"I'll put it in the oven for you." I know he's still out there. He's right behind my door if I just let him in. I can't. I bang my head against the door over and over again and wish I could rewind the whole fucking day.

"Mickey," says Ian, "I'm going to sleep on the couch. I'm sorry, okay. I'm really sorry."

You didn't do anything wrong.

I finally come out of my room and Ian is sound asleep on the couch. There are tear stains on his face. I caused those. I put a thin blanket over him. He sniffles in his sleep.

"Why are you mad at Orange Boy?" Svetlana whispers. She's holding the baby. He must have gotten fussy.

"I'm not," I whisper.

"Are you going to tell me or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I go back into my room and lie on my bed. It's difficult to sleep without Ian. I never realized just how used to him I had become. My bed feels empty without him. I roll onto my side and try to sleep. Fuck.

I don't sleep. I toss and turn all night. Sometime after three am I hear pawing at the door again. I know its Ian. "Mickey," he says softly, "Are you awake?" I don't answer. "Okay." And I don't hear him again.

Ian's making pancakes in the morning. I can smell them from my room. I see the door open a crack and an arm reaches in to put a plate down. I know that arm. The door shuts when the arm pulls out. I smile.

"Those are for you," Ian says from the other side of the door. "You didn't eat dinner and I don't want you to starve."

"Ian," I say, "Get the fuck in here." Like a fucking little puppy Ian comes in wagging an imaginary tail. I stand up. I have to own up to it sooner or later. I can't keep letting him think it was something he did. "I am not mad at you."

"You're not?"

"No. I'm mad at myself. A few guys hit on me yesterday," I tell him.

"Guys hit on me every day," Ian says. I am not fucking surprised.

"One of them got a little grabby outside the mini golf, and I kicked his ass. Then another, I let get grabby. I wanted him to touch me. But that it was. He just copped a feel."

"Did you do him?" Ian asks.

"No. He just slid his hand down my pants. He was a charming fucker."

Ian laughs at that. But his next actions take me by surprise, he's wrapping his hands in my shirt and leaning his head on my shoulder. I hold him. He tugs on my shirt and let's out a sob.

"I thought I had done something," Ian says.

"No. It was me."

Ian nuzzles into my neck. I feel my heart rate increase. I hold him close and start swaying with him. He releases me and places a gentle kiss on my check. His massive hand cups my head.

"I'm not mad," Ian says.

"I am," I tell him.

"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong," Ian tells me before pulling me into a deep kiss. Our bodies are pressed so close together that if we got any closer we'd be wearing the same clothing. Ian breaks the kiss to tell me about the pancakes.

"I made them for you," Ian says.

"I'll eat the fucking pancakes. You don't have to cry about it," I tell him with a smile. He smiles too. I pick up the plate and carry it to the kitchen table. I let Ian play the part of the dutiful wife. He seems happy.