The Artist and the Actor – 8

 

    

"It was partly your fault," Shane said under his breath. "When you were focused on a painting it was the only thing that mattered in your life. It was as if I didn't exist except as the guy who did his damnedest to make sure you stopped long enough to eat and sleep."

 

It had frustrated and angered him. So, yeah, I did play around behind your back when that happened. I wanted you but when you ignored me… Hell, what did you expect? I'm not a saint. I never said I was. I like sex. I loved it with you, when you were there and not off in a world of your own. You made me crazy, so I went looking for someone who treated me as if I was worth something.

 

At least that's what he'd told himself—and Colin when he'd found out the first time. He had promised it would never happen again, and then immersed himself in his acting the next time Colin had worked on one of his paintings to the exclusion of everything else. Things had gotten better for a while. We did love each other. Neither of us denied it. It was just…circumstances.  

 

Then, Colin had gotten a commission for two painting and it seemed as if he never left his studio. Shane had vented to one of the actors in the company. The man had commiserated with him, and then offered to help him relieve his frustration. Against his better judgment, Shane had accepted. When Colin had found out, and it was inevitable that he would, it had resulted in an argument to end all arguments. He'd asked… No, he ordered me to get out of his house and his life, and I did.

 

That had been three years previously. Shane had joined a touring company, which took him out of the city—and then another one when the season had ended, and a third one. At first he'd played the field, sleeping with any man who wanted him, and there were several. But over time, he'd found out that didn't ease his pain. Colin was the only man he'd ever loved.

 

And damn it, now that I'm here I'm going to win him back one way or another.