Brad: We must all go out. I feel eighty years old sitting at home every weekend!
Riley: No 80 yr old has that much sex
Bret: TMI
Harry: Totally TMI … but I’m listening?
Harry: And now Bret just smacked me in the head. Boyfriend abuse!
Ant: I’m in. Will Chris be there?
Brad: Oh honey, give it up. That ship sailed.
Riley: And the sailor is PISSED
Ant: I was just asking.
Harry: Chris is at a convention this weekend, sorry.
Bret: It’s my mom’s anniversary. We have to go to a party.
Harry: Shoot, that’s right. Sorry guys
Ant: Eh, now that I look at my schedule, I might be busy
Brad: YOU BITCH. You only love Chris =(
Ant: Okay, okay, I’ll come out.
Brad: Yes! I knew you loved me
Riley: I love you, B, but you’re ridiculous.
The text exchange picked up later to hash out time and place, but Chris had read enough. His insides fluttered to see Ant asking about him, specifically, and everyone teasing him about it. How had he been so blind to Ant’s ongoing interest in him? If he was Ant, he might have written Chris off as an asshole.
He handed Harry the phone, then cuffed him in the arm.
“Ow, what?”
“How come you guys didn’t tell me Ant was so crazy about me, huh? I wasted so much time.”
“Aw, honey, we wanted to, but we valued our lives,” Brad said. “You were way too angry and upset at the time. But I hoped, eventually, maybe things would work themselves out.”
Chris huffed, knowing Brad was right. He’d needed the time and space to realize there might be more to the story with Ant. They could have told him all they wanted, and he never would have believed it before that weekend.
“I don’t deserve him,” Chris said.
“Yes, you do,” Riley said firmly, surprising Chris. Usually, it was Brad weighing in on relationships. But Riley had seen him through some tough — and awkward — situations. He shuddered to remember the time that he’d hooked up with a wannabe dom who didn’t know the first thing about BDSM. He’d tied Chris’s hands behind his back, which wasn’t so bad, but he’d spanked him far too hard, and when Chris asked him to stop, he didn’t. Chris knew enough about BDSM to know there were supposed to be safe words, but he didn’t have one. He yelled out red, but the asshole ignored him. He’d whipped out his dick, jerked off over Chris’s red ass, then left Chris there, still tied.
Riley had been the one to rescue him after Chris managed to knock his phone onto the floor and pick it up with his feet, then awkwardly call Riley with numb fingers behind his back. He still didn’t know how he’d managed it.
They mostly laughed about it afterward, but Riley had seen the miserable, frightened heap he’d been when he showed up to cut him lose from knots that were far too tight. After that, they’d created a buddy system, and Chris had become much more careful about who he hooked up with and where he took them, but it had turned him off casual hookups for the most part.
“You haven’t had the easiest run of luck,” Riley said, “but Ant’s a good guy. And you deserve that. Just believe in yourself half as much as you believed in me and Brad, and you’ll be good to go.”
Ant strolled up just then, smiling quizzically. “Good to go?”
“Yeah, the car’s here,” Brad said briskly, leading them outside.
Ant took Chris’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Ready to go home?”
“Now, I am,” he said, squeezing Ant’s hand, secure in the knowledge that they’d go home together, rather than the men who’d arrived so far apart.
Epilogue
SEPTEMBER
Chris walked into the garden party at Bret’s mom’s house, scanning the crowd for his friends. A table laden with dainty appetizers lined one side of the patio, while party-goers milled around a yard bursting with flowers and tangles of vines. It wasn’t the most organized garden — Bret’s mom didn’t garden so much as she nurtured a wild jungle of plants — but it was a riot of color and delicious scents, both floral and edible.
Ant nudged him. “There’s Bret, by the purple things.”
Chris glanced around, then laughed when he saw the fall flowers. “Those are asters, Ant.”
“Eh, whatever. Go ahead, I need to check with PJ.”
Ant’s little brother had moved in with him after his mother had told him that PJ needed a stronger male influence in his life. With their dad in Texas, Ant was the next-closest thing to a father figure, and he’d taken the responsibility seriously.
It had put a few cramps in their new sex life, but they’d been creative enough to fit PJ into their lives and still have mind-blowing sex and fabulous nights out. Ant and Chris had started their relationship over from scratch when they got home, even though it felt much more serious. They went on a handful of dates, then agreed they wanted a serious relationship with a future. Nearly three months later, Chris was spending every night at Ant’s place. He hadn’t moved in officially, but he had enough clothes and hair products to survive for a few weeks should a freak storm wipe out his apartment building.
Despite having to adjust their lives a bit to make room for PJ, Chris loved watching the brothers grow closer. Plus, PJ was adorable, just a younger, brasher version of Ant without the life experiences to ground him. Whenever Ant became infuriated with PJ’s big ego, Chris had to smother a laugh of amusement.
“What is it with your family and the nicknames?” Chris teased.
“It’s how we show our love.”
Chris pouted. “How come I don’t have a nickname?”
“You do, sweetness.”
“That’s not a nickname; that’s an endearment.”
“That makes it better, don’t you think?”
Chris leaned in to peck a kiss on Ant’s jaw. “Yeah. Okay, you check in with the rebellious teen, and I’ll go talk to Bret and Harry.”
“Will do.”
“Don’t eat all the food,” Chris warned sternly before seeking out the guests of honor.
By the time he reached Bret, Harry had rejoined him, and they stood looking happy, if frazzled by all the attention.
“Chris!” Bret said, latching on to him like a lifeline and hugging him tightly. “So good to see you. Gosh, it’s been a month at least.”
Chris withdrew to clap Harry on the shoulder in greeting. “Yeah, sorry. Been busy with work, and with Ant moving in his little brother.”
“Oh, right. How’s that going?”
“Great,” Chris said brightly. “I’m so happy for you guys, by the way. When’s the wedding?”
“December,” Harry said. “Which is why we’re having an outdoor party now. It’ll be cold by then.”
Bret shrugged. “We’re getting married in a huge, rustic barn, and they’ve promised me heaters that will make it comfortable. There will be a catered dinner and dancing. I hope we get snow, so everything is frosted in white.”
“Sounds beautiful,” Chris said.
“Bret’s mom is doing a lot of the planning,” Harry said, “which is fine by me. She has great taste, and she’s footing a lot of the bill. I just want to show up in my tux and marry Bret.”
Bret wrinkled his nose. “Mom’s a romantic. It’s not really my thing.”
Chris laughed at that, remembering that Harry and Bret had originally met at an anti-Valentine’s Day party where, according to Harry, Bret had railed against romance and especially holidays manufactured to profit off it.
He’d softened his stance since meeting Harry, obviously, even if Harry had proposed three times before Bret finally saw sense and popped the question himself right after the Vegas trip, apologizing for all his doubts.
“Admit it,” Harry said now. “You kind of like the idea of being all dressed up in a beautiful place with flowers and champagne.”
Ant joined Chris’s side, smiling tensely. “Champagne?”
>
“At their wedding,” Chris said. “They’re going formal.”
“Ah, nice,” he said, though he swallowed and looked nervous. “Guess that’s more traditional.”
“Yeah,” Chris said. “It sounds beautiful. They’re getting married in a big barn, and … what’s wrong with you?” He placed a hand on Ant’s arm, frowning. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Harry and Bret exchanged a look.
“I’m fine,” Ant muttered.
“Low-key weddings are nice too,” Harry said. “We could get married in this garden and I wouldn’t mind.”
“The garden looks great. I can’t believe how many things are still blooming, even though it’s fall,” Chris said. “Your mother really is something.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“Not like Brad and Riley’s wedding, huh?” Harry added. “All bright and flashy.”
Chris shrugged. “It fit their personalities.”
“Shit,” Ant said. “I’ll be right back.”
He ambled across the yard, looking so stressed that Chris excused himself to follow him. “Hey, Ant, what’s wrong? You’re starting to worry me.”
Ant blew out a breath and shook his head. “I screwed this up. I just need to think …”
“Screwed what up?” Chris asked.
Ant fumbled in his pocket. “Look, I wasn’t going to do this here. I had the house all set up… but, I think maybe I made a mistake. I can’t bear to put this off any longer, though.” He nodded, squaring his shoulders. “Yeah, I need to say this.”
Dread began to coil in Chris’s stomach. “What is it?”
Ant drew out a small velvet box and handed it to Chris. He didn’t pop it open or even hint at what was inside. It was obviously a ring box, but when Chris looked at Ant’s face, he read only tension there.
He clicked the box open and stared down at the ring. It was nothing like Brad and Riley’s rings, the ones they’d briefly worn in Vegas, and he was glad. This ring was platinum, with an inlay of what looked like jade running around it.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked.
Ant licked his lips, looking nervous, then dropped to one knee.
Oh, God. This was happening, wasn’t it? Chris blinked, but the ring didn’t disappear, and Ant remained on bended knee before him.
“Ant, holy cow,” Chris blurted. “Are you sure?”
“I haven’t asked the question yet.”
“Right, sorry.”
His gaze darted from the ring to Ant’s face, nervous and hopeful.
“Chris Everett, will you please make me the happiest man ever and not fake marry me?”
Chris blinked, his mind slow to compute. Then he laughed, and oh heck, tears burned his eyes as he answered. “Yeah, Ant, I never want to fake marry you, or almost drunk marry you, or whatever the heck we did in Vegas.”
“How about a real marriage then? Will you marry me, Chris?”
Chris sniffed, smiling so wide his face hurt. “I think I can handle that.”
Ant stood up, plucking the ring from the box and slipping it on Chris’s finger. They’d drawn some attention, though it was obvious Ant hadn’t planned it.
“We’re not stealing Bret and Harry’s thunder, I hope,” Chris murmured.
Ant drew him in for a kiss. “Maybe, sorry. I intended to do this at home after we left.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Ant swallowed. “I had PJ decorate the whole house, so don’t be too surprised when we get back. It’s all done up like a cheesy Vegas wedding, but don’t worry. We don’t have to get married in Vegas. I realized I was dumb to think you’d want that instead of a more formal wedding.”
Chris shook his head, smiling. “Ant, I’d marry you anywhere, in any way, but nothing would make me happier than returning to the scene of the crime and marrying you the right way.”
“Really? It’s not too tacky for you?”
Chris shrugged. “Vegas is where we reconnected. It’s where you recited vows to me at my hotel door, just to cheer me up when I was distressed about missing out on the experience. It’s where I fell in love with you and realized you were the one for me. It seems like the perfect place to get married.”
“See? That’s what I thought.” He slapped his thigh. “Damn it. I had the perfect proposal planned too.”
Chris laughed, pulling him in for a hug. “This was perfect too. Any day that you want to marry me is a good one.”
Harry and Bret arrived at their side. “We’re all getting married!” Bret enthused, while Harry shook his head.
“Man, Ant, you totally panicked. What happened back there?”
Ant smiled sheepishly. “I was second-guessing my extravagant proposal.” His smile fell. “Shit, PJ is going to kill me. I made him set it all up, and he sounded really proud of it.”
Chris smiled, thinking that after all his bad luck in love, he couldn’t really have too many wedding proposals. “No worries. We can go home, and you can propose to me as you first intended. I don’t mind hearing you ask again.”
Ant smirked. “You’re just trying to milk it, huh?”
“Of course!” Chris said. “I need to get all the mileage I can out of you before you realize that I was always a done deal.”
Ant kissed him again. “Not always.”
“I guess getting drunk, forgetting half the night, and thinking you might be married to a guy who hates your guts works for some people,” Harry said.
“True romance,” Chris quipped.
“So, does this mean what I think it means?” Bret asked.
“Yes! Another Vegas trip!” Chris glanced over Ant’s shoulder to see Brad and Riley grinning at them. He hadn’t noticed them approach, but then he’d been busy accepting a wedding proposal. Holy cow. I’m getting married. For real this time.
“Hey, that reminds me,” Bret said. “You guys thought you were married in Vegas because you woke up with wedding rings on, right? Where did those rings come from anyway?”
Chris and Ant exchanged a sheepish look, then scrambled to make excuses. “Well, I think we’re late for …”
“Yep, PJ’s waiting on this new proposal.”
As they rushed off, Chris heard Brad behind them. “They used OUR wedding rings? Oh, HELL no. I’m going to kill you, Chris Everett!!”
“You’ll have to catch me first,” Chris called back as they ran toward the alley, where several cars were parked behind the house.
“It’s harder than it looks,” Ant added, laughing, as he unlocked the doors and they jumped in the car, while their friends gaped after them.
“Chris has changed,” Brad said.
“Yeah,” Riley said with a grin. “Isn’t it great?”
The engine started and revved, then Chris and Ant drove off, kicking up gravel as they sped away.
THE END
Preview: My Anti-Valentine
Harry woke up still hung over. His ass throbbed, telling him what he’d been up to before he even remembered the night before.
The rustle of fabric drew his eye to the man in his bedroom. He couldn’t make out the detail of his face, not because it was dark but because it was too bright. He squinted, shading his eyes with a hand.
He was surprised his date from the night before was still there in the light of day. That had to be a good sign, right?
“Hey,” he croaked, his voice a wreck. Then he remembered the guy’s cock, which apparently had been auditioning for the part of battering ram the night before. They’d fallen into bed after a mediocre date and too many drinks, Harry’s last-ditch effort to find a love connection with the personal trainer who enjoyed talking about his muscles as if they were the national pastime.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “You taking off?”
“Yup.”
The sound of a zipper seemed loud in the silence between them. Harry tried to think of something to say. He liked sex as much as the next guy, but not even he could say their night had been
great. It had been rushed and unsatisfying on his end.
“Want to exchange numbers? We could go out again tonight,” Harry suggested.
They’d both been drunk. Maybe the sex could be better if they made more of an effort. And it would be nice to have a date for Valentine’s Day, even if Reed was a smidge self-centered. Harry always seemed to be single on the holiday, and it was getting to be depressing.
Reed looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “No, thanks.”
“No?”
Reed smirked. “No offense. You’re not a bad cocksucker, though you might want to work on your gag reflex. I haven’t had that much resistance since high school.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. His gag reflex was fine when some asshole wasn’t trying to force him to deep throat 8 inches without warning.
Reed walked out while Harry was struck speechless, which was fine. He’d been overly generous in trying to give Reed another chance. The man was not worth his time, obviously, but he was so tired of this same old routine.
Meet guy, screw guy, forget guy. Rinse, repeat.
At this rate, he might as well follow in most of his friends’ footsteps. Go to a club, find someone hot to grind on and have a quickie. At least he could skip the boring small talk.
Didn’t anyone want an actual relationship? What was so wrong with sleeping with the same person twice?
His phone started playing “Let me Love You,” a ringtone that never failed to annoy his friends. He liked to imagine a boyfriend would be on the other end of the line someday.
That day was not today.
Harry saw the name on the display and accepted the call. Darla was his cousin, but she was kind of his personal BFF too.
“Hey, girl. Calling early.”
“It’s noon.”
“Oh. I had a late night.”
“That’s right, you had a hot date. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
Harry flopped back against his pillows with a huff. As if a guy would stay that long.
“Not unless you count wallowing.”
“Uh-oh. Why are we wallowing?”
Harry didn’t exactly want to share the details, but he did need to vent. “It’s like there are no nice guys anymore. Every guy I meet wants to get in my pants and then they’re done with me. It’s depressing.”
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