by Cooper Davis
The man on his arm isn’t nearly as scary as the man in the mirror.
Hunter Willis’s “Guy Town” passport was stamped and in as good working order as his Harley. Like a good Midwestern jock, he’d ride that manly machine to his construction job every day, even throw back a few beers with the boys. Hockey and baseball filled out his single-dude weekends.
Then, summer heat worked its magic, and he fell in love with his best friend, sexy stockbroker Maxwell Daniels. The Harley is still in the garage, but the man is definitely—and lustily—out of the closet. As in tearing the door off its hinges.
Now that Hunter’s in love, he’s in all the way. Even proposed—and Max has accepted. But before their dream wedding in Vermont next spring, they must face the greatest danger to their perfect love.
Meeting the family.
It’s not just enduring the Daniels clan’s magnifying glass. It’s facing the deep, dark fears and secrets that are suddenly brought into sharp focus. Forcing them to decide if theirs is only a summer fling…or a love that can flourish even in the chill of winter.
Warning: This novel contains one hero’s deep love for a bread machine, wedding day jitters, erotic cross-dressing—and absolutely zero bridezillas.
Taking You Home
Cooper Davis
Dedication
To Tera Kleinfelter, for all you’ve done to support me. You are a real gift in my life.
Prologue
This is a wedding story. Well, it’s my wedding story at least, which definitely takes a different parade route than what’s on TLC every weekday. No, my fairy tale is more like that show on serious drugs, with maybe a little dash of Trading Spaces thrown in for good measure. Except instead of Paige perfectly rearranging Max’s apartment, you’d have Max perfectly rearranging my life.
Even better—I can see our best friends, Veronica and Louisa, taking over the show for our episode. Those two could definitely do a damned good job of the transformation showcase. I can hear it now:
Meet Hunter Willis. Until Max, he was floundering on that last outpost of his heterosexuality. Floundering, sputtering and gasping for air. Wait! That was after he met Max. Beforehand he was doing a pretty good imitation of a mid-western jock with a Harley, riding that manly bike to his construction job every day, where he might even throw back a few beers with the boys. And in the evenings, Hunter had a penchant for hockey and baseball, in that particular order.
Yes, sir, Hunter’s Guy Town passport was stamped and in universally good working order.
Now, thanks to our guidance and expertise, Hunter has been completely transformed. Not only do he and Max enjoy riding the Harley together on weekends, they share a cozy bed seven nights a week. They’ve definitely swung all the way out of their closet, thank you very much.
And you should see the rings!
But then I step in, karate-chopping my hands together and shouting. Wait, cut!
It’s enough that this is my life, although I wouldn’t exchange a moment of the past year. No trading places through the time space continuum or anything. I’ve got Max and that’s all I want, honest.
Well, that and the next sixty or so minutes of my life, I think, as I gaze out the windowpane at the flower-draped gazebo in the garden below. Our friends have already filled the seats and music floats upward, something classical and romantic.
I could even swear that some kind of pinkish petals shower down from the trees in the orchard. Cherry blossoms? Can’t possibly be.
And if I squint my eyes just so, the scene actually melts to slow motion Technicolor, all hazy, like something from my daydreams.
Especially because I just got my first look at Maxwell all day, and I’m not sure my heart can stand the damage that Armani tux is going to do.
Yeah, this is a wedding story all right.
Mine and Maxwell’s…and you’re cordially invited to attend, too.
Chapter One
It can’t always be this hot in Winchester. I mean, not if people actually live in this sleepy outpost of a town. We live in Los Angeles, for God’s sake. I thought Virginia would be temperate and pleasant by comparison.
I fumble with the air conditioning vents, directing one on to Maxwell, especially when I see the thin sheen of perspiration that has formed on his forehead and upper lip.
“Hot as hell here,” I grumble, but really, I’m just worried about him.
“Always has been this time of year.”
He turns to stare out the window, at the mountains and rolling highway. I’ve manned the steering wheel ever since leaving Dulles Airport, just trying to get him to relax, but so far I can’t say it’s done much good. He keeps fiddling with the CDs, so silent I have to fight the urge to shake him just to get some kind of reaction.
I remember how he calmed me on the plane last month on the way back from the beach. I’d agreed that I was ready to come out to all our friends about being gay, about loving him, but that didn’t mean the decision was easy. He held me together on that plane and when Louisa met us at the airport.
“It’s going to be fine,” I encourage, even though I have some pretty serious doubts myself.
For a moment, we hold hands and ride in silence, the radio blaring some cheesy disco song. I almost miss the sign that promises Winchester, dead ahead. There are pictures of caves and roadside tourist stands, and someone’s selling boiled peanuts along the roadside. Max’s hometown is the weirdest thing about him; no wonder being gay was so damned easy.
Until today. Until facing his past and his twin sister, Leah. Until taking me home to meet his parents for the very first time. Damn, I want it to feel good for him because I’m really comfortable now. I’m gay and that’s cool. It’s like I’ve felt about Maxwell from the start, just this raw, blazing pride about being with him. And who wouldn’t? I mean, he’s handsome and sexy, smart as hell and has great taste in just about everything. Like me, I think with a wicked little grin, and am about to say so, but my laughter dies on my lips.
“She won’t accept you.” He stares straight ahead, expressionless.
It’s like he’s speaking to me from another lifetime.
“Leah?”
“She hates that I’m gay, Hunter,” he explains in a thick voice. “Hates this part of me.”
“Why?” I’m treading as gently as I can, not pushing, just following his lead. These are the things he wouldn’t say back in L.A. Maybe it took excavating his past to get him to open up.
Max shakes his head, doesn’t answer as he stares out the window.
“Tell me why.” So I guess I am pushing after all. I love him too much to let it go.
“It’s disgusting.” He cuts his eyes at me. “That’s what she told me when she realized.”
“Well, fuck her.” How dare she hurt him, how dare she make him feel ugly and ashamed about this? About us.
“Hunter, please,” he whispers, raking a hand through his hair.
“She should love you! She’s your goddamned sister.”
He fires right back: “She should love you, because I do.”
Not much I can say to that, as he turns toward me. “That’s what hurts, Hunter. Don’t you get it?”
That it matters to him at all perplexes me, but I just nod my head. I know families are complex and byzantine. I know it even though I’ve barely ever had one. Maybe that’s the reason why I do understand.
Funny, but the thing I notice in that moment is the engagement band glinting on his finger, and I can’t suppress a swell of pride, knowing it’s a promise of what will happen between us in the spring.
Knowing he’s marked as mine
, just by the wearing of it.
Almost as if he reads my mind, he fiddles with the band, turning it on his finger absently. Maybe he regrets not leaving it in his leather jewelry box back in L.A.
“You can take it off,” I suggest. “I’d understand.”
“I won’t walk in that door without it.”
“Max, maybe it’s better to just…I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe to work up to that, you know? With your family.”
“They know we’re together, and I’m not going to lie. I love this ring.” He gestures with his hand, and for a moment, I flash back to the night I slipped it on his finger. “I love you and I’m walking in the door wearing it.” The familiar temper has kicked in now, and I’m actually glad, because so long as he’s fighting, I can handle anything with his family. It’s his morose, nervous mood that’s left me feeling uneasy all morning.
His hand rests in his lap, the gold band contrasting with his tanned skin, and I trace the outline of it with my fingertip. There are three small diamonds set into the ring—one symbolizing each of us, and then a center stone for the union that’s yet to come. That diamond is the largest of the three; perfect because it represents the biggest freaking change that my life will ever know.
It’s definitely an engagement ring, although it looks plenty damn masculine, being a thick gold band and all. Max claims he’s had a few curious looks down at the office from the crew who I now jokingly refer to as “the gaytraders”.
Then again, while it may be a guy kind of ring, it’s still an engagement band, and Max has no shame about wearing it right on his ring finger. So it’s no time for me to regret that it might draw attention; I made my choice the day I walked into the jewelry store and selected it. If I’d wanted subtlety, then that was my moment, right then and there.
But I didn’t want subtlety. I’d finally embraced the truth of who I was, how much I love Maxwell, and I wanted something a little bit obvious. I wanted people to notice.
And frankly I was anticipating this day, and I wanted his family to notice, too.
So far, they have no idea what we’ve planned. In fact, although they’ve figured out that we’re together, Max has never openly admitted that we’re a couple, even after I moved into his place three weeks ago. I’ve answered the phone a few times when his mom has called, and she’s been polite, distant. Kind of acted like I was the maintenance man who just happened to be grabbing her son’s phone.
Max’s parents definitely know about me, but that’s a far cry from accepting that I’m the one who’s swept their baby boy right off his feet.
I have a hard time picturing them at our wedding no matter how many ways I rearrange that family portrait, just like I can’t imagine Max explaining his engagement ring to them.
No wonder he’s so damned nervous.
“Why are we here?” he asked that night two weeks ago as I guided the Harley over onto the edge of Mulholland. He had to shout a little to be heard over the bike’s thundering engine, and I killed the motor as we pulled off at the overlook.
The night wrapped around us like a cloak, even as his strong hands held on to my waist. I love nothing more than taking Max out on my bike, feeling him behind me, holding me like a lover. I didn’t even mind that several times on the drive down Sunset motorists had glanced at us curiously. You know, two men on a motorcycle together. A little bit suspect, obviously.
They had to know we’re a couple, especially with Maxwell clinging to me like some skittish girlfriend—he adores my bike, but he’s always a little anxious too. His hands fold around me just a bit desperately, and it makes my heart hammer like the wind.
“Wanted to show you this.” I roll the motorcycle onto the soft gravel shoulder. My boots skid on the loose dirt, and his hands grasp at my T-shirt. “You’re okay,” I promise, as the bike shudders to a stop.
He just laughs in denial. “I’m not nervous.” But my shirt is still bunched within his hands, held fast.
“Yeah, right, man.” I pry his fingers loose, twining them together with mine. We sit on my bike like that, staring down into the twinkling lights all below. I’m aware of his legs open to me, of how the tight muscles of his thighs form around my own. His body is thin and wiry, but I find it absolutely sexy as hell.
I unfasten my helmet and loop it over the handlebar, then reach and take his. That one just rests between my knees, as we drink in the humming City of Angels all below us.
“You know how much I love this view.” He leans against me, and I think of our first date, of his client’s house and how we watched the sun dip low into this same valley together.
“Yeah.” A boyish grin spreads across my face because that’s exactly why I brought him up here. “I remember.” I reach into my jacket pocket with my free hand and feel the contour of the velvet box with my fingertip as he sighs against my back.
“Summer’s over,” he says on a whisper, and I urge the box open without looking.
“Not quite. Another couple of days left.”
The band is poised between my fingertips, and gingerly I reach for his ring finger and slide it onto the tip.
“Wh-what?” He jolts against me in sudden surprise. “Hunter, what is this?”
Our fingers remain twined together, and I swing my leg over the bike, turning on the seat to face him. “You can still say no.”
He gazes down at his hand, the golden band glittering in the moonlight; the diamonds sparkling even in the dark. “God, Hunter, is this…this…” He’s sputtering, and I beam at how pleased he is, how flustered and beautiful.
“I’m asking you again.” My voice is so thick it surprises me. I’ve got his hand in mine, just kind of working the band all the way onto his finger. “I’m asking you if you’ll wear this ring.”
His mouth opens and shuts as he stares down in surprise. I see how he blushes, even here in the near darkness. For a moment I laugh that he’s so shocked; I mean, hell, I did already ask him to marry me. Maybe it’s the ring that’s caught him off guard, I’m not really sure.
“I know you-you asked,” he finally stammers. “I mean, me to marry…”
I just roll my eyes at him in exasperation. “Maxwell, I’m giving you a ring and asking you to spend your life with me, okay?” There. Maybe it’s a bit blunt, but hell I love him, and this is what I want.
“We can’t really do that, can we? Get married, I mean?” His voice is a little melancholy, yet edged with an innocent hopefulness too. He just stares up into my eyes, waiting. Waiting to know if I’m fucking with him or if this is a genuine possibility.
“Yeah, baby, we can. Not here, but in Vermont.”
“Vermont.” He repeats the word, but his eyes are darting wildly, and I see how fast his quicksilver mind is working.
“It would carry over here. But…well, we’d get married there,” I explain, and I surprise myself with how shy I feel about this all of a sudden. Hell, we talked about it before, but letting him know how much I’ve really looked into the logistics makes me feel oddly embarrassed.
Until I see that perfect, lovely smile of his. Until I see how it spreads across his face, lighting him from the inside out.
“I thought you were just…I don’t know.” He brushes at his bangs with a shy little gesture. “Talking about a commitment ceremony or something.” Then he looks up at me in apparent alarm. “Not that I didn’t think that was great. I mean, that would have been wonderful, too,” he blurts, and I get that he’s afraid he might have somehow said the wrong thing.
“Baby,” I laugh. “I understand, okay?” I take his hand in mine, and draw it up to my lips for a tender kiss. For a long moment my mouth lingers against his palm. “I want it all,” I say at last, “because you said you’d give me that.”
Oh, holy shit. Now where did that come from? I’ve become unrecognizable, even to myself, just some kind of lovesick imbecile, but that�
��s beside the point. Maxwell worked his mojo on me a good four months ago, so nothing should shock me now.
“I know I did.”
“And you did say yes, you know,” I remind him, grinning smugly. A little thrill shoots right through my heart. He’s mine. We’re heading to Vermont; we’re calling Aunt Edna.
“I meant it too.” That voice is whisper soft, just wrapping around the words like the gentlest of pledges. I shiver and wonder if our vows will sound that way when they pass his lips.
“Then you’ll wear this ring?”
He reaches to touch my face and strokes my jaw for a long moment. “I don’t know why this surprises me so much.” His touch is unbelievably tender, the way he caresses my cheek beneath his fingertips.
“Because you think I’m a big unromantic idiot.”
He laughs and shakes his head, staring at the ring on his hand. “Not at all. I just never thought you’d be this…well, this out, quite frankly.”
I narrow my eyes predatorily, glancing at him through my lashes; it’s meant to be a smoldering gaze, to undress him with a mere glance. “Well that’s your fault, and you know it.”
He cocks a coy eyebrow and gets all flirty right back with me. “That kiss again?” he purrs silkily, and I get a hard-on just hearing him.
Oh, yeah, the kiss felt round the world. No doubt.
“You. It’s all you,” I murmur and cup his face. I draw his mouth to mine and it’s not about hunger this time, it’s a confession.
Slowly, his tongue darts and wars with mine, and I feel his hands working at my T-shirt. Down the hill, the engine of a distant car thunders, but I can’t let go. Not yet, even though I know it’s risky to keep at him this way. My palms are splayed on his strong thighs, drawing him closer. God, I just need all of him, right here and now.
Through the corner of my eye I glimpse the arc of headlight cresting upward onto the hill, and reluctantly I drop my hands and turn away. As out as I am, some things are just between Max and me. My feelings are far too personal, too real, for the world to see. At least tonight.