by Cooper Davis
“By whose odds?” I wonder if he’s talked to Leah, who already told me there’s no chance in hell his old man’s going to show tonight. Even Leah and John had to stay home because of work commitments, so nobody’s going to be representing his tribe.
“I mean, it’s last minute, but they could still show up,” he says, sounding kind of small. I rake my hand through my hair, wishing I weren’t surrounded by so much damn testosterone in every direction. Especially when I spy Jackie Chan walking right toward me.
I start hurrying him off the phone. “Gotta go, Maxwell. Thanks for getting Ed.”
“No problem.” Oh, no. He’s pissed; I can hear it in the tight way he talks to me.
“I want to talk, I just can’t right now.”
“Talk to you later, then.” The phone goes dead, and I sigh, rubbing a hand over my tired eyes as Jackie booms one of his friendly greetings.
Hell, I just wish the day were over, party included at the moment.
The shindig actually comes together, there in Louisa’s backyard. By the time I make it, especially after all the last minute Jackie Chan problems, well the party is already hitting its stride.
I figured Maxwell would be really pissed off by then, but he gives me one of the sweetest kisses imaginable, and my heart just leaps.
“Thought you were mad,” I say, glancing around Louisa’s dark backyard. It’s after nine, and I really am very late.
“I can’t ever stay mad at you.” He’s shaking his head, looking toward Edna, who I spy laughing with Veronica and Louisa. “Never could.”
“Good thing, because I was afraid the wedding might be off.”
“What?” He waves a hand at me with a kind of exaggerated gesture. That’s when I realize he’s already been hitting the champagne, and pretty damn hard.
“Where is it?” I ask with a devilish grin.
“What?” I smell the good stuff on his breath, and I know by the besotted little grin he gives me that I’m not wrong.
“Whatever happy sauce it is you’ve been helping yourself to.”
“It’s a celebration, don’t you know?” He laughs way too loudly. Uh oh. He’s more than happy, and perhaps moving toward sublime.
“Yeah, I know.” I glance around, and wonder if his ecstasy is a good thing or not. Louisa catches my eye right as Edna looks my way, and there’s a painfully knowing look between us. “I’ll be back in a jiff, babe,” I promise him, moving out of his drunken grasp.
Louisa covers the distance separating us as fast as I do. “What’s going on with Maxwell?” My voice is urgent, but low.
“He couldn’t let go of the idea that his parents were going to come,” she tells me, holding me by the arm. “And when they didn’t, well…” She looks pointedly at Max, who has managed to lay his hands on another flute of champagne. “He went a little wild.”
“How’s Aunt Edna?” I ask, watching her slow progression in my direction. She’s laughing with Veronica, just nodding her head knowingly about something. That long, gray braid is bobbing up and down the length of her back.
“She’s having a blast. Apparently she and Max shared wonderful bonding time. He took her to lunch on Rodeo.”
“I’m in love.” I breathe a sigh of relief, and Louisa laughs, giving me a sudden hug.
“He’s fine. You’re both fine, so just relax, okay? Edna adores him.”
“He’s drunker than a skunk.”
“Yeah, well, so what? His parents aren’t coming and his heart’s breaking in two.”
“Why are they hurting him like this?” My voice kind of cracks harshly over the words. “They could’ve come, for crying out loud.” Louisa says nothing, just reaches her hand to Edna as she joins us.
“Is this my wayward nephew?” Aunt Edna asks, smiling up at me. I always forget what a small woman she really is, but it stands out to me because she and Louisa are shoulder to shoulder, nearly the same height. “Couldn’t even get away from Hollywood for your own engagement party?”
She reaches her small, weathered hands to my face, cupping it. “You’re looking like a young man in love.”
We embrace then, and her scent is so familiar. It’s that face cream she always uses, I guess. She kisses my cheek and says, “He’s a wonderful young man.”
Okay, I’m a grinning fool now, given her approval of Maxwell. “Yeah, you think?” I brush at my hair and don’t give a crap that I sound like a total dope.
She just shakes her head, smiling broadly. What a beautiful woman, all natural and so genuine. “Hunter Willis, you know what you’ve found. Max is a very fine person.”
“I know,” I admit, folding my arms across my chest. My gaze wanders toward the love of my life, at how loudly he’s laughing with…whom? A really gorgeous guy, strapping and tall, and there’s just something in the way they’re relating that I instantly dislike.
“Do you know that he bought me a scarf at Hermes?” she asks excitedly. “I think it might have cost hundreds of dollars! But he didn’t care at all, wanted to buy me something special on Rodeo Drive. Probably because I talked about Pretty Woman for much too long over our lunch.”
I laugh, nodding. “He loves shopping.”
“I saw that, and loves cooking too, he tells me. Wants to leave stock trading to become a chef. Did you know that?”
No, not actually, but I’m not concerned with that fact at the moment. I’m watching Maxwell and Mr. Six Foot Tall Guy laugh it up—and stand really close to one another.
“He mentioned that,” I lie, still staring at Max from across the yard.
“Really?” she asks, beaming up at me. “Because he said he hadn’t told you yet.”
“No, not really,” I mumble with an absent frown.
“Hunter, what’s wrong?” The sweet smile fades from Edna’s lips. She tracks with my gaze, and then informs me, “That’s Max’s friend, Brian. From his office. He’s a trader too.”
“Thanks, Edna.” I plaster a winning smile across my face. “I better go say hello.”
Friend, my ass. They’re flirting it up so big at my own damn engagement party that I’m about ready to take somebody outside. Wait, we already are outside, I think, when I breeze my way right up to them, hearing the word “smitten” ring through my head. Smitten, smitten, smitten.
“Hello,” I say, sounding as cool as I want to be. Brian’s entire demeanor changes, and he extends a hand my way.
“Hunter, great to meet you. And congratulations.” He flashes what looks to be a genuine smile. “I’m Brian Edwards. I work with Max.”
“Yeah, I know who you are,” I snap, feeling sulky as hell. And Max is just no help at all, happy as he is off the champagne.
“Brian’s coming to Vermont, can you believe it?” he asks giddily.
“Guess that makes ten people now,” I grumble.
“You’ll have more than that,” Brian says, sounding way too sunny for my grumpy mood. “For sure. Look how many people made it tonight.” Yeah, so there are about thirty people here, by my speedy calculations.
“Tons, obviously.” Who cares if I sound irritable, because he’s way too interested in my fiancé. I’ll just bet he’s coming to the wedding, so he can be the guy who objects at the last moment.
But Brian’s not concerned about me; his gaze wanders right across that backyard, and his expression changes instantly. “Peter’s here,” he smiles, giving a little wave. “My partner.”
Huh, funny, but he’s not looking at Peter the way I was pretty damned convinced he was staring at Maxwell. He’s smiling like an idiot, and only seems to have eyes for the nice looking guy striding right across Louisa’s backyard.
I know that look, I really do, and it has everything to do with how I feel about Max—and nothing to do with Brian.
Okay, I’m jealous, guilty as charged, but Maxwell doesn’t even seem to care, he just whi
spers in my ear, “I love you. It doesn’t matter about my folks, because I’ll always have you.”
“That’s true, baby,” I agree, feeling guilty I was ready to send heads rolling a moment before.
“Let’s go look at the presents,” he laughs, placing his hand in the small of my back, a strangely intimate gesture in the middle of the party. “There’s bunches of them. Leah and John sent something in a Williams Sonoma box.”
He beams at me, and I’m not sure if it’s at the thought of more cooking gadgets, or simply because Leah sent something really nice in honor of our event.
The fact that she took the trouble isn’t lost on me, especially since all the invitations indicated that no gifts were expected. Hell, we haven’t even registered anyplace yet.
But Leah definitely knows her twin brother, and fact is Maxwell doesn’t love anything so much as a present, all wrapped up in ribbons and paper. I remember that now, watching the way his dark eyes kind of dance as we approach the gift table.
Hell, I wish I’d remembered before now, and gotten him something really special for tonight. But there’s always Christmas, I tell myself as he picks that first gift up, giving it a little jostle right by his ear.
Yeah, Christmas is coming, and I still have time to get it just right.
The morning after the party, Max makes a killer breakfast for everybody, cooking up these omelets I could definitely devote the rest of my life to understanding. I breeze past him in the kitchen, feeling kind of hung over, but happy as hell.
“Hey, there,” I whisper in his ear, patting him on the ass when nobody’s looking. “How you feeling?”
“Kind of bad,” he admits with such a sheepish little expression that I can hardly be angry.
“Well, you should feel bad, man,” I say. “You and that champagne had become best friends before I even got to the party.”
I pour a couple of glasses of orange juice, one for me and one for him. “Hair of the dog,” I advise. “Not really, but it’ll help.”
“Thanks,” he agrees, turning back to the stove.
“So you want to leave trading?” I ask gently. “That’s what Ed told me.”
He turns to me, the lovely eyes wide with slight panic. “Hunter, I don’t have to do that, I’m happy in finance. Your aunt told me she wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Famous last words, baby doll.”
“I don’t want to make a change tomorrow.”
“Well…” I snag a slice of cheese off of his cutting board. “I’m cool with it. Just so you know.”
“Yeah?”
“Maxwell, I don’t want your money. I want you. Hell, you ought to know that by now.”
He just nods, chewing on his lower lip as he works his omelet magic. “I do, I really do.”
“Be happy, that’s all I ask, okay?” I kiss him for everyone to see before I turn to leave the kitchen. But Aunt Edna’s busy gabbing it up with Louisa and Veronica, and laidback Ben is listening to them while lazily sipping an orange juice that probably has a little spike to it.
I sail into the living room and Edna smiles up at me, patting the place beside her on the sofa. “Nephew?” she says with a sweet smile. “Join us?”
“Sure.” I drop onto the sofa beside her.
“You mention the chef thing to him?” she whispers in my ear. Oh, she’s quick, I tell you. Listening when I thought nobody was.
“Yes, Ed. We talked about it.”
“Good, because he’s sick of trading stocks.”
“I kind of got that idea.”
“He was afraid you’d be mad…”
And on it goes, advice from one who barely knows him. But she knows me really damn well, and that means she knows how to guide me with the love of my life.
Valuable input, I tell you, and I’m not above listening to it, as she makes sure I realize that he’s picked out a culinary school in the L.A. vicinity.
“Did you know he’s a millionaire?” she asks sweetly, patting my arm. “He can do this, and you’ll both be just fine.”
Yeah, I did know about the bank accounts, and frankly? I didn’t give a shit at all. I only care if he’s happy, and so long as he is, well then I am, too.
“So you like him?” I ask, turning toward her.
She doesn’t hesitate for a moment. “Immensely. He’s a very fine young man. And he loves you, which is all that I wanted to be sure of.”
I could have promised her that, but I know it wouldn’t have been enough; sometimes, you’ve just got to see these things for yourself.
“You’ll come to Vermont?”
“Oh, Hunter, I wouldn’t miss it for a moment. You know that!”
I do, but it’s just great hearing it, as she leans up to kiss me in a sweet, motherly way. “I love you, son,” she says, patting my cheek, and I close my eyes, just imagining that she really is my mother.
And for a moment, smelling her face cream, and feeling her unconditional acceptance, it’s easy to believe that the daydream is real. That time has kind of stopped, or moved backward, and my parents understand what I’m doing with Max. They understand and somehow, magically, they approve of it all.
What a dream I weave, but it’s a happy one.
Chapter Nine
Over the next month, we start double-dating with Brian and Peter, and it’s weirdly refreshing to be with another couple like us. It never would have occurred to me that we needed that, but it turns out I really like hanging with other gay people. Makes me feel a little less hidden away, and now that I’m out of the closet, that’s where I like to be.
Then, after Thanksgiving I agree to something I told Max I’d never willingly do—go with them to a gay dance club. The whole scene just kind of blows my mind, the way we don’t roll out of our parking lot until about one a.m. That it’s a huge cruise scene worthy of the wildest episodes of “Queer As Folk”. I always thought that show was just exaggerating things. Well, now that I’ve been there, apparently not.
What surprises me the most, though, is how Max dressed the very first time we went. I was rummaging through his side of the closet, looking at some of his shirts—incidentally, one cool thing about being queer is that you can trade off clothes with your boyfriend. Only problem, though, is that Max is pretty slightly built, so most of his stuff doesn’t fit me. It’s that whole size differential thing again, which I like when it comes to lovemaking, but it throws a wrench in the wardrobe switch-hitting.
But Max does have a handful of polo shirts that work, and for that first visit to the dance club, I felt like shaking things up a little.
So, I was standing there in front of the mirror, holding up two different shirts to my chest, just kind of trying to pick, when Max entered that room dressed to kill. Hate to say it, but it was the first time I’ve ever looked at him and thought he really looked gay.
Frankly, the skin-tight T-shirt just surprised me, and I couldn’t help but gawk some. I mean, he had on what I’d think of as a gay uniform; the clingy shirt that rippled over his arms and chest, the sleek, low-slung jeans. He looked hot as hell, but definitely like he was playing a certain role for the night. I’d have pegged his sexual orientation anywhere, just based on the outfit he’d chosen.
“You don’t like it.” It was a statement, definitely not a question.
I folded his shirts over my arm, and shook my head emphatically. “No, that’s not true.”
He ran his hands over his short sleeves a little self-consciously, glancing in the mirror. “It’s how they dress there, at the club.”
“I’m sure it is. You look great.” I nodded with vigorous emphasis, but he looked at me a little warily.
“You think I look gay, don’t you?”
“Uh, because…you are gay. We both are.”
“I’m serious, Hunter. Does it make you feel weird? Me being this obvious?
”
“You look great. Go for it.”
Still, the uncertainty didn’t fade and it started to make me feel a little worn out. It was Friday night, end of the workweek, and I just wasn’t up for one of Max’s girlfriend moments.
“I like looking gay,” he admitted softly. “At the club.” That’s when I remembered that he’s been part of this lifestyle for a hell of a lot longer than I have, and it explains a lot. About the little uniform he’s put on, about whatever this is he’s trying to say to me.
“Okay,” I encourage, and I have the feeling there’s still something more.
“I want to go back next week, okay? To the club.”
“Sure.”
“It’s something…well that I’m excited about.” He folds his muscular arms over his chest. Yeah, baby, I love that tight T-shirt. It’s my other new best friend, right alongside John Ramirez.
“You’re excited about the club?”
“No, next week at the club. Um, it’s, it’s…” he hesitates, scratching his ear in this really sheepish, sexy way. “Well it’s drag night.”
“Drag night?” I manage to choke out through a spasm of coughs.
“Well, yeah, and I want to go.” He’s blushing. Furiously blushing, and I can’t stop thinking that there’s no way in hell I’m putting on a dress.
“No. Fucking. Way.” I shake my head, stepping past him toward the closet, anything rather than to look at him while we have this humiliating discussion. Max has lost his mind.
“Not you. Me.” I can barely hear him, he’s so quiet, and I actually lean a little closer. “I want to go in drag. With you.”
Oh, God. Now he’s starting to make sense, and so is this awkward moment. How uncertain he seems, how shy and uncomfortable, and it’s right about then that I notice his jeans. There’s a definite bulge in front, because apparently just talking about it has given him a raging hard-on. I can only imagine what actually dressing that way’s going to do for him.
That’s when it hits me with full-impact force; he wants to play a little role with me. Like what he’s saying about looking gay tonight. This all turns him on somehow. Fine by me, because standing there, looking at him in the slinky T-shirt, I’m getting a hard-on too.