by Eden Finley
His hands tighten on my waist. “This is a boyfriend move. Unless you have a lot of guys holding onto you for dear life.”
Right.
Damon releases my waist and grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers as he drags us toward Emmett.
His hand is larger than mine, and it feels weird. Or maybe just different. My palm sweats, and I hope to God Damon can’t feel how clammy it is.
Emmett’s jaw hardens. “Maddox.”
I lift my chin. “Emmett. This is Damon. My boyfriend.”
Damon lets go of my hand to stick his out for Emmett to shake. When Emmett stares at it without making a move, Damon drops it.
“Ignore him,” I say to Damon.
Emmett’s scowl reminds me of why I didn’t bother correcting the town when I was outed. Most people didn’t care. It was a scandal, yes, having been with Chastity for so long, but there was still a lot of support. Then there were the people who decided I wasn’t worth their time anymore. I didn’t tell them the truth, because if they couldn’t accept me for me—which was still the same person whether they thought I liked men or not—then I didn’t want to know them anyway.
“Why would you come home for your ex-girlfriend’s wedding when you’re …” Emmett starts. I wait for him to say the word gay out loud.
He doesn’t.
I wrap my arm around Damon’s waist. “She invited us.”
Mrs. Jones comes out from the back with a giftwrapped box. When she passes it to Emmett, he can’t get out of the store fast enough.
“He seems like a stand-up guy,” Damon says.
“One good thing about coming out is I learned who my true friends were. Emmett wasn’t one of them. Liked to drop the F-bomb a lot. And I’m not talking about the word fuck.”
“Maddox,” Mrs. Jones says, “I see the big city has done nothing but accentuate your vibrant vocabulary.”
I grin. “Of fucking course, Mrs. J. I like to think of the word fuck as a sentence enhancer.”
Mrs. Jones approaches and wraps me in a hug. “We miss you ’round these parts. Especially your Mom.”
“Aww. You know I was a city boy born in a small town.”
“Sounds like a Journey song,” Damon says.
“Still, it wouldn’t kill you to come home every once in a while,” Mrs. Jones says. “New York is not that far away.”
Hello, more guilt. I read somewhere too much guilt and stress cause cancer. Guess I’ll need a physical by the end of this weekend.
“That’s my fault,” Damon says. “I don’t let him go far.”
“And who is this charming young man?” Mrs. Jones asks.
“This is Damon. My boyfriend.”
“Well, I assume you’re here to buy a gift for Chastity’s wedding. There’s only a few items left on her registry.”
“We’ll take the cheapest one,” I say, and Damon snorts.
“Of course,” Mrs. Jones says with a smile. She reaches for the shelf above her and pulls down glass salt and pepper shakers that are accentuated with gold around the edges. “I’ll wrap these up for you.”
While she does that, Damon leans in and whispers, “Who the fuck needs glass salt and pepper shakers? Is your ex-girlfriend royalty or something?”
“She wishes,” Mrs. Jones mutters, and I can’t help laughing.
Once I’ve paid, and after a “have fun” from Mrs. Jones, we head outside.
“Where to now?” Damon asks.
“Lunch?”
“We just ate breakfast.”
I rub my stomach. “I’m a growing boy.”
“I could have another coffee. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Someone talks in his sleep.” He nudges me with his elbow.
I freeze, and Damon lets out a loud breath.
“Okay, that was a test. What’s going on?” he asks.
“You know?” I croak.
“Know what?”
“About my dream. About us.”
Damon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t realize it was about me.”
And now I’m mortified. “Shiiiiit.”
“Wait, you’re freaking out about having a sex dream about me? That’s why you’re acting weird?”
“Maybe.”
“You know it doesn’t mean anything, right?” Damon says. “We’re in an odd situation, we’re sharing a bed, and you’re facing demons from your past—like your ex-girlfriend who’s getting married. Oh, and pretending you have to be gay for a whole town. You’re allowed to have weird dreams.”
“You think so?” I ask quietly.
“I dreamed I was married to Jennifer Lawrence once. I was totally doing a guy on the side as well, but it counts. Dreaming about me only means you’re ten percent gay.” He grins.
I laugh, but it’s mostly fake. After last night’s dream, and the stuff I haven’t told him, I wonder if he has a point.
“I’m messing with you,” he says, picking up on my vibe.
“I know.”
“Let’s just get through this wedding, okay?” he says. “Then tomorrow we’ll go our separate ways, and we never have to speak of this awkwardness again. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I can do that.”
***
“Your tie is uneven,” Damon says as we get out of the car at the church.
“Are you going to take my man card?” I force the joke, because the reason my tie is crooked—apart from not knowing how to tie one properly—is because I was too damn distracted by a half-naked Damon when I was trying to tie it. I understand what he meant last night when he said he doesn’t look at guys in locker rooms. It seemed wrong to watch him dress, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He’s all muscle and hard edges.
I’ve looked at other guys before, but I wouldn’t have said I’ve checked them out. Now, I’m not sure that’s true. Guys compare themselves to each other all the time … right?
“Can I fix it?” Damon asks.
“Please.”
Damon’s hands shake as he loosens the tie around my neck and reties it, and he fumbles with the knot numerous times.
“Thought you said you know what you’re doing?” I ask.
“It’s harder doing it on someone else.”
“That’s what he said.”
Even though he fights it, Damon breaks out in a smile. “Stacy warned me you’d make those jokes.”
“I can’t help it. I’m five years old.”
“Clearly.”
“Speaking of your sister, have you heard from her?”
“I got a call and two texts while we were at lunch,” Damon says. “But I haven’t opened them. She gets mad when the phone says I’ve read her texts and I haven’t responded.”
“I need to try that tactic. I’ve had three texts—the third one telling me to stop ignoring her. Part of me wants to screw with her and tell her it was love at first sight between us.”
His fingers still. “You’re as bad as each other.”
“Hey, she had a guy turn up in that ridiculous outfit pretending to be you. I need payback.”
“That guy borrowed the outfit from me,” Damon deadpans.
I pull back and cock my head.
“What? I can’t make jokes?”
“I was trying to figure out if you were serious.” And trying really hard not to picture it. That image shouldn’t be inviting, damn it.
“All done.” He pats my tie.
I reach for his bowtie to straighten it. “I don’t think I’m doing anything here. I’ve just seen people do that in movies and shit. How do you even know how to tie one of these things?”
“I have a secret James Bond fetish.” When I don’t respond, Damon laughs. But when our eyes meet, the light-hearted moment is gone, and it’s replaced with tension. “Ready to do this?” he asks, his voice gruff. “This isn’t going to be like hanging out with your parents today. You’re going to have to touch me.”
“I’m okay with that.” My feet step forward and my hands run up his che
st. For some reason, my brain thinks this is appropriate. Why, I have no fucking clue. I watch my hands as they plant themselves on Damon’s shoulders.
He stiffens but doesn’t move. I’m pretty sure he’s not even breathing.
My gaze moves up to his lips, and I wonder what they taste like. My mouth dries, and my tongue feels thick. The scents of our colognes mix, one woodsy and the other musk, somehow creating a smell that reminds me of sex.
What the fuck?
“Aww, aren’t you two cute,” Jared says.
Damon and I jump apart. “He was helping me with my tie,” I say, probably a little too defensively.
Will eyes me in suspicion. “We should go inside.”
I have no idea what just came over me, but it makes me a dick. Chastity’s wedding is sending me crazy. Yup, that sounds like a legit reason to think about kissing my fake boyfriend.
As soon as our feet cross the threshold of the church, the walls close in and I begin to sweat.
“You okay?” Damon asks and pulls me back.
Jared and Will take their seats.
“Yeah. It’s, uh … hot in here.”
“No, it’s not.”
I swallow hard. “I may be having a minor panic attack about the fact this was almost me a few years back.”
Damon steps forward to speak low. “Repeat after me: it’s not my wedding.”
“Not my wedding.” My voice gets stuck in my throat.
“Say it until you believe it. We should go sit down before you pass out.” He drags me over to the pews, and I take the seat next to Jared, but my leg bounces. Damon puts his hand on my thigh to get it to stop.
My brain repeats Damon’s mantra. Not my wedding. Not my wedding. Not my wedding.
When I can’t catch my breath, Damon squeezes my leg and the reassuring touch makes my anxiety disappear.
The ceremony is long and drawn out. I sense the occasional stare from interested parties—the news of me and my boyfriend’s appearance already making the rounds. The pastor rambles on about soul mates here, a bond forever there. Add in sappy vows, and bam, it should be over. Why is this taking so long? At one point, Damon leans in and whispers, “I’m falling asleep.”
When we’re finally released from the torturous ramblings of tying one life to another in the name of God and what-the-fuck-ever, I’m ready for a drink. Or several.
It’s a short walk through the cemetery to get to the community center where the reception is being held, and Damon holds my hand the whole way.
I do a quick stop at my grandfather’s grave, kiss my hand and then place it on his headstone, and continue walking. “Is it weird I’m more comfortable here than in there?” I point to the church.
“That you’d rather be dead than married?” Damon asks. “Yeah, it’s a bit extreme.”
“You have to ignore Maddy,” Will says from behind us. “The only type of commitment he can make is a couple of hours.”
“Yeah, I’ve worked that much out already,” Damon says and then squeezes my hand.
As soon as we reach the community hall and wade our way through the crowd and over-the-top decorations, we beeline it to the bar. “Scotch,” I say at the same time Damon says, “Rum.”
“Are you a pirate?”
“Aye. Would you prefer I order a cocktail with an umbrella? Have to give the folks here a nice dose of stereotypical.”
“I kinda want a cocktail with froufrou toppings. They’re delicious,” Jared says beside us.
Damon laughs.
“I’d have to drink about a hundred of them to get drunk enough,” I say. “I’ll stick with scotch.”
“How are we getting home?” Damon asks.
“Cab? Uber? Walk? Don’t care.”
“Tonight’s going to get messy, isn’t it?”
“I’m counting on it.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jared says. “Will and I were hoping to hook up with a bridesmaid or two. Turns out, I’ve already slept with two of them and Will has the other one, and we’re not interested in crossing swords … so to speak.”
“So now we’re off to find sad cousins and relatives of the bride from out of town,” Will says.
“Have fun with your sad women,” I say. “I’m ready to be entertained watching you two strike out again like last night.”
“Those girls were interested in you two,” Jared mumbles. “Targets acquired, Willy Boy.” Jared points across the room.
As soon as he and Will are out of sight, Damon slides in closer to me. “Should I be worried that my sister went for a guy like that?”
“I often judge her taste in guys. After all, she rejected me for months, yet that bozo comes to visit and she jumps into his bed a few hours after meeting him.”
Damon winces. “That’s something I didn’t need to know.”
“Sorry to tell you that your twenty-three-year-old sister is sexually active and has been since college.” I gasp. “Shocking, I know.”
We down a few rounds and laugh our asses off at Will and Jared who are trying so damn hard to get laid.
“You wish you could be out there with them?” Damon asks.
“Not in this town.” I grab his hand. “Let’s go find our table.”
When he said we had to be more affectionate, I assumed I was going to have to be conscious of doing it—that I’d need reminding—but it’s been natural and reflexive, just as it would if I were on a date with a woman.
I don’t know what to make of that, but it also doesn’t freak me out like my dream did.
We find our names at the same table as Will and Jared and also a few girls we went to high school with.
“Maddy,” Claire exclaims and jumps out of her chair to hug me.
“Hey, Claire. This is my boyfriend, Damon.”
“Wow. So you really are gay, huh? We all thought it was your way of breaking up with Chastity.”
Damon laughs but recovers by putting his arm around my shoulder and saying, “I thought he was straight when I met him.”
Yeah, so did I.
“You still play football?” she asks.
“Not since high school,” I admit.
“He’s into baseball now,” Damon says. “Thanks to me.”
“You wish,” I say. “You will never convert me.”
“Give it time.”
“Ooh, there’s Chastity and Christopher. I’m gonna go congratulate them,” Claire says.
Damon leans in and whispers, “You know, I’m starting to think your town isn’t as dumb as I thought they were. I’m wondering if everyone knows you’re full of shit.”
“I guess they can’t exactly say ‘you’re lying’ to my face. It’s like one of those pranks where you’re sure you’re being pranked, but you don’t want to call the person on it in case it’s not. Like with the dude with the angel wings yesterday. I was ninety-nine percent sure he wasn’t you, but I still hesitated because what if it was?”
“That wasn’t my idea, by the way.”
“Oh, I know. Your sister is pure evil. It’s why I love her.”
Damon grimaces and changes the subject. “So, you used to play football?”
“I was the punter on my high school team. Nowhere near good enough for Olmstead. Their team’s full of NFL-bound players. I like the sport but was never in love with it or anything. Nothing like you and baseball.”
“Incoming,” Damon says and takes a sip of his drink.
I turn to find my ex approaching.
“Hey, Maddy, so glad you could make it.”
“You look beautiful, Chastity.” I lean in to kiss her cheek. I’m not lying. She’s always been a beautiful girl.
“This is my husband, Christopher,” she says, pulling the guy forward. He’s a balding guy in his late twenties.
I shake his hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Uh, this is Damon. My boyfriend.”
“Ah, this is the boyfriend,” she says. “I thought he was making yo
u up. Couldn’t even tell me your name last week.”
“I was a wee bit drunk,” I say.
“Are you …” Christopher narrows his eyes at Damon. “No, wait, are you … Damon King?”
Damon stiffens.
“Holy shit. I can’t believe Damon ‘The Lion’ King is at my wedding.”
“Lion King?” I ask.
Damon rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize I’d be famous in these parts.”
“I’m a Newport alum,” Christopher says. “I played for the Lions, and then the year after I graduate, in comes freshman Damon King and takes the team on to win the fucking College World Series three years in a row. Almost made it four until—” Christopher’s mouth slams shut. “Oh. Sorry. That last game was brutal.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Damon says, but I think I can hear his molars grinding. “It was a few years ago.”
“Are you okay now? All healed?” Christopher asks.
“All healed. Never playing ball again though.”
I think I see the actual moment Christopher’s heart breaks. I’d find it funny if Damon didn’t look like he was about to vomit.
Chastity’s gaze ping-pongs between me and Damon. “Christopher’s running for mayor. He’s going to be a politician.” I don’t know if she can sense Damon’s discomfort too or if she’s trying to one up me on the whole my new partner is better than yours.
“Local government is a long step from the White House, honey,” Christopher says.
“Chris and Chas, come over here,” a woman calls from the table next to ours.
“Better make the rounds,” Chastity says. “Thank you for coming, Maddy.” She hugs me. “You were an important person in my life for so long, and—”
My throat does that constricting thing again. “You should get to your guests. Congrats again.”
She smiles a classic Chastity smile, and I have to admit a part of me—way, way, way deep down—has missed her, but as soon as she walks off, I sag in relief.
“Chris and Chas? Could they get any more sickeningly cutesy?” Damon says.
I turn to my pretend boyfriend who has obviously been keeping a huge secret from me. “So, Simba—”
“Fuck me,” Damon mumbles.
“You didn’t tell me you were famous.”
“Because I knew you’d call me fucking Simba.”
I laugh. “You must’ve been a big deal for someone who didn’t go to school with you to recognize you.”