by Eden Finley
Damon sighs. “I was a gay ball player with rumors of becoming the number one pick in the draft. It was big news, so I was everywhere for a while. Especially in baseball.”
“I was wondering why you went to Newport instead of Olmstead like Stacy. I mean, Jersey versus New York? No contest.”
“Newport was better for baseball back then. I wanted to get the attention of agents, but you know that saying be careful what you wish for? I didn’t get just agents’ attention. When the media caught wind that I was an openly gay player headed for the big leagues, everything exploded. More media and sporting journalists went to Newport’s games than any other school. I had people recognizing me on the street. I felt like a celebrity.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Right? It was the pressure that made me push through the pain. I never told my coaches my arm was pinching. Then a few weeks after the pain starts, I’m on the mound during the championship game for our conference.” He gulps down a mouthful of rum, and his knuckles turn white holding the glass. “We’re up by one, it’s bottom of the seventh, bases are loaded, and I just need one out. I’d kept them from scoring the whole game. The coach tries to take me out of the game and put a closer in, but I’m determined to finish the inning.” Damon’s voice cracks.
“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard.”
“It’s not that. I just … fuck, I’m still mad at myself for not paying attention to the signs. I threw a fastball, and then bam, I was on the ground trying not to pass out from the pain. The fucker from UMass hit it deep left field, and two of those assholes crossed home plate by the time the ball was back in our catcher’s mitt.”
“Farrrrk,” I say.
“The closer couldn’t turn it around, and we lost the game. There was pain in my shoulder, and I ignored it. The doctors say I probably had a small tear, and I kept playing on it and did more damage. Career suicide.”
“Athletes are taught to play through the pain, though.”
“Exactly. I told myself to suck it up, because I was worried I’d be benched if they found out. And I often wonder if it would’ve been different if I was closeted. If I was the number one draft pick as a straight guy, I doubt the media would’ve jumped on it so hard.”
“Let’s drink more,” I say. “Because that’s depressing.”
“Welcome to my life.”
After we get new drinks, the mood is somber when we get back to the table. Damon’s dream was shattered in mere seconds, but he went and moved on and had made a life becoming a sports agent. Something he loves … probably. It’s a logical step. Ballplayer turned sports agent. My only goal was to get out of this town, and I did that. Now what?
“You know,” Damon says and leans forward. “Your ex isn’t the ball-busting girl I thought she was going to be. I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
“Your aversion to all this and your ex-girlfriend. I’m missing part of the story.”
I hate that this guy who I’ve known for all of twenty-four hours can read me. He stares right into me, leaving me vulnerable but not entirely uncomfortable. Confusion clouds my head again for the sixtieth time in the last twenty-four hours.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Damon asks.
“No one—not even Stacy—has asked me why I am the way I am.”
“So, why are you?”
“You ask me for my deepest and darkest secrets so casually as if it’s not a big deal.”
Damon runs his hand over his jaw, as if he’s trying not to smile. “Unless you’ve killed a guy, been abused, or belong to ISIS, your deepest and darkest secrets can’t be too scary.”
I blow out a loud breath. I don’t talk about this stuff—to anyone. “This town was my home for eighteen years, but I don’t belong here, and I never have. Can’t tell you why because I couldn’t work it out. I lived here, I had fun here, I was a normal kid, but the idea of living here my entire life made me break out in hives. And with Chastity …”
“You would’ve been trapped here.”
“Exactly. My parents are great, but I’ve never been close to them. Or my sister. I look nothing like them, act nothing like them. My whole life has been one big game of one of these things is not like the other.”
“Maybe you were switched at birth,” Damon jokes.
“You’d be surprised how many times I asked myself that growing up, but it’s not just them. Or here, for that matter. I’ve never belonged anywhere. Even in New York. I almost transferred junior year because I was bored out of my brain. Now I’ve graduated and been in my job for a year, it’s like I’m on that never-ending conveyer belt I left here to get away from. I wanted to travel and explore. I’ve done none of that.”
I could keep talking. I could ramble all I want about seeing the world and not being tied down, living a life trying new things, doing new people, but I don’t say those things aloud. I can’t explain why being stuck in the one spot for the rest of my life scares the shit out of me.
“What keeps you in New York?” Damon asks.
That’s easy to answer. “Your sister.”
He screws up his face as if he’s tasting something sour.
“Nah, man, not like that. I had a thing for Stacy freshman year, but after I gave up trying to get her into bed, we became actual friends. I’m glad she stood her ground, because if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have her now. Does that make any sense or is the scotch already affecting my speech?”
Damon’s face remains stoic. “It makes sense.”
“When I told her I wanted to transfer out of OU, she asked me to stay, so I did.”
“Because you couldn’t man up and do what you wanted? I’m starting to sense a theme. Chastity wouldn’t let you go to New York; Stacy won’t let you leave.”
“It’s not like that with Stacy. When she asked me to stay, I realized she’s the closest thing to home I’ve ever had.”
Damon takes a swig of his drink. “Okay, I’m going to ask this once, and whatever you say, I’ll accept as the truth. Are you sure you don’t still have a thing for my sister?”
I burst out laughing. “No way. And if I did, Jared’s done her, so she’s off limits. I’m not into crossing swords either. She’s honestly more of a sister to me than Jacie is.”
Damon leans back in his chair and finally looks satisfied that there is absolutely nothing between me and Stacy. “Okay. Should we dance? You need to make a choice, because I’m fairly certain everyone here knows we aren’t together and that you’re not really gay. You either double down on this lie of yours or come clean. I vote for the latter but will support you if you choose option A.”
“Guess you need to show me your dance moves then.”
Damon shakes his head in disappointment. “’Kay. I’m gonna hit the head and then drag you onto the dance floor.”
While Damon walks away, my eyes gravitate to his ass. The one he was begging me to fuck last night in my dream.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“What’s the story?” Will asks, taking the chair next to me.
“What story?”
“You say this is all fake, but is it?”
“And here Damon thinks we’re not convincing enough.” Yeah, I’m deflecting. “He’s a cool guy. I think we’ll be friends after this.”
“You keep staring at his ass.”
“Jealous? Want me to stare at your ass instead?”
“Well, shit, I’m sorry for being concerned for my friend after you came home freshman year and—”
“This is nothing like that.” Only, it’s a hell of a lot like that.
Will is the one person in the world who knows what happened between me and my roommate freshman year of college, but I wasn’t expecting him to throw it back in my face.
“What ended up happening with that, anyway?”
I crack my neck and breathe deep, because I don’t want to get into it right now. I’m already confused enough as it is.
“Ready?” The rumble of Damon’s voice brings me out of my murderous mood. Will’s a lucky man, then.
I stand. “Ready.”
Damon leads me to the dance floor and pulls me close.
“I’m not gonna be the chick,” I say when we fumble with where to put our hands.
He rolls his eyes and grabs me around my waist, and with his free hand, clasps our hands together out to our side. Damon mumbles something that sounds like “God forbid a straight man do anything that resembles a feminine trait.”
Eyes from everywhere around the room land on us. I don’t need to glance around to know the burning sensation at the back of my head is from the stares of both curious and disgusted spectators. Emmett wasn’t the only person to cut me out when Chastity told everyone I was gay.
“Might wanna look like you’re enjoying this,” Damon says at my frown. “We have an audience.”
“I hate dancing.”
“Of course, you do.”
I’m lying. I don’t mind dancing, but the truth is, I hate dancing right now. I hate that we’re on display and that everyone is passing some form of judgment. They’re wondering why I came home, why I’m at Chastity’s wedding, and some are probably even wondering what I’m doing here with Damon. But what I hate more than that is the fact I like being pressed against him a hell of a lot more than a straight guy should.
My gaze wanders around the room and lands anywhere but on Damon. It’s not the stares that are getting to me—it’s him.
“Aren’t you in marketing?” he taunts. “That’s selling, right? You’re not selling this very well.” He cups my head, forcing my eyes to meet his. I beg him silently to let me out of whatever invisible hold he has on me, because his piercing green eyes make me think about things that I shouldn’t.
Like my dream.
His strong arms and how good his hard body feels against me.
And his lips. Those damn lips I can’t stop looking at.
“It’s a short song,” Damon says. “You only have to pretend to like me for a little longer.”
Pretending certainly isn’t the problem. Pretending I’m not drawn to him is.
My eyes go to his mouth again, but when Damon’s brow drops, he catches me in his confused gaze.
“Maddox—”
I don’t know I’m moving closer until my mouth meets his, and I swallow his gasp. My name on his lips breaks the fraying cord attached to my denial.
And when he kisses me back? I’m completely lost.
CHAPTER SIX
DAMON
His mouth is domineering and forceful. And damn, if it doesn’t send a shock straight to my groin. His tongue forces my lips to part, and a moan gets stuck in the back of my throat. Our bodies continue to sway to the slow Ed Sheeran song as I get lost in a kiss that’s fake.
This whole thing is fake.
I need to keep reminding myself of that, because this feels so good. Fuck, too good. Maddox no doubt can feel my cock growing against his hip. Trying to step back—because awkward—I realize I’m not the only one who’s too into this. The hardness between us definitely isn’t just me.
The exact moment Maddox’s brain catches up with his dick, he pulls away. His eyes widen in shock, but his lips are parted in want. He shakes off his dazed expression. “You were right. Everyone was staring, so I thought I’d give them what they were waiting for.”
I nod and take a step back.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks. “I have absolutely no reason to be here anymore. I’ve filled my obligation.”
Again with a nod. Apparently when he kissed me, he took my ability to talk.
Maddox heads straight for the exit, without so much as a goodbye to the bride. Or his friends. I don’t think he’s aware everyone’s staring at us. My eyes catch Will’s right before I slip out the door, and he’s scowling. Don’t know what that’s about.
“Maddy, wait up,” I say as I try to catch up to him. If anything, his feet move faster.
He gets to his car and pauses. “Shit, I’ll be over the limit. Guess I’m calling a cab.” He refuses to look at me, and nothing I say or do will change that, so I awkwardly stand a few feet away from him with my hands in my pockets and my eyes looking anywhere but Maddox.
“Uber will be here in a few minutes,” Maddox says and throws himself on the curb next to his car.
“Okay.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I take the spot next to him but make sure to keep my distance.
“For kissing you.”
“Part of the charade. Although, I’m not sure the tongue was necessary.” My attempt at a joke falls flat. “Probably didn’t help you ran out of there immediately after.”
“It wasn’t part—” He shakes his head. “Sorry, yeah, you’re right. All part of the charade.”
We sit in silence, and I stare out at the street. What should I do? Say “Hey, it’s okay you were turned on while making out with a guy. Happens all the time. Doesn’t mean anything.” Yeah, I don’t think that’ll work this time. The dream he had about us is one thing. This …
“Sorry,” Maddox says again. “Chastity getting married has messed with my head. Coming back here—”
“You don’t have to explain.” I want him to, but it’s not my business, and I have no idea what to say to comfort or reassure him if that’s what he needs.
“You’re gonna go home and tell Stacy I’m a complete head case, aren’t you?”
“She already knows that. She warned me about it.”
He scoffs. “Figures. Look, the dream, the kiss … it’s—”
The sound of a car horn makes both of us jump. “Car’s here,” I say.
“Of course, it is,” he mutters.
Our poor Uber driver tries to talk and be friendly, but Maddox and I keep giving one-word answers. When we pull up to the house, Maddox jumps out and arrives at his front door before I’ve scrambled out of the car.
Maddox pauses in the doorway. “It’s still early,” he whispers. “My parents are probably awake, so—”
“Need to pretend you’re not being weird. Got it.”
We don’t get two feet in the door before his mom comes in from the kitchen. “You boys are home early.”
“Uh, yeah,” Maddox says, “said our congratulations and then got out of there.”
“Come join us in the back for a bonfire and beers.”
“Coolest parents ever,” I say.
Maddox hesitates. “We’ll just go get changed out of our suits first.”
He heads for the stairs, but his mom whispers, “Damon.” When I turn to her, she’s waggling her finger at me to come closer.
“What’s up?” I ask quietly while simultaneously watching Maddox climb the stairs. He doesn’t look back at us.
“Is he okay? He looks … down. Did something happen? There’s a few in this town who still live in the stone ages. I mean, for a small town, we’re pretty accepting. There’s just a handful of them who aren’t.”
Well, your son kissed me, which you wouldn’t find weird because you think he’s gay, but he’s not. Although, he’s definitely freaking out about kissing me. Okay, so I can’t say that. “There were a few, uh, stares. Nothing major.”
“Did you have a fight?”
Not really. Maybe? I have no idea what’s going on in his head. Apart from freaking out. But maybe he blames me for the kiss. “No.”
I don’t think she believes me.
“Okay, well, make sure you boys join us outside, okay? Don’t let him wallow about whatever’s bothering him in his room. That’s his MO.”
“We’ll be right down.”
When I reach the bedroom, Maddox is rummaging in his suitcase for warm clothes. Even though he stiffens at my presence, he pretends he doesn’t know I’m in here.
Wordlessly, I grab my own bag and pull out sweats and a long-sleeved Henley.
“We don’t need to go down there if you don’t wa
nt to,” Maddox says.
I laugh. “Yeah, we do. Your mother’s spidey senses are tingling, telling her something’s up with us. She told me not to let you stay up here and wallow.”
“How does she do that? She has like a sixth sense or something.”
“To be fair, you’re wigging out.”
“I’m not wigging out. I’m … okay, fine, I’m wigging out. I’m confused as fuck right now.”
“Kissing a guy might do that to a straight dude.”
Maddox bursts out laughing. “I don’t think it’s the kiss. It’s …” His eyes meet mine, and his laughter dies. “We should get down there—before Mom gets impatient.”
When we dress and go downstairs, Maddox’s parents have set out two more folding chairs opposite theirs and brought out extra blankets for us.
Maddox hands me a warm beer and then holds my free hand as we take our seats. I’m confused by the move. He’s freaking out about kissing me, but now his fingers are relaxed and warm, intertwined with mine. He could use the argument that we’re in front of his parents and it’s part of the act, but we haven’t shown much affection in front of them all weekend, so there’s no real need to do it now. Unless he wants to ease his mother’s mind, in which case, makes sense. But—
“You thinking deep thoughts over there?” Maddox asks quietly.
I shake my head and mumble, “Confusing thoughts.”
“Welcome to my world.” His smile is easy and his panic from earlier gone.
I wonder if he’s suffering some sort of PTKD—post-traumatic kissing disorder—and has blocked it out already.
The fire barely does anything to keep us warm in the late February cold, but the blanket draped over us is thick and does the job.
My lungs fill with fresh air and smoke. The sky looks as it should outside of the city. I grew up on Long Island, so I’m not used to seeing so many stars. I went camping upstate once when I was thirteen with my best friend, Eric, and his family. Staring up at the sky, I try to spot the constellation that looks like a dick. I couldn’t see it when I was a kid, and I guess I won’t find it now. Maybe Eric was messing with me. He’s a pro at that.