by Eden Finley
I text Maddox when I leave the office, because I know he went out tonight with my sister. When I walk the few blocks home, I arrive outside my building at the same time a cab pulls up.
“I think this belongs to you,” a slurred, high-pitched voice yells.
I turn to find Maddox stumbling out of the cab. Behind him, both Stacy and Eric’s brother, Julian, are squished up against the window.
“Looks like you guys had fun,” I say.
“Awthsome night. Woulda been betterer if you were there.”
I try not to laugh as I wrap my arm around Maddox’s slumped shoulders and pull him to my side so he stops swaying. “Awthsome and betterer? How drunk are you?”
“About ten and a half drunks.”
“That’s the right amount of drunks,” I say and drag him upstairs to the apartment.
He doesn’t make it to the bedroom. He falls onto the couch and breathes a sigh as if he’s comfortable, even though he’s half hanging off the thing.
“I’ll go get you a glass of water and some Tylenol.”
Maddox bolts upright into a sitting position. “Do I remind you of Eric?”
I freeze in my steps, halfway to the bathroom. “What?”
He waves me off. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
I stalk over to him. “No, what did you mean by that?”
“Hanging out with Julian … he said some things about his brother. Might’ve said I looked … wait, I want to get the wording right.” He speaks low in a mimicking voice. “‘You look a fuck-ton like my brother. Can anyone say Eric’s replacement?’”
Fucking Julian.
“Is this why you’re hammered right now?” I ask.
“Naaah. We were all drunk waaaaay before that. Seriously, wine coolers with cheap chasers is not a good idea. The chasers tasted like lighter fluid. I’m surprised Stacy was still standing in the end.”
“Julian becomes an ass when he’s drunk, so I’m sure he didn’t mean any of it. Or, he was so drunk, he actually thought you looked like Eric—”
“I thought it too, you know. When I first met the asshole. My initial reaction was to wonder why you wouldn’t hook up with me when I was clearly your type.” His speech is no longer slurred—this conversation sobering him right up.
I join him on the couch and push him down, my body blanketing his. “You are not Eric’s replacement in any way. You’re both blond and have blue eyes, but your similarities end there. You might’ve been an asshole to your high school girlfriend, but deep down, you’re kind”—I lean in and kiss his cheek—“thoughtful”—a kiss on his neck this time—“awesome. And nothing like Eric …” I take his mouth with mine, and yup, I totally get the lighter fluid taste in my mouth. “What the hell did you guys drink?”
“Who the fuck knows,” he mumbles.
“Want to go to bed?”
“Fair warning, I’m way too drunk to get it up.”
I burst out laughing. “I meant to sleep.”
“Mm, sounds good.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MADDOX
I sound like an old man as I drag my ass out of the bedroom. The groans that come from my mouth could be confused with a zombie looking for its next feed.
“I’m never going out with Stacy and Julian again,” I grumble.
Damon’s laugh comes from the kitchen, but it echoes in my ear as if on loudspeaker, and I grunt.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“IV drip.”
More laughter. Ugh. As I enter the kitchen, not only is Damon’s laugh deafening, his smile is blinding.
“How is it that I’m twenty-three but pulling hangovers of a forty-year-old?”
“Maybe because you practically drank a swimming pool of alcohol? And don’t even try with that I’m never drinking again crap. We both know you will.”
I nod. Slowly. “Probably.”
“So, uh, do we need to talk about last night?” Damon’s voice is quiet, and for a quick second, I freak out about what I possibly could’ve done that needs discussing, but then it floods back to me.
“Shit. I went all insecure on you, didn’t I? I didn’t mean … I mean, I …” Fuck, I don’t know what to say. I didn’t mean to freak out on him, but I was drunk, and Julian said all that shit about me looking like Eric …
Damon’s arms wrap around me. “Now you’re sober, I want you to hear this again. You’re not Eric. You have to remember that he and I haven’t been close since high school. We were good at keeping up appearances for our families, but that was all. They can say we were inseparable up until the kissing incident all they want, but it’s not true. It hasn’t been the same between Eric and me since I came out to him. Yeah, we were still friends but not how it once was.”
“So, you won’t care if I tell you he called off his wedding?”
Damon steps back. “He what?”
I shrug. “Julian said after that awkward as fuck dinner, his brother called off his wedding, moved back to New Haven, and got a job with one of his Yale buddies. He says Eric’s running away.”
“It’s what Eric does best,” Damon says. “Look, there would’ve been a time where I cared and felt sorry for the guy, but he only ever cared about himself. I don’t want him to suffer, but I don’t want to be involved in his life anymore. In fact, if you reminded me of Eric, it’d be a turn-off because of what he put me through.”
“Are you sure?” I avert my gaze.
“If I didn’t like you for you, do you really think we would’ve survived the last few weeks living together in this shitty apartment?”
This apartment really is shitty. “I cannot wait to have my shower back. And my kitchen.”
Damon purses his lips. “Right.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m more than grateful for you letting me stay here, but I’m ready for my own apartment.”
“Of course.” He steps back and leans against the kitchen bench. “How’s Cheri’s treatment going?”
“She called yesterday and said they’ve finally got her levels to even out. She’s on the perfect cocktail mix of MS and nausea meds. She’ll be out of my apartment by Tuesday. I was going to tell you last night, but clearly I was more focused on other things.”
“Like getting drunk with my sister.” His tone has turned distant. Cold.
“Priorities,” I say dryly, trying to break the sudden freeze he’s directing my way.
Damon folds his arms across his chest. “So, you’re leaving.”
“Uh, yeah, but not until Tuesday. We still have the weekend. Unless …”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Unless what?”
“You tell me. You’ve gone all weird again. You want me to leave earlier? I know I’ve stayed longer than originally said, but—”
Damon’s jaw hardens. “That’s not why … Uh, forget it. We have until Tuesday. We should make the most of it. You know, when you’re less hungover.”
I’m too hungover to try to decipher his shift in demeanor. “What’s going on? Just tell me.”
“I was …” He breathes deep and gets his next words out in a rush. “I was kinda hoping you’d stay.”
I stare blankly at him, wondering if I heard him correctly. “Stay?” I croak, my throat dry and trying to constrict into a tight knot.
“Fuck, I’m freaking you out.” He leads me to his couch and sits me down. “It’s too soon. I get it.”
My mouth has forgotten how to work.
“Maddy, it’s okay. Forget I said anything.”
“It’s not that I don’t like being here. It’s just really soon to be thinking about that step. And it’s … you know … really, really serious.”
“Maddox,” he says slowly. “You don’t need to explain. It’s only been five weeks. I’m getting ahead of myself. I promise you, I’m cool with it.”
His words sound genuine, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from hitting me when disappointment clouds his eyes. I don’t want him to feel rejected, and this has nothing to do
with him. These past weeks staying here have been great. I haven’t felt overwhelmed or crowded or trapped. Having said that, the thought of making it permanent makes this apartment seem extremely small. Did the walls just move closer?
“Wow, okay, you’re really freaking out,” Damon says. “I knew you wouldn’t like the idea, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
His lips quirk. “Want me to take a photo of your face right now? You look like you’re going to faint.”
“It’s the hangover,” I lie.
“I’m not going to force you to move in with me. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”
If we did this now when I’m not ready, it’ll end in disaster. I’ll probably freak out and run away like I did with Chastity.
“And I still have you until Tuesday,” Damon says, leaning in to kiss my neck. His lips trail down. “If you go brush your teeth, I might show you how much I love having you here.”
I scramble off the couch as fast as my tired body will let me and rush to the bathroom, but even after brushing my teeth, I still smell the stench of sweated alcohol. “Just going to jump in the shower real quick.”
I’ve barely stood under the spray for thirty seconds when strong hands wrap around me.
“We can always get started in here.” Damon’s gruff voice has my cock hardening. “I only have two finals left before graduation,” he says in my ear. “You know what that means?”
I shake my head and shudder as tingles shoot down my spine. “Nuh-uh.”
“I’ve got barely any studying to do this weekend.” He reaches around and grips my cock, giving it a firm pull. “I hope you’re ready for a two-day fuck-a-thon.”
“Can’t wait.”
***
On Monday, Damon arrives home earlier than usual. “No naked cooking tonight?” he asks with a smirk.
I jump off his couch. “What are you doing home? I mean … hi. But I mean … I would’ve had dinner cooked already if I knew you’d be home early.”
“It’s our last night. Figured we need to make the most of it.”
I grin. “Pretty sure we made the most of it all weekend. I’m surprised Stacy didn’t pick up on me walking funny all day.”
“She probably did, but acknowledging it would’ve caused images in her head that she’d prefer not to think about. She can barely handle us kissing.”
“True.”
“Anyway, we have cause to celebrate. Thanks to you, after I graduate next week, I’m starting out with one more client than the other noobs.” Damon steps forward and kisses me.
“Who?”
“Matt has officially signed with OTS. I thought he would’ve told you.”
“Nah, haven’t heard from him since he went back to Philly.”
“I’m going to be the main agent on Matt’s case because he requested me, but with his high profile, they’ve got a senior associate on it too. They want to play up the almost-famous gay baseball player representing the infamous gay football player angle.”
“Congrats. That’s awesome.”
“Watch out, Matt and I will be the next couple the tabloids ’ship together. And we already have a celebrity couple name thanks to you. We’ll be the Matt Damon of football.”
“I’ll kick Matt’s ass if he comes near you. He says I have a free pass after what happened in college.”
Damon hums a low moan. “I love it when you’re jealous.”
My eyes roam over him. “I love it when you’re home early.” I pull him toward me.
His stomach rumbles. “Dinner first?”
We did barely eat this weekend. “Want me to cook or—”
“Nope. We’re going out for dinner. Somewhere nice.”
I groan. “Do I have to wear a tie?”
“I can help with that.”
Damon’s already wearing a suit, so when I get dressed, he approaches with a thin black tie of his. He smiles as he slides it around my neck and starts to tie it.
“I’ve heard it’s easier to tie it on yourself and then slip it off loose,” I say.
“I know, but then I wouldn’t be able to touch you—like when I did this at Chastity’s wedding. I was looking for an excuse to get close to you. Your tie wasn’t even crooked … much.”
“But you avoided me after you found out about my dream.”
“You were freaking out. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I almost kissed you then—when you were tying my tie—even though no one was watching. The kiss on the dance floor had nothing to do with putting on a show and everything to do with the fact I wanted to kiss you.”
Damon finishes and tightens the tie around my throat. “I’ve never been so glad that you were an asshole to your high school girlfriend.”
I lean in and do what I wanted to outside that church almost three months ago. My mouth claims his. He cups the back of my head and presses our bodies together.
He didn’t bring up the whole moving in together thing again this weekend, but part of me wonders if the constant sex was his way of trying to convince me living with him would be awesome. And it would be. There’s just something holding me back. Maybe it’s what has always held me back—that inexplicable restlessness I’ve had forever. The thing is, though, when I’m with Damon, I don’t feel restless. I’m content. I’m happy. It’s the happiest I’ve ever been.
Then why am I holding back?
“We should get to dinner,” he murmurs.
I nod. “Yep. Dinner.”
***
With a hug and a promise to keep in touch, Cheri goes back to being my flighty aunt who travels with the circus. Okay, not circus, but psychic fair is still close enough. I’m thankful to have gotten to know her better over the last few weeks, but my parents will always be my parents. I make a mental note to visit them more often. I owe it to them to be more present in their lives. Call more. Visit more. The thought of going back to Clover Vale no longer makes me antsy. Whether it’s because I no longer have to keep up with a stupid lie or I have closure on why I never fit in, I’m not sure. Maybe a bit of both.
I finally have my apartment back, and the first thing I do is use my shower which has hard water pressure and a wide enough head to actually do its job. The shower in Damon’s apartment is the worst … unless he’s in there with me.
Even though I’m used to Damon’s apartment being empty a lot, the silence when I get out of the shower makes me uneasy. I don’t like it. It makes my studio apartment too spacious, and I didn’t think that was possible. For a small space that’s full of furniture, it’s never been this bare.
It’s not until I’m halfway through making my dinner that I realize I’m cooking enough for two people. Habit I’ve picked up over the last few weeks, I guess. Instead of wasting the leftovers, I decide to take the food to Damon’s place. Just because I’m not agreeing to move in with Damon, doesn’t mean I can’t take my boyfriend dinner after his final today. He’ll put in some hours at OTS and will come home late, so he most likely won’t eat.
When I’m finished making dinner, I put it in a microwaveable container and head to SoHo, but Damon’s not in his apartment when I use the key I still have.
Knowing he could be hours, I eat my share and watch TV but end up going to bed when eleven p.m. hits.
“Maddy?”
I startle awake at Damon’s voice.
“Did Cheri have to stay longer?”
With a yawn and a stretch, I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. “Nope. I just … wanted to be here. What time is it?”
Damon doesn’t answer me—his wide smile probably won’t let him talk.
“Time?” I ask again.
“Two.”
My brow furrows. “Why are you home so late?”
He’s never been this late.
“I didn’t want to come home to an empty apartment.”
I reach for him and pull him down on top of me. “I’m still not ready to live together
, but I don’t want you to think I don’t want to be with you.”
“I don’t think that.”
“I only had a few hours at home on my own, and I didn’t like it. I want to stay here even if I’m not living here. I want you to stay at mine too—after you graduate. Getting to Columbia from the East Village is a pain in the ass.”
Damon smirks. “I thought you didn’t compromise.”
“I do when I like the compromise.”
“It’s a really good compromise.” He leans in and kisses me, and it’s the type of kiss that lets me know I won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. His tongue dominates mine, controlling and strong.
I groan. “If you’re going to fuck me, you better hurry up and take your clothes off.”
I’ve never seen anyone move faster, but when he joins me, he takes his time as his mouth moves over me. His hands are gentle, his kisses tender, and I realize it’s more than sex tonight. I’m not here because someone’s in my apartment, and Damon isn’t letting me stay because I have nowhere else to go. It’s just us.
***
Stacy appears over my shoulder when I’m packing up my desk to leave the office for the weekend. “Here are the listings Damon wanted me to look at.” She thrusts a stack of papers in front of my face.
“Listings?”
“Stacy,” Greyson, our boss, barks.
“Shit. Gotta go. I’ve circled the ones I love.”
“What ones you love?”
But she’s gone, already entering our boss’s office, and I’m left staring at apartment listings.
Three grand in Midtown, three and a half thousand in South Central, three thousand two hundred in SoHo, all two-bedrooms, all out of Damon’s price range. Available now, available next month, available in a few weeks.
I try to make sense of it, but I can’t.
I know Damon’s getting a raise with his promotion, but it's not that much, and the only way he'd be able to afford these apartments is if …
He’s looking at apartments for us even though I told him I wasn’t ready?
What. The. Fuck.
Yes, I’ve stayed with him every night this week since Cheri left, but I told him—repeatedly—that it didn’t mean I wanted to move in.
I gave an inch and he took a mile. This is why compromising never works. This is why relationships are total bullshit.