by Renae Kaye
“I’m already googling too much stuff around you as it is.” He turned to Justin. “Have you ever heard of ‘Porphyria’s Lover’?” When Justin shook his head, Callum said, “That’s what I thought. I’d never heard of it either. It’s serious shit, man. He kills her because he doesn’t want to think that maybe one day she might have another lover. And this is the shit they teach to fifteen-year-olds. Ed was telling me the other night about some of the essays he gets about that poem. Murdering your girlfriend. This new generation doesn’t need any more ideas like that. No wonder this life is fucked.”
The subject of the wedding came up again that night, but I shut it down firmly, saying I wasn’t going to go, so they could stop talking about it. Later, alone in the black-and-white room, Callum kissed me softly and gently stroked my chest, circling my nipples and causing all sorts of good feelings in me.
“I do want you to come to the wedding,” Callum whispered, “but it’s too hard.”
“I know,” I assured him, slipping my hands down his waist, over his hips, and gripping the backs of his thighs. He was a seriously good lover. He never failed to leave me feeling good about myself.
He kissed his way down my neck to my chest and gave me a tiny bite. “I want you to know that I’m glad I brought you over to Justin’s that day after the hospital. It’s been so much better with you around.”
“It’s been good to be around.” I gasped as he went lower. Oh, sweet Goddess Kylie. He was going south.
“And I love sitting around, arguing with Rhys about an umpiring decision—” He licked wetly at the curve of my hipbone. “—and playing basketball knowing you’re watching—” He nibbled at the crease of my hip. “—and getting drunk—” He scraped his teeth along the inside of my thigh and I gasped. “—and hanging out with the boys, knowing the whole time I’m going to end up on some surface making out with you—” He sucked lightly on the skin of my ball sack and I had to resist the urge to hurry him up. “—and driving you wild.” He licked along the length of my cock. “I think driving you wild is the most fun.”
“You do an—” I had to stop and swallow before I could continue. “—excellent job of driving me wild.”
Callum loved me with a thoroughness that was primitive. Nothing between us was not shared. He appeared to rejoice in every part of my body—even the parts I didn’t like. The night I had kissed the pit of his arm and told him I thought that part was so sexy and I wished for more muscle and less hair on that region of me, he had tackled me to the bed and laid me out flat while he’d kissed and licked that entire area and told me I was sexy. When I had whispered one night that I loved fucking him doggie style because he had a gorgeous arse and that I really should exercise more to get my arse into shape, he’d spent ages worshipping that part of my body and then insisted on topping the next three times so that he could watch my arse in action.
I kissed every part of his body, telling him silently that I loved him. There were moments I would think it was real—that we were in love and this was forever. But then we’d open that bedroom door and it would be back to no intimate touching. If I slept over at his house, he’d kiss me before I left in the morning, but if he slept over at mine, where Tammy or Todd may see him, there was just a wave or perhaps a manly slap on the shoulder. At Justin’s we would usually sleep in for a while, taking advantage of the Sunday morning. If I was lucky, Callum would give me an early morning sleepy hand job. If I was super lucky, I would wiggle under the covers and discover his morning erection with my mouth.
Everything was going so well—I thought that maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he’d rethought the “just friends” tag. Maybe he’d take a chance on me.
But no. I wasn’t going to the wedding as Callum’s boyfriend. I wasn’t going to the wedding at all. Just when I thought I was in with a chance, that Callum would reconsider, he got all squeamish.
He brought me to climax, then crawled up my body and kissed me, allowing me to taste myself. “The boys will feel funny about it if I bring you as a date.”
I hated to contradict the man who’d recently given me a great blow job. “It was the boys who suggested it in the first place.”
“They’ll act different around us.”
“I think you should give them a chance to prove themselves,” I whispered in the darkness.
“I just—” He broke off, panting slightly above me. I could feel his erection digging into my thigh. It was his turn next, but I didn’t move. I wanted him to finish his sentence. “I just want it to stay the same,” he confessed. His eyes bored into mine, seemingly begging me to believe him. “I don’t want to lose their friendship.”
I gently placed my hands on his chest. Not that it was any hardship to do that. “You won’t, Callum. They’ll always be your friends. I think they’ve grown a lot in the past two months of knowing me. I challenged their perception of gay men. They’ve lost a lot of their inhibitions. I really think you should give them a chance. I spoke to Justin tonight about the Pride parade in Northbridge next month.”
I was stretching the truth there—but he wouldn’t know.
“Would you like to go with me to the parade?” I asked tentatively.
“As your boyfriend?” he asked in alarm.
My heart sank and I battled on bravely. “No. As someone who is proud to be gay. I’ll be going to show my support for my fellow LGBT people. I was going to ask the boys to come along and show their support for me. And you.”
He hesitated so long I thought it was going to be a no. But in the end he nodded. “Okay.”
I grinned in exultation and pushed him to the side. He lay back on the bed and placed his hands beneath his head, his erection waving proudly. I eagerly pounced on it and forgot all about the wedding.
~~~~~~~~
Chapter Eleven
What do you do when the man you love drunk-texts you from the wedding you weren’t invited to?
Take screenshots.
It started innocently enough. The wedding was to start at two o’clock, so I had just made my lunch and was sitting down to consume it.
Fuck. The bride’s late. I’m bored shitless. Brendan’s winking at this girl thinking he might get lucky later tonight. Rhys forgot to pee and wants to know if anyone will notice if he goes in the garden nearby. Jimbo’s an odd shade of green. Justin’s taking bets on whether the bride is even going to show.
I sent him back a picture of my plate and my bacon and egg sandwich. His reply didn’t surprise me.
Bastard.
I took a huge bite of my sandwich and then sent him a photo of my meal with the missing mouthful I was enjoying. Then I texted, A villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal.
I didn’t get an immediate reply, so I assumed the bride did indeed arrive. I went back to the book I was reading. An hour later I got another text.
Shakespeare again. Right?
I adored him and his use of Google. My fingers flew over the keys.
A+ and an invitation to be the teacher’s pet.
Another hour and then I got: Shit. We have to drink either wine or lemonade to toast the bride and groom arriving. We’re all wondering how bad this is going to be.
Another ten minutes and he sent me a photograph of a wine bottle sitting in a silver ice bucket. Then I regularly got updates without my input.
The emcee is rather cute. He’s an actor apparently. Had some sort of role on Neighbours or Home and Away. There’s an argument on the next table as to which soapie it was.
The emcee IS cute. But boring. It would liven up the party if he took his shirt off. We’re on a table with Nate and Anthony and their girlfriends.
The emcee just referred to his acting career for the third time. We need alcohol to make this situation better.
The bride’s parents apparently sprung for boutique beers. I’m on number 3. If this was a movie, the ominous music would be starting.
I settled in for the ride. If he was on number three beer, it was go
ing to be fun. I opened a packet of chips and turned on a movie I’d seen.
Rhys accepted a glass of red wine, then decided he didn’t like it, so poured it in the ice bucket. Our champagne bottle ready for the toasts is floating in blood.
Jimbo is talking about his car. At his wedding. I never knew he once drove a Subaru. The stuff you learn, huh?
The best man’s speech is too long. He just said “teached me.”
The bride is making a speech. She’s talking about Vancouver. I’m in hell.
We’re all so bored with these speeches we all have our phones out. Brendan just messaged me from across the table. I think Rhys is watching footy.
George the waiter is my new best friend. He keeps bringing us new beers. I think my nose is numb.
I think my lips are numb too.
OMG. Champagne is effing awesome. We’re fighting over who is going to finish the bottle.
Why won’t these fucking speeches end?!!!!!
Where is George?
I interrupted the commentary at that one with, Is George cute?
George is about sixty and nicely married from the look of his ring. Although he gets cuter with every bottle he brings me.
George came.
I spluttered and quickly typed. He did? Lucky him.
Stop ducking with me.
Ducking!
Shit. Damn autocorrect.
Finally. FOOD!
I blinked. They were only now serving the food? The place was in trouble. If the speeches had been that long and boring, and the service had been that good, then they probably had a room full of drunk people.
This is the best effingg steak I've ever had
Wagyu mug on
Mignon
I hate drunk texting.
And I can’t type because of really good champagne.
Communication could become an issue.
Wish you were here.
This was followed by several photographs: Justin putting a forkful of food in his mouth; Brendan drinking; a crooked one of Nate and his wife; a blurry one of what I presumed was the bridal table from across the room. I opened my second packet of chips. Tammy joined me to watch the end of the movie, so I only snuck looks at my phone when it buzzed.
Cake.
Champagne.
Shit music.
Beer.
George.
We were down to single- and double-worded texts. I messaged back to remind him to drink some water, which he assured me he was. There was a bit of a break and I wondered if that would be the end of the texts from him. But no.
I think I drank more $$$ of beer tonight than I have in my whole life.
He’d obviously sobered up a bit. The food probably helped. I messaged back, Hey—if they're gonna give you free alcohol and boring speeches…
I waited for the reply.
George is my new best friend. We don't talk that much. Our friendship is based on supporting me in my time of need.
Another five minutes went by. My movie finished. Tammy said goodnight and went to bed—probably to have sex with her boyfriend, lucky her. I flicked through the offerings on TV and settled on some movie with Bruce Willis in it.
The bride just tripped and spilled red wine down her dress. She’s gone to the toilets with about 20 other women. Why do women need to do that?
They’re playing Kylie. Where are you when we need you?
I raised my brows at that. I was at home, completely sober and missing the heck out of him. All because he was blind. I munched on more chips.
I should asked you here. This was quickly followed by the correction. I should HAVE asked you to come with me here.
I stared at my phone. My stomach didn’t feel settled. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to have this conversation via text while Callum was drunk. But it was late at night and my logic was in bed. My fingers typed despite my reservations. Why didn’t you?
I waited while the three little dots on my screen told me he was responding.
Because. Because I didn’t know until this moment.
I waited for the correction, or another message. It didn’t come. I stood up, paced the room, and tried to work out what he meant. Interpreting drunk texts was harder than illiterate English essays. Finally I messaged back, Didn’t know what?
I watched the screen as the phone told me the message had been delivered and then the three dots came again.
How much it mattered.
I was a hair trigger from jumping in my car, tracking him down, and throttling the answer out of him. But he was drunk and it was late. I held on to my temper, my schoolteacher training doing me a favour.
I don’t understand, Callum. What matters?
I’ve heard a lot of people talk about what was the longest wait of their life. Some say it was the wait while the jury went out to decide. Others talk about the thirty seconds until they heard their baby’s first cry. For me it was the two minutes while a drunk Callum composed his response.
I didn’t realise how much you matter. How much you matter to me. How much more you matter to me than the boys. I look at Jimbo and Nikki starting their life together and vowing to do their best to stick at it. Better and worst. I want that. I want that person in my life. Not just the boys on Saturday. I want someone for me. Someone who loves the gay side of me as well as the other bits. And I’m thinking you do. And I’m thinking I do too. To you. The better or worst.
I reread the text, then responded.
*worse
As soon as I pressed Send, I reread the text again. Fuck. Holy Kylie. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? I read it a fourth time. I came to the conclusion that Drunk Callum was trying to tell me he loved me. I wondered what Sober Callum would think of Drunk Callum’s declaration. I wondered if Desperate Ed would take advantage of Drunk Callum’s declaration.
I reread the text again and then realised I’d responded to his maybe-hopefully-could-be declaration with a grammar correction.
Fuck.
Desperate Ed was also Dumb Ed.
I typed so fast I had to go back and correct several of my spelling mistakes.
Callum? You matter a lot to me. As much as better and worse. I do love the gay side of you. I love all of you. And you tell me when, and we’ll better and worse each other.
I pressed Send and then reread my message before slapping my forehead with my palm. “We’ll better and worse each other”? They were going to take my teaching license off me.
It was torture waiting for the reply. I paced the room. I considered waking Tammy up. I considered getting in my car and driving to Callum’s. I considered a cold shower.
Nothing happened. I sent a text with a question mark. Still nothing.
Double fuck. I had scared him off. I slumped down on the lounge and hung my head. Why did things never go well for me? I should’ve kept my stupid mouth shut. Scratch that—I should’ve kept my fingers silent. They were the dumb ones.
I stared at my fingers and wondered how hard life would be if I chopped them off. Not that I had an axe. Where was the headless axeman when you needed to borrow his axe?
I almost jumped out of my skin when there was a knock on the door. I looked around in confusion. It was after midnight. Was there someone knocking at our door? With trepidation I approached the door and turned the outside light on. I waited a moment before looking through the peephole. Too many people had been killed in movies after the evil guy put a gun to the peephole and pulled the trigger.
When no shot rang out, I took a quick look and was startled to see Justin. I hurriedly opened the door.
“Justin?”
“Thank the fuck. We have the right house. I wasn’t sure. Callum said it was, but….”
I stared at him in confusion. Shouldn’t he be at the wedding? He was dressed in somewhat rumpled semiformal clothes. It appeared he had been at the wedding. Why wasn’t he still at the wedding, getting stinking drunk?
“What are you doing here?” I asked in mystification.
“Delivery!” he cried in such a jolly manner I rapidly revised my assessment of his sobriety. I looked out into the cold night and saw an unfamiliar people mover parked in my driveway, the engine still running and the lights on, creating a glare I couldn’t see past. I took two steps outside and could see Brendan and Rhys through the open sliding door of the car. Brendan looked to be sleeping, his head leaning against the window of the middle row of seats. Rhys was half in and half out of the car. Unfortunately, it was his bottom half that was in the car and his top half resting on the driveway.
And there, spreadeagled on my front lawn, was Callum.
I looked at Justin in shock. He gave me a loopy grin. “He wanted you. Wouldn’t shut up ’bout it. So we’re d’liverin’ him to you.”
Wow. Goddess Kylie surely supplied. I prayed for Callum and she gave him to me. Probably not in the best shape, but I had to admit I hadn’t specified that in my prayer. I hurried over to him and saw he was contemplating the stars with a dazed look on his face. In one hand he clutched his phone. I sighed and turned back to Justin, who was trying to pick up Rhys from the ground without success. I winced as Rhys’s head hit the concrete after Justin lost his grip. The Uber driver looked bored.
When in trouble, do the most urgent job first. I rushed to Justin’s side and managed to stop him from concussing his brother.
“I’ve got you, Rhys. In you go. Here’s your seat belt. Justin? Are you sitting in the front? Oh. Hey, Anthony. I didn’t notice you in the back there.”
One of the fellow basketballers was in the back of the van, his girlfriend sleeping against him, her skirt hiked a little too far for modesty. I quickly averted my eyes and turned my attention to shutting the door and speaking with the driver. He seemed very chill.
“You pay, I’ll drive,” he said with a grin after I gave him a sympathetic look. “You throw up in my car, you pay extra. Lots of extra. One passenger delivered safely. Only five to go.”