by Eden Finley
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Richard’s right. You are evil.”
“Uh … umm …” Maddox’s confusion almost makes me feel sorry for him. His voice is deeper than I expected. Even through stuttering, it makes a rich, smooth sound.
“Not what you expected?” Richard asks, putting his hand on his hip which he pops out in the most dramatic way possible.
Oh, geez.
“No. I’m just wondering how much Stacy is paying you to get me to make an ass of myself,” Maddox says. He sticks his head out the doorway and glares at Stacy. “Nice try. You’re forgetting I know you too well. Also, if you thought I was dumb enough not to stalk your brother on social media, then I’ve lost all respect for your cunningness. The Stacy I know would’ve posted this guy’s mug on Damon’s profile.” He points to Richard.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re right, Stace. This was fun.”
Maddox’s blue eyes meet mine. With his square jaw, blondish hair, and young Brad Pitt resemblance, this weekend just became a whole lot more awkward. Of course, the straight guy is gorgeous, because the universe likes to watch me suffer.
Fuck, now he’s smiling. “Hey, real Damon. I’m Maddox.”
“’Sup.” ’Sup? Get it together.
Stacy drags me toward his outstretched hand for us to shake.
“Uh, is my job done here?” Richard asks.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Stacy says. “I’ll walk you out. See you on Monday, Maddox. Call you later, Damon.”
I watch my sister retreat, half-wishing she wouldn’t leave me alone with him. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. Not with my track record of falling for straight guys. Well, guy. It was only once, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do that ever again.
“Ready to head out?” Maddox asks. “I rented a car, and we’ve got about three hours on the road if traffic isn’t shit.”
“Yup.” I lift my duffel and the bag with my suit. “All set.”
***
“So, uh, I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Maddox says as soon as we’re out of the city.
The drive so far has consisted of awkward small talk and my brain deciding one-word answers are appropriate.
I nod and stare out my window. I spent four years playing baseball for Newport University, and I never found New Jersey as fascinating as I do now. I didn’t realize how awesome the I-80 could be.
“You think I’m an asshole, huh?” he says.
“Little bit.”
“At least you’re honest.”
I shift in my seat. He really wants to go there? Fine. “It’s because of guys like you that when I tell a girl I don’t date women, they call bullshit.”
“Really? They actually call you on it?”
“I’ve heard ‘But you’re so masculine’ and ‘If you didn’t want to date me, then fine, but you don’t have to lie.’ My favorite would have to be ‘But you’re a sports agent.’ I didn’t realize liking sports was against the rules. There goes any chance of winning Gay Man of the Year.”
“Fuuuuck. Way to make me feel like more of a dick. How did Stacy get you to agree to this?”
“You forgetting your bribe? Be honest, does the hockey guy even exist?”
Maddox’s jaw hardens. “Yes. He does. And for what it’s worth, I don’t like having to go through with this. I swear she’s the only girl I’ve ever pretended to be gay for.”
“Whatever,” I mumble. “I’m purely here for the opportunity to meet a new client.”
“Fair enough.”
“We should get our story straight,” I say.
“I tried to find out as much as I could from the internet, but you have privacy settings stronger than Fort Knox. All I found out was your name, you go to Columbia, you work for OTS, and your Twitter feed is full of baseball stats and not much else.”
“Did you Google me?”
“Uh, no. Just stalked you on Facebook and Twitter.” He should’ve Googled me. It would’ve given him my whole life story. I made sure to erase my former life as an upcoming baseball player from my social media accounts. “Why, what’s there to Google?”
I scoff.
“Damn it, now I’m intrigued. Did you kill a guy?”
“No.” Just my career.
“Is it an embarrassing middle name? A boyfriend should know that, right?”
I give him the side-eye. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into? I mean, we’re going to have to act like partners. You’ll have to hold my hand and touch me like a boyfriend would. Are you going to flinch every time I go near you?”
“Two guys touching doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”
I want to say being okay with seeing gay guys touch is different than being gay, but I don’t. “My middle name is Isaac, after my mother’s father.”
“Damon Isaac King … wait, your initials are—”
I grit my teeth. “I know. You don’t think Stacy has made that joke to our parents ever since I came out? ‘No wonder he likes dick when his initials are DIK.’”
Maddox bites his lip as if he’s trying to hold back.
“You’re allowed to laugh,” I say.
“I’m Maddox Colin O’Shay. Pretty boring. Sorry my name isn’t up to your standards.”
“It’s very Irish.”
“My dad’s name is Colin, and his family is Irish. My grandparents moved to the States when Dad was a teenager. He still has the accent and everything.”
“Noted.”
“What are you studying at Columbia?” Maddox asks.
“I have a degree in sports management from Newport, and I’m about to finish my law degree on top of that.”
“Double degree? That means you’re smart. What made you want to be an agent?”
I clear my throat and stare out my window again. “It was a backup. The original plan was to become a ball player.”
“What held you back?”
“Torn rotator cuff. I was a pitcher.”
“Ouch.”
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, but the loss of baseball is a sore subject—even now, years after my injury. I think it’ll always be hard for me to accept it’s really over. Nothing has ever made me happier than being on the mound. I still have dreams about pitching no-hitters.
The smell of the grass, the bright stadium lights, the game has always been intoxicating. Now I’m like an alcoholic who’s been forced into mandatory rehab, because my addiction is no longer an option for me. But I’m so fucking thirsty for it.
“You need to know anything about me?” Maddox asks.
“Maddox O’Shay. Works at Parsons’ Media, went to Olmstead University, and lies to girls about his sexuality.” I smirk.
“Girl. One girl. And best not bring that up this weekend. Do you have any allergies? Drink coffee? How do you like your eggs? Isn’t this what couples know about each other?”
“No allergies, coffee is essential—and I drink mine black—and if I’m at a restaurant, I’ll order my eggs poached, but if I’m cooking, all I can manage is scrambled.”
“I’m a sunny-side-up type of guy, I need cream and sugar in my coffee, and I’m allergic to morphine and commitment.”
I laugh, and I hate that he’s funny.
“But probably shouldn’t bring up the commitment phobia this weekend either.”
“Smart move,” I say.
“So how did we meet?” he asks.
“Can we tell the truth? My sister introduced us. You went to college with her, you work together, and we all live in the same city. It’s plausible. It’s actually a miracle we haven’t met before. Stacy talks about you nonstop.”
“The brother and the best friend angle. I like it.”
CHAPTER THREE
MADDOX
My boyfriend hates me. Can’t say I blame him.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I met Damon. Other than a Facebook profile picture, I didn’t have much to go on. I don’t even know what color hair he has. In his photo and rig
ht now, he’s wearing a Columbia ballcap. I could see him as a ball player; he has wide shoulders and biceps I’m jealous of.
When we pull up to my parents’ two-story clapboard house and I turn the ignition off, Damon stops me from getting out of the car.
“There’s one more important question we should know,” he says.
“If it’s which one of us bottoms, I’m gonna have to go with you.”
Damon laughs so hard he has to hold onto his stomach. At least that’s better than the scowl he’s been giving me the whole way here. “If someone in your family asks that, I may have to ask them which sexual position they prefer.”
“I dare you to,” I say.
“My question is more important than that. Who’s your team?”
“Uh, as in baseball?”
“Duh.”
“Ummm …”
“You do like baseball, right?” Damon looks at me as if I’m about to slaughter a unicorn.
“I’m more of a football kind of guy.”
He checks his watch. “Three hours and this fake relationship is already over.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “How about I go for whichever team you go for. Let me guess, the Yankees.”
“Hell no. I’m a Mets guy through and through.”
“Good to know. Ready to do this?” I ask.
Damon’s eyes travel to the house, and if I’m not mistaken, his skin pales. “I’ve never met a guy’s parents before.”
“No need to be nervous. My folks are great and totally fine with the gay thing.”
Damon huffs. “Only, you’re not gay.”
“That doesn’t matter. We’ll ‘break up’ in a few months anyway.”
He glares at me. “Or you could tell the truth.”
I frown. “That’s freaky.”
“What is?”
“You look exactly like Stacy when you’re being judge-y. I would know. She judges me a lot.”
He cracks a smile.
“Look, we can sit here and go over the reasons why I should tell my parents the truth, but this weekend isn’t the time to do it. We’ll have dinner with my folks, attend Chastity’s wedding tomorrow, get drunk on free alcohol, crash out, and then head back to the city Sunday morning bright and early.”
Damon gives a single nod. “I can handle that.”
“Come on, boyfriend,” I singsong.
“Are you sure you’re not like a little gay?” he asks in a playful tone. “You’re way too natural at this.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” Although, I’m surprised by how easy the word boyfriend slips out.
His face falls. “Shit, I didn’t mean I’m hitting on you. I—”
“Whoa. It’s cool. I knew you were joking.” I want to make it as comfortable as possible between us. I’ve dragged him into my mess, and now he’s worried I’m gonna flip out at the fact he’s gay or think he’s hitting on me when he’s not. His downcast expression makes me think he doesn’t believe me. I risk reaching for his arm. “Seriously. It’s cool.”
He stares at my hand with a furrowed brow until I pull it away. Okay, got it. No touching the fake boyfriend. Damon glances out the windshield at the house again. “Uh, I think we’ve been spotted.”
I follow his gaze. “That’s my mom. We’ve been parked out here for too long. She probably thinks you’re chickening out.”
“That’s an option?” Damon asks.
“Too late. Here she comes.”
My mother started going grey in her thirties, and instead of dying her long hair, she always said she wants to age gracefully. She’s wearing overalls and rain boots and is the perfect picture of a country bumpkin. All that’s missing is a piece of straw hanging out her mouth.
“Hi, Mom,” I say as we get out of the car.
She approaches and gives me a big bear hug. “My baby.”
“I’m twenty-three. I don’t think you can call me that anymore.”
“You’ll always be my baby.”
“Cute,” Damon quips as he rounds the car. Fuck, he’s good-looking when he smiles. So much so, I’m wondering if my family will call bullshit on our little act. Clearly, if I was with Damon for real, I’d be punching above my weight. “Hi, Mrs. O’Shay. It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand.
“She’s a hugger,” I warn.
As expected, Mom wraps her arms around him. “And call me Alana.”
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“Inside, carving up the turkey.”
I look at Damon. “Did it take us eight months to drive here? I didn’t realize it was Thanksgiving already.”
“Funny boy,” Mom says sarcastically. “You bringing a boyfriend home is a special occasion, so I cooked a turkey. Got a problem with that?”
I throw my hands up in mock defeat. “No problem at all.” Only, it turns my stomach sour. This whole fake being gay thing had never been a problem until now, and I never realized how misled my family’s been.
We’re what I’d call a happy family, but it’s not like we’re close. I barely see my sister, and I’ve met my nephew and niece only a handful of times. I see Mom and Dad on holidays and call maybe once every other month and on birthdays.
Mom often asks if I’m seeing anyone, but I always change the subject. I’d do that if she knew I was straight though too. I haven’t had a real girlfriend since Chastity.
“Coming, Irish?” Damon asks when he gets halfway up the path and realizes I’m not following.
Mom’s already back inside the house.
“Starting with the cutesy nicknames? Dik?”
A grin lights up his face. “Well played.” He takes off his cap and bows.
Ah, so he’s got dark hair. Dark hair and green eyes—probably something I should know about my boyfriend. It’s the complete opposite to his sister’s blonde locks.
I catch up to him and throw my arm around his shoulder. Damon stiffens for a fraction of a second before relaxing into it. Leaning in, I say, “I’m sorry for this. Again.”
“It’s all good.” His voice is gruff.
When we enter the house, Mom calls out, “You can put your things in Jacie’s room.”
“Jacie’s room?” I ask. “I figured Damon could take my room and I’ll take her room. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mom, but we won’t fit on a single bed.”
Mom appears around the corner from the kitchen. “Didn’t we tell you? Last time Jacie visited, we bought a queen for her room and moved the twin beds into your room for the kids. I’m not delusional, Maddy. I know you and your boyfriend sleep together. Take Jacie’s room.”
Well, fuck.
“And then wash up and come down for dinner.”
We march up the stairs, with Damon in front of me, and he pauses at the top. “Which way?”
“Left,” I mumble and avoid eye contact. As soon as we’re in my sister’s room which has been redone into a guest room, I close the door behind us. “I’m so sorry about this. Last time I was home was a while ago.”
“It’s not a big deal to me, but I understand if it’s a problem for you. I don’t know if you realize this, but I’ve shared a bed with a guy a time or two.”
“I’m cool with sharing a bed, but I didn’t mean to put this on you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I stay on my side.”
I cock my head. “That’s not why I’m worried.”
“It’s just, I don’t know a lot of straight guys who’d be okay with this. If you’ve got issues, I’ll take the floor. I get it.”
“If I have issues, then I should be the one to take the floor. But I don’t, so I won’t.”
Damon looks away.
“We should head down to dinner before Mom—”
“Boys!”
“—does that.”
“Okay.”
The dining room is lit by candlelight, and the feast Mom has cooked makes guilt creep down my neck. Maybe I should make the effort to come home more.
“Da, this is Damon,�
�� I say.
Damon towers over Dad who’s only five-ten. I have no idea where I get my height or blond hair from. I look nothing like any of my family who are all dark-haired and short.
“Nice to meet you, son,” Dad says in his Irish brogue and shakes Damon’s hand.
The term of endearment toward Damon eases my mind a bit. I don’t want anything to make Damon’s weekend any harder than it needs to be, and I know we’ll get some type of bigoted comments at this wedding tomorrow.
It’s funny, the day I told Chastity I was gay was the same day my parents “found out.” Chastity wasted no time playing the martyr and victim over being used as a beard for three years. My parents knew it had ended an hour after it happened. That’s Clover Vale connectivity for you. Screw social media; it’s got nothing on small towns.
By the time I’d gone home, Mom and Dad were in the living room waiting for me.
“Is there something you need to tell us?” Mom asked quietly. Her tone held sympathy, and I figured she knew Chastity and I broke up.
“Nah. Nothing to talk about,” I said. “We’re going in different directions.”
Dad snorted in amusement. “Or the same direction, really. You know, toward guys.”
“Wait, what?”
Mom’s eyes watered as she stood and approached me. “You were brave today, honey. I wish you had come to us first, but we want you to know we love you just the way you are.”
“What?” I was confused, because I didn’t think Chastity would’ve outed me to the whole town. I would’ve been pissed had I not been lying about being gay. I guess it was karma’s way of getting me back.
Then Dad told me he was proud of me. He hadn’t said that when I got into college.
I wanted to tell my parents the truth—that all the other ways I tried breaking up with Chastity didn’t work—but I never did. Obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here with a fake boyfriend.
Damon elbows me, and I snap out of my trance. “What? Sorry, I spaced.”
“How did you meet Damon?” Mom asks.
“I’ve probably mentioned Stacy before. He’s her brother.”
“We first met at their graduation ceremony last year but recently ran into each other again,” Damon says.
Ooh, that’s a good cover.