by L. A. Witt
Adam laughed. “I think we should just accept that dog hair is an accessory, especially when we’re both wearing black.”
I glanced at him, and I had to grin. Even if we’d both been tearing our hair out trying to keep the fur off our clothes, it was worth all the effort to see him in that tailored black tux again. We might have to start storing both our tuxes someplace else, though. I swore Lola’s fur could find its way into a sealed room inside Fort Knox.
But Adam really didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I had a feeling that as soon as we got home, he’d be hugging her and petting her, and our dry cleaner would have our heads. Again.
Tugging at his bowtie, he turned to me. “Is this on straight? It doesn’t feel straight.”
I scrutinized it, then adjusted it slightly. “There. You’re good to go.”
“Thank you.” He flashed a quick smile and kissed me. “You ready for this?”
“As ready as I ever am.”
A year ago, that answer would have earned me a worried grimace. Tonight, just a reassuring smile and a pat to my knee.
Events like this still made me nervous, but not like they had in the beginning. Like everything in our world and our relationship, it had taken time, but I’d gotten used to it. Adam’s busy schedule had also taken some getting used to, but I’d managed. It was a lot easier now that we were living together; Lola and I had moved in with Adam a year ago. She loved the house and the yard. She especially loved when one or both of us took her down into the canyon for a hike, or when Adam went for his morning run and took her along. We’d all become regulars at several dog parks, and she’d settled in right away to the doggy daycare she went to a few times a week. Even when Adam was home, he sometimes took her to daycare just to let her play with other dogs.
When he was away on a promo tour or staying in the city during a particularly grueling stretch of filming, I missed him—I was pretty sure she did too—but we did all right. It helped that my family was close by, so if I wasn’t seeing much of him, I could spend time with them. I still missed Adam, but their company staved off the loneliness. And as a bonus, my mom was happy to see her grandpuppy more often.
I’d found a job similar to the one I’d been doing in Everett. In theory, I didn’t need to keep working, but I liked what I did, and I really didn’t like the idea of being financially dependent on Adam. Plus, it kept me from getting stir crazy, especially when Adam was out of town.
Yeah, it had all been an adjustment—events like this and all—but I was happy. With my job. With where we lived. With the man I loved. We had our ups and downs and stupid arguments like every couple, but there wasn’t a thing I would have changed.
The car rolled forward a few feet, and I watched the mob of photographers come into view. My usual nerves coiled in my stomach, but I knew from experience I’d be all right once I was out of the car.
“Okay, we’re up.” Adam squeezed my hand. “You ready?” He was smiling, but there was genuine concern etched into his brow. Even after we’d done this several times, he never failed to check and double check that I was ready for the onslaught of attention.
Was I ready to step out in front of the press with the most gorgeous man on the planet?
Yes.
Yes, I absolutely was.
I patted his arm. “I’m good. Let’s do this.”
We exchanged smiles. A moment later, the car door opened, and as always, he got out first. Then he offered his hand, and I took it and stepped out into the blazing hot sun.
The cameras started snapping. The reporters started calling out to us. My instinctive flinch, not to mention the impulse to duck back into the car, wasn’t so strong now. In fact, every time we did this, it got a little easier. The lenses and flashes were intimidating as hell, but they were getting more and more like a neighbor’s aggressive dog behind a fence—not something I wanted to get too close to, but not something that was actually going to hurt me.
Hand in hand, we started down the red carpet, pausing here and there to smile for the cameras. This really wasn’t so bad. I’d taken a lot longer to get used to the actual paparazzi than this. On the red carpet, the attention was expected, and the reporters were pretty well corralled.
Out in the wild, they could be more aggressive, not to mention catching us by surprise on the way out of a restaurant, leaning out the window of a car, or shoving a camera in my face when I was walking out of the clinic. Thank God they’d mostly lost interest in us. There’d been other celebrity gossip that had pulled their focus away from the boring gay couple who never did anything newsworthy except be a gay couple.
Even at events like this, we didn’t turn many heads anymore. He got a lot of attention tonight because he was the star of the film, and they always snapped plenty of photos of us because we were on the red carpet, but people expected us now. Hell, the one time we’d actually made gossip headlines in the last several months had been when he’d come to an awards show by himself. That hadn’t gotten much traction, though—all it took was a glance at our social media, and the “trouble in paradise” rumors were debunked by my puffy-eyed pathetic I’m dying of the flu selfie captioned with good luck, baby, wish I could be there. Take that, gossips.
People still had opinions about us, and nasty comments, tweets, and emails sometimes made it to me, but I did my best to ignore them. If one started getting under my skin, it didn’t take much anymore to make myself feel better. All I had to do was take one look at the man I loved, and I’d remember that some stranger’s opinion really didn’t hold a candle to the reality of spending every night beside Adam.
Adam gave me a gentle nudge, bringing me out of my thoughts and back to the present. The photographers had finished snapping their requisite photos, so we moved on to make room for the next couple.
We cleared the end of the red carpet, and a reporter immediately called out to Adam for an interview.
Adam looked up at me. “You want to keep moving? Or should we?”
“It’s up to you.”
“But are you okay with it? Getting that close?”
I wrapped my arm around his waist. “I’m good. Come on, let’s go meet your adoring public.”
He chuckled, and we approached the reporter leaning over the barrier. This was a pretty normal part of nights like this, but I did appreciate Adam making sure—without fail—that I was okay.
We stopped so he could answer a few questions. They were pretty benign, mostly about the movie and how he liked working with his costars. Not surprisingly, the reporter’s attention didn’t last long. There was another couple coming up behind us, and everyone suddenly seemed interested in the actress. After just a few routine questions for Adam, the guy started trying to flag her down instead.
Fine by me. I didn’t really mind the reporters anymore, but the sooner they stopped hammering him with questions, the sooner we could sit down and relax.
It took a while to get through the gauntlet of reporters. I was pleased that they weren’t asking obnoxious questions about us anymore, and more and more, I was doing okay when they talked to me. They’d usually ask what I thought of the movie, and if I was proud of Adam (ya think, guys?), and maybe mix it up with something like “Does Adam stay in character even when he comes home?” (depended on the character) or “What’s your favorite movie of his?” (still Haystack, though Shots Fired was a close second). Once in a while, it was obvious that a reporter wasn’t comfortable interviewing a gay couple who were being openly affectionate, but if the straight couples could hold hands or have arms around each other, then we could too.
For the most part, it wasn’t so bad, especially the more we did this. Still, I was always relieved when we finally made it past the press and into the theater.
As he always did, Adam nudged me out of the flow of traffic, stopped, and turned to me. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, smoothing his lapel. “I’m good. You?”
“I’m good.” Then he pushed himself up on his toes
for a quick kiss, and we continued toward the auditorium.
As we sat down, we put up the armrest between us, and we assumed our usual movie-watching position—my arm around his shoulder while he leaned against me. The only thing missing was Lola, who usually had her head perched on his leg or mine, depending on which end of the couch we were sitting. We’d stay in tomorrow night, and she could watch another movie with us. For tonight, she was at my parents’ house, no doubt being spoiled rotten and completely ignoring the no animals on the furniture rule that apparently didn’t apply to grandpets.
I smiled to myself and kissed Adam’s forehead. He snuggled closer against me, probably not caring any more than I did if people saw us. Let them see us.
As people settled in all around us, I caught myself thinking ahead to another premiere that was coming up in a few weeks. It was a routine we’d done many times before, but at that premiere, one tiny thing would be different.
We’d leave Lola at my parents’ house again.
We’d put on our tuxes again.
We’d step out of a limo onto a red carpet again.
And then we’d see how long it took for the press to notice our matching gold bands.
About the Author
L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut…
Website: www.gallagherwitt.com
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @GallagherWitt
