Lie With Me (Stonewall Investigations Miami Book 2)

by Max Walker

  “And you did,” I said, smiling.

  “For the most part, yeah, I think I did.”

  “Most part? Look at you—you’ve got a stable job helping people on the daily, a great home, a nice car. You’ve got the American dream all in the palm of your hand.”

  Beckham looked at me, a curious expression in those green-and-gold eyes. “Is that really the dream, though? I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m still missing something.”

  Ah, a crack in his defenses.

  “Well, if you want the full American dream, then you’ve got to have your white picket fence with your two identical, but also boy and girl, twins. With your smiley wife cooking pancakes while you wash your dick off from the woman you were sleeping with the night before, all while Wheel of Fortune constantly plays in the background. That’s the American dream.”

  Beckham’s curious expression shifted, smile lines drawing around the corners of his eyes as he broke into laughter.

  “Talk to a few Londoners and it’s the same dream over there, too. Minus the Wheel of Fortune part.”

  We started to walk again, leaving the metallic dolphin behind and moving toward a big crowd of people. Everyone seemed to be focused on whatever art installation they were crowding around. Heads were craned downward, and people were snapping with all sorts of cameras. I tried peeking over a few heads and shoulders but couldn’t make out what they were looking at.

  “Let’s just keep going,” I said, seeing the exit to the main street just ahead. I glanced at my watch. Reservations for dinner were still an hour away, so we were good on time.

  “Bollocks. You want to see, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but there’s so many— Wait, what are you doing?”

  Beckham crouched in front of me. This was taking a sudden (and very sexy) turn.

  “Hop on my shoulders.”

  “Oh no. No, that’s okay. I don’t need to see it that—oh, okay. You’re—all right—oh!”

  I didn’t have to jump on Beckham’s shoulders. He turned on his heels and backed up. I didn’t have more time to protest. My legs were on Beckham’s shoulders, and I was rising up like Queen Nefertiti herself.

  And then I could see past the shoulders and the heads. Giggles rose up through me like I was a kid again. I grabbed onto Beckham’s head for balance and spotted what everyone was gawking at.

  “It’s a rainbow pool,” I reported down to Beckham. I noticed a few people were throwing curious glances at us. I did sometimes enjoy being the center of attention, not gonna lie, and right now, with Beckham’s head between my legs, I didn’t really mind the looks.

  Except something about it was starting to make me feel a little uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if this was the kind of spotlight I liked.

  “Let’s get closer,” he said. “Hold on up there.”

  “Oh no, no, that’s—and you’re moving. Okay, yup. Excuse us! Sorry!” I was on the verge of cracking up, but I didn’t want to in case I ended up falling off Beckham’s shoulders. The crowd parted for the two grown babies. Instead of taking pictures of the rainbow pool, some people were now snapping shots of us. They were mostly smiling and laughing, so I didn’t think we were pissing off too many people.

  “Oh wow,” Beckham said from between my legs as we got close enough for him to see the rainbow pool.

  It appeared as if someone had picked up a small pond and implanted it right into the Miami street. There were tall reeds and a few lily pads floating around, but the real magic of it were the beautiful colors that swirled around the water, all of them somehow separate and bold and bright. It felt as if a rainbow was directly above us and being reflected by the water’s surface.

  It was beautiful and looked like a surreal painting.

  I was also getting sore from sitting on Beckham’s shoulders.

  “Okay, you can put me down now,” I told my handsome stead.

  He was bending his knees to let me off when a lady with big hair and a bigger voice yelled out loud, “Oh my goodness! I need a picture of you two. That’s so artsy-fartsy, hold on, hold on.” That’s when I felt even more eyes on us. People were definitely looking at us. For a split second, I wondered if they were looking at us because of our obvious age difference. Did they think we were even together? Were people being judgmental? Not only was there an age gap, but we were two guys, and although Miami was a friendly city toward her LGTBQ residents, it didn’t mean there weren’t a few who would do us harm.

  I knew that firsthand.

  A flush swam to my cheeks, warming everything from my chest to my head. I could feel my breathing start to become more and more shallow, like oxygen was somehow getting harder to find.

  But the woman with the big hair seemed happy, like she loved what she saw. And the others were smiling, too. No one looked angry or upset.

  Part of me was angry I even cared. But I did, and I wasn’t going to change that right now. Instead, I focused on pushing away my anxiety.

  I put my hands on Beckham’s head to steady myself as he went back up. The big-haired woman brought out a disposable camera and held it up, aiming it toward me and Beckham. Her daughter looked morbidly embarrassed at her side, holding a hand up to her mouth and looking down at the ground, no doubt asking for it to swallow this entire scene whole.

  “Okay, perfect, you two are so photogenic, hold on.”

  “But, but—”

  I didn’t want to tell her she wasn’t even getting a picture of the rainbow water behind us.

  “You’re okay down there?” I asked. Beckham nodded. I could feel his laughter vibrate through his chest, up my legs.

  “I can hold you up there all day.”

  And night?

  “Oh darn it, this doesn’t have film! Ugh, Candice, grab my other camera. Quick, quick.”

  “Mom! What are you even doing right now?” Candice protested as she rummaged through the bright blue backpack on her mom’s back.

  “Look at them! They perfectly line up with that wall art back there.”

  Ohhh, so it wasn’t about the lake.

  The daughter peeked over and seemed to have realized what her mom saw. I noticed a few other people in the crowd were snapping some secret pics, no one as loud as my friend with the hair that had a direct line to Jesus.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Smile!” was my answer. I flashed my most photogenic grin from the top of Beckham’s shoulders.

  With the photo snapped, I finally thought my feet would touch the concrete. Who would have guessed this rainbow pool fiasco was going to end up in my missing the ground?

  “Okay, you can put me down.”

  “Oh shoot! It didn’t save.”

  “Mom, we’ve seriously got to go. Like right now. Thank you both—let’s go.”

  “Oh, Candice, they’ll want the photo.”

  Candice, the problem solver and angsty teen that she seemed to be, whipped out her phone in record speed and took a sequence of photos, the loud shutter of the camera filling the air as if a paparazzo had joined the crowd.

  “Well, I mean, Candice, if you could have done that from the start of this trip instead of using the phone I bought you to feed your social media addiction, then maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with this piece of absolute baboon shit.” She lifted the camera in the air.

  It was then that things got even crazier.

  Her fingers weren’t as big as her personality or her hair. The camera slipped out of her grasp and went twirling through the air—straight toward Beckham’s face. His beautiful, sculpted by the gods, incredibly handsome face. One I wasn’t going to let be harmed by anything, much less a crazy lady’s projectile Kodak.

  I moved my hands from his head to his face, covering his eyes.

  That… well, it only made things worse. Beckham couldn’t see; he had been scared, and he was holding a one-hundred-and-forty-something-pound guy on the top of his shoulders.

  His balance was nowhere to be found. Like me at a Tom Petty concer
t.

  Gone.

  Vanished.

  Poof.

  He stumbled backward. I leaned forward. We still didn’t balance out. His arms shot out. Candice and her mom, bless their cute little hearts, tried to reach for his hands and stop the couple hundred pounds’ worth of body from falling back.

  Obviously, they didn’t do much. We went falling backward.

  You know that moment on the swing, when you’re going way too high and your stomach feels like it’s about to squeeze out of your peehole? If you don’t, then maybe you never swung high enough. I, on the other hand, loved swinging like a Cirque du Soleil trainee, making both my parents and everyone else on the playground incredibly nervous.

  I liked swinging in a playground. That was controlled.

  This wasn’t.

  Fear grabbed me by the throat as I fell through the air. I’d forgotten all about the rainbow pool and was shocked when my back didn’t hit cold hard concrete.

  Instead, the both of us broke through the previously serene water, causing a splash of technicolor and drawing gasps from the gathered people. The pool just deep enough to cushion the fall without either of us getting seriously hurt.

  Someone started clapping. I looked to Beckham, who had paint dripping down his face. We were sitting in chest deep rainbow water. I wiped some of it off his cheek, which didn’t really work since my hand was also covered in paint.

  And then we both started to crack up.

  11 Beckham Noble

  I was currently dripping wet in potentially toxic paint surrounded by a cluster of onlookers, some taking photos and video, others offering to help us out, and, all of it considered, I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Not when I look to my left and see a multicolored Oliver, laughing almost to tears. I couldn’t help but join, feeling the absurdity of the situation wash over me like the rainbow we had just destroyed.

  There were a chorus of “oh my Gods” being shouted around us. I was vaguely aware of hands reaching out to help us. We were back on solid ground with towels being wrapped around us.

  “I am so, so, sooo sorry.” It was the mother who had wanted to take the picture in the first place.

  “I can’t believe my mom did that.”

  “I didn’t push them into the pool, Candice!”

  Oliver and I were both laughing. “Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said, dabbing his face with a previously white towel.

  “My pool! My rainbow-lusion!” It was a man yelling. He had his hands to his face, looking at the destroyed art installation.

  “Sorry, mate. It was a complete accident.”

  The man, a thin guy with big eyes made even bigger by the circular glass bottles he was wearing, looked at us, then the pool, then back to us.

  “You two fell in?”

  “Hence the paint job,” Oliver said, his eyebrows raised like a puppy facing down his owner after being caught upending the trash bin.

  “You two… it’s perfect. Completely perfect. It’s how I wanted this piece to end, I just didn’t know it. Thank you! Thank you.” He opened his long skinny arms and pulled us into a hug, smearing more paint on each other and him.

  When we separated, even Candice’s mom looked confused as all hell. “Sorry, but… didn’t we just destroy your beautiful art piece?”

  He vigorously shook his head. His thick black hair matted with paint sprayed some into the air.

  “No, no, no. You two made it better. This was set to be destroyed in an hour and fifteen minutes, and I had no idea what I wanted to do to symbolize its end. It would have been quite anticlimactic if it had remained untouched until I stuck a vacuum hose into it. What better way of saying goodbye to this beautiful piece than two lovers falling into the illusion?”

  Oliver and I shot each other a glance. Lovers, huh? We were that obvious I guess.

  “Please, the two of you, come to my gallery sometime. I want to give you both a private tour.” He reached into the pocket of his black skinny jeans and pulled out a simple white business card.

  Alfredo Ortiz was his name, and his gallery was right on South Beach. I could now remember walking past the windows on multiple occasions and stopping each time to admire the bright and eye-catching art that was on display.

  “Thank you,” Oliver said, pocketing the card. We stuck around for a short while longer, speaking to not only Alfredo, but also Candice and her mom. An eclectic meeting, especially since Oliver and I were both still dripping different colors of paint off our fingers and noses.

  “Oh shoot, I haven’t been paying attention to the time,” Oliver said. “We’ve got dinner reservations in thirty minutes.”

  I looked from his shoes up to his head, knowing that I looked just as crazy and colorful as he did. “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Yes! Go, you glorious, colorful bitches.”

  “Candice! Language.”

  I shot a wink at Candice, and we said our goodbyes. Alfredo also left to go and collect some of his other pieces—paintings this time. They were much more portable than his rainbow pool and didn’t require destroying. Before we headed to the car, we found the bathroom and washed off as much paint from our hands and face as we could, helping each other get the backs of our necks, laughing all the while.

  “Usually when you destroy an art piece, you end up having to pay whatever it was worth, not getting an invite to a private tour,” Oliver noted as he soaped up his hands as if he were clocking into a surgery.

  “We lucked out there. And the pictures Candice snapped were definitely worth the quick dip.”

  Oliver turned to me, eyes wide. “Right? They’re frameworthy, I’d say.”

  And they were. Candice’s mom, whose name we learned was Rose, deserved credit for spotting the photo op and forcing it on us. It just so happened that with Oliver on my shoulders, we had lined up perfectly with a breathtaking piece of wall art. The photo showed the two of us smiling, a neon rainbow surrounding us. Above the rainbow, the words “True Love is Never Made, Only Found” was written in bold white letters, popping against the back wall it was painted on. On closer inspection, inside each band of the rainbow, the words “You’ve Found Yours” was written, the same color as whatever band of rainbow you looked at.

  “You sure you don’t want to reschedule dinner?” Oliver asked as we reached his car.

  I didn’t even consider the offer, especially since I remembered Oliver mentioning he had pulled a few strings for these reservations. “Let’s go,” I said. “Let’s give everyone a taste of the rainbow tonight.” I shot him a smile over the hood of his car. I moved the flowers I bought him, placed down the towels, and got into the car.

  Inside, we both started to laugh. “What a day,” Oliver said, holding his gut as he pulled out of his parking spot.

  “And it’s still not over,” I reminded him.

  “Thanks for laughing this all off with me.”

  “You kidding? This has been one of the funnest days of my life, by far. Minus the potential skin problems we’re going to get after this paint soaks in.”

  Oliver nodded, his smile taking over his face. He drove us to South Beach, the windows down and the music playing the entire way. The drive was relaxed, and our moods were high, our heads bobbing to the music and our thumbs tapping out to the beat. It was already six in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon. The streets of Miami were starkly different to the streets of London, but one thing remained constant, and that one thing seemed to make a world of difference: Oliver’s smiling and positive presence.

  I wasn’t bluffing when I told him this was one of the funnest days of my life. As I looked out the window, the Miami Bay sparkling underneath us, I realized I hadn’t thought once about the letter.

  The one I couldn’t even read if I wanted to.

  The thoughts seemed to shoot my good mood right out of the sky. I hated myself for caring so much, and I hated myself for not caring enough. If I wasn’t such a coward, I could have opened
the bloody thing already and figured out what my father wanted to tell me.

  Instead, I lost it, and with it, my father’s last words to me.

  “And we’re here,” Oliver said. “Think they’ll let us two crusty gay rainbows in there?”

  Oliver motioned up and down and gave a twirl. We must have looked quite ridiculous, and yet there was Oliver, dancing and laughing and not having a damn care in the world.

  His joy, his zest, they were infectious.

  I laughed, realizing how much paint was still drying up on our clothes. I wondered how he did that. How was he so good at pulling me out of the darkness?

  “I’m sure they’ve seen weirder things come in from the beach.”

  Oliver pulled the car up to the valet, where a smartly dressed man opened the door for me. I saw the surprise in his eyes as I stepped out, covered from head to toe in dry paint.

  We got a few stares; some were bold, and others tried to be secret. I was an observant man, and the sneaky glances didn’t get past me.

  And then Oliver did something that surprised me, and I’m sure even surprised a few of our secret onlookers.

  He reached out and grabbed my hand in his. It was a simple act of affection and connection, but it did make my shoulders stiffen for a moment. I wasn’t used to public displays like this. My previous boyfriends grew up like me, during a time where so much as a glance between two guys could get them beat up or worse. It didn’t help that Oliver and I appeared to have an age difference between us, which made me more self-conscious than usual. Normally, I wasn’t much of a blusher.

  I felt heat flare up under my cheeks, a blush taking hold.

  I felt on edge.

  But as we stood by the hostess podium waiting for her to lead us to a table, a laughing troupe of gay men wearing designer budgie smugglers strutted past us toward the gay club down the street, reminding me that we were on South Beach and the “judgmental” stares might as well have just been people checking us out.