by Cooper Davis
So I lean close, breathing right against his shadowed jaw. “How hot you are in those damned things.” Our lips brush so close, that for a moment, I swear he’s going to kiss me, right here on the plane. I swallow hard, feeling a slight trembling begin in my hands.
But then he pulls back a bit, and that fabulous smile spreads even wider across his face. He’s really pleased with himself, and lights up a bit, as he says, “Sure I do.” Then, he glances pointedly at the bulge in the front of my jeans, cocking an eyebrow demurely.
I glare at him. “You’re evil.”
“No, I’m not,” he denies, looking back at his magazine. “I’m just a bad flirt.” That much is true, and I’m not about to argue the point.
Instead, I huff, and yank the magazine from his grasp. “Stop staring at those women,” I grumble, even though I know he hasn’t paid a bit of attention to them.
Maxwell doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, Hunter,” he sighs, staring into my eyes. “Don’t you know that I’m only ever looking at you?”
I grin at him, and damned if I can’t think of a single snappy comeback. This might be a first for me. So I rely on the old classic, and whisper, “I love you,” right in his ear.
Beneath the armrest, I feel his fingertips trace the back of my hand. I suck in a breath at his gentle touch, and stare out the window for a long time. I keep thinking he’ll pull away, that he’ll end this moment. But he doesn’t. Instead, his hand lingers there, covering mine until I rotate my palm gingerly beneath his, and our fingers lace together.
Just like that.
We’re holding hands in public and it’s effortless, wonderful. I’m as bold as I’ve longed to be.
Only one hour until California. I can do this, I think, as he pushes the sunglasses back up with a sweet smile, never letting me go. I can do anything to be with him.
Except, about the time we touch down in Los Angeles, a full-scale panic attack hits me like gale force winds. I’m nearly hyperventilating at the thought of Louisa in the gate area, waiting for us there. We’re taxiing down the runway, and Max is methodically shoving his magazines and iPod into his briefcase. He’s so ridiculously calm, and I’m unraveling here.
I clutch his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin, and ask, “Are you going to say something to Louisa?”
“What?” He’s confused as he stuffs his things into the Coach bag. How can he not know exactly what I mean, when it’s the only damn thing on my mind?
“About…” I look around as if cornered. “You know.” I’m blushing, feeling terrible heat creep down into my neck. I thought this would be easy, because he’d be with me. But I’m scared plain shitless.
Max shakes his head, as he brushes sweet fingers down my arm. “Hunter, chill, okay? Just chill out.” For a long moment he gazes at me, smiling, and I want to feel better.
“But are you?” I press him. “Gonna tell her? In the car, I mean?” I really do need to know, because if it is going to happen in the car, then I want to be mentally prepared.
“I won’t do anything you’re not ready for me to do,” he promises carefully. “We’re in this together, remember?”
I swallow, but my chest is tight and my heart is beating like a fucking mojo. Help! I want to actually say it out loud, I’m that freaked.
Amazing that Max doesn’t recognize this in me, this way that I’ve gotten so spooked before. It’s happening again, the fear clutching at me with its greedy claws. It’s happening again, and Max relaxes back in the seat, crossing his legs casually as we approach the gate.
He’s calm, easy. So secure in what we are. I wish I could wrap my arms around him and draft off that strength. I roll his Sports Illustrated into a tight tube and start smacking it on my thigh in a nervous little rhythm—until he reaches a steadying hand and halts the motion.
“Hunter,” he urges softly, glancing at me. “Please be okay. Please.” I see worry starting to line his eyes, as his gaze moves over my face quickly. “This is Louisa we’re talking about. She’s my best friend in the world. You’re safe with her.”
“Wh-what about the others?” I ask, the heat moving up into my cheeks. Maybe the problem is that I feel like the outsider in this group, like the invader in a bunch of childhood friends.
“You’re safe because they’re your friends, too.”
I nod and try to memorize these facts. I can do this, I repeat like a mantra. We’re in California, we’re lovers and damn it, I can do this.
Slipping a clandestine hand over mine where it rests on the seat, he says softly, “You’re safe, Hunter, because you’re with me.”
He’s right; I can do anything so long as I’m with him.
He keeps his hand covering mine as we pull into the gate. I stare out the window, at the waves of familiar heat and smoggy air, willing myself to breathe. Breathe.
Surprisingly, the moment I see Louisa, the way she’s nearly bouncing with excitement, I relax. Maybe not completely, but she doesn’t seem nearly so daunting when I actually glimpse her small frame. I’ve always thought of Louisa as a little bit elfin, and standing there in her ultra-bright pants and hot pink sandals, she looks pretty damn harmless.
Max starts laughing as they see one another and she runs toward him. He drops his carry-on bag and his briefcase, sweeping her into a warm hug. Her small arms loop upward, around his neck, and he holds her for a long moment.
Yeah, damn glad I know which side his bread is buttered on, I think with a cough, remembering that I’m not supposed to be jealous. As they pull apart, he gestures at her colorful pants and laughs, “You’re actually wearing those things?”
“Since I didn’t go to Florida.” She smiles, spinning a little turn.
The pants remind me of the dress that little girl on the beach wore, something about the appliqués and colors, so I decide to be impressive. “A…Lillith?” Wasn’t that what it was called? A Lillith?
Max swats me on the arm, and shushes me with a playful laugh. “Don’t try and be a girl, Hunter.”
Shit, I think, as Louisa blesses me with a generous smile. “Close there, Hunter,” she teases. “They’re my Lily Pulitzer pants. Max bought them for me as a little joke.” I can see why, given that they’re about the worst clash of pink and green that I’ve probably ever seen.
I know that they’re supposed to be the shit because I remember how proud that little girl was of her appliqué dress. “Very stylish.” I nod uncertainly because I want to get this right with Louisa today. She beams, and I can tell I said something smart.
“And I gave them to her on one very specific condition.” Max grins, reaching for his briefcase. “No wearing them in public. At least not with me.”
“I’d rather mortify you.” She laughs, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Besides, I love them.”
Max’s suitcase still sits on the floor, and I’m suddenly inspired. I bend low and scoop it up, hoisting it over my shoulder. It’s a boyfriend thing to do, and now that I’m here, and we’re with Louisa, I want to be a boyfriend. I want to be obvious.
The smile that Max Daniels flashes my way, as I heave that heavy bag over my shoulder, is worth the entire trip to Florida. “Thanks,” he says, blinking a bit. I have his bag over one shoulder, my own over the other, and Louisa never even notices.
Maybe I can be a boyfriend and the whole damn world won’t stop revolving.
We start ambling along, and Max and Louisa chatter nonstop. Their sentences overlap, inter-cut and run on endlessly. It’s hard to follow everything that’s even being said—although I catch that Louisa was bored here without him. Especially when she glances toward me, and says, “Hope you had a good time with him, Hunter.”
With him. The sentence seems so loaded, and I’m not even sure what to say. So Max says it for me, while I stumble along, feeling like an absolute oaf.
“We had a blast. Never wanted to come home,” he tells her with a pointed look at me.
“Uh, huh. I see how it is.” She glances between us. “Just run a
way together and leave me here by my lonesome. Thanks a lot, you two.”
My, God, she has to know.
The panic begins to stir again, while I lag behind, trying to sort through my anxiety. But I’m alone with those thoughts because they’re already ten feet ahead of me, dark heads bent together as they laugh and gesture.
Maybe he told her about us at some point. Maybe that’s why he can be so calm, because she already knows that we’re a couple. Except—he promised me that he’d never tell anyone, not until I was ready.
Max’s bag swings against my hip, and I steady it, remembering that I’m being the perfect boyfriend. I don’t even get myself anymore; one minute, I feel bold and ready to be out, then the next I’ve scared myself shitless. Meanwhile my lover walks ahead, so confident, so ready to be open about me.
And he’s gorgeous, I think, watching him in his khaki shorts, the way his bare legs are so lean and sexy. For a moment, I remember what they feel like beneath my hands, locked around my hips.
I shiver because Max Daniels is mine, and I’m damn proud of it. Hell, the whole world ought to be jealous.
The mantra circles through my head again, wrestling the fears into silence. I can do anything, so long as I’m with him.
Chapter Five
It’s later, and our whole crew has gathered at Max’s place. So far everything seems normal enough, although Max has been plying me with beers for the past couple of hours. I think he’s hoping that if I drink enough of them, then I might finally settle down.
I keep wandering from the living room, out to the porch balcony, back to the kitchen, like some faithful dog with a well-worn traffic pattern, trotting from room to room.
Hell, I’m turning circles in this damned place, feeling cramped and edgy, and I can only wonder when Max and I will share our little bit of news. News, like it’s some kind of traditional announcement. Like it’s our goddamned engagement.
We’re getting married, everybody! I imagine shouting, and for a moment I hear a little chorus of “Here Comes the Bride” float right through my head. I even picture my Aunt Edna clasping her hands with a squeal of glee, as I spray the table with foamy champagne. Little rose petals shower us from above…
Not.
I wish it could be like that, that everyone would get what loving Maxwell means to me. That tonight could be a celebration of true love, and even a ceremony of sorts.
But in my imagined scenario, it’s hard to substitute Louisa or Veronica for my frumpy Aunt Edna. It’s equally hard to foresee a decent reaction from any of our friends. They’ve known Max their whole lives whereas I’m just the lug who joined their crew a few years back.
As a group, they’re tight-knit and forged, and really, I’ve always been the outsider here.
With a weary sigh, I return to the kitchen, the next stop in my holding pattern.
Max is still cooking, draining pasta while he talks to his sister on the phone. She’s back in Virginia where the rest of his family lives, and I know that meeting them represents the next hurdle for us after tonight. He cradles the phone against his shoulder, cooking along, and I can’t stop pacing anxiously.
She’s asking questions about me, I can tell, and I’m surprised by how easily Max seems to be answering them. Especially considering Louisa and Veronica are right in the kitchen with us, listening to every word he says. Maybe he figures he’ll come out to everybody at the exact same moment.
That thought is enough to send me running for cover, so I take a huge swig of beer to fortify myself.
“Yeah, the two of us,” he says, making a little face at me. The conversation isn’t going so good; I know it by the way his eyes meet mine as he talks. His family has suspicions about him being gay, and it’s the one thing that leaves him a little uncertain when it comes to me.
But he’s ready to face that, too, he’s told me. If we’re going to do this, Max wants to come out completely, and I can hardly blame him.
Louisa stands beside him at the chopping block, cutting up vegetables, and her skill makes me feel like a complete dud. I’m useless in the kitchen, and every time I wander near, Max waves me away. Of course, he loves to cook for me, and I think it makes him feel like I’m his boyfriend. That’s fine by me.
There’s a thundering shout from the living room, and I know that the Dodgers must have scored. Ben has been watching the game since he got here. He nearly shoved me aside as he entered Max’s apartment, making a beeline for the television. Normally I’d be right there with him, enjoying the game and sharing a few beers. But tonight I’m too damned restless, and there’s no way I can possibly sit still.
Veronica hasn’t missed a thing. Natch. “Not watching the game?” she asks as Ben groans from the living room. That last play must not have turned out quite like he thought.
“Nah,” I shrug. “Not into it tonight.”
“Hmm, that’s a first.” Her gaze darts between Maxwell and me, and I get the feeling that she’s paying very close attention to this phone call. It makes my shoulders tense, and I head to the fridge for yet another beer. I’ve had too many already, but I can’t seem to stop myself tonight.
Max is starting to look a little upset as he talks, and this worries me, as I toss my beer cap past him, into the trashcan like it’s a basketball hoop. The top ricochets off the edge of the container, and clatters on his floor. The noise seems to ring loudly through the whole apartment, because at that precise moment, a hush falls over everything.
Max stands, knife poised in one hand, red pepper in the other. His expression darkens as he listens to whatever his sister says on the other end of the phone line. From across the room he searches out my face, his voice rising sharply. “Look, this is a really bad time,” he snaps. “So we’ll talk later.”
Shit, I know that angry tone. I can’t help but wonder what his sister has said, especially when he turns away from us, lowering his voice as he ends the conversation.
Veronica’s gaze moves to me, her eyebrows lifting in question. I pretend I don’t notice, as Max slams the phone down into the receiver. For a long moment, he braces his hands on the counter edge, his back to the rest of us. I fight the urge to go to him, to wrap my arms around him and comfort him because I’m not sure it’s exactly what he needs.
His sister suspects something about me, that much is obvious. And she sure as hell doesn’t approve, that much is obvious, too. I swear, the way Max and I are connected now, it’s like I can feel his pain shoot right through me from across this damn room.
“Everything okay?” Veronica asks in concern, and Max shakes his head. Tonight means so much to him, and I really hope his family doesn’t fuck it up.
“Max, what happened?” Louisa presses gently, and he turns back to the cutting board, frowning as he begins chopping peppers and carrots.
“Forget it.” His voice has assumed a sort of lost tone that tugs at my heart. I don’t give a crap what anybody thinks, and I step close to him, leaning beside him against the chopping block.
“Tell me,” I urge, not looking toward Veronica. “You’re upset.”
“Yeah, Hunter, I am,” he agrees, and he sounds so disengaged that my heart aches. “It’s…my family. I’m kind of over them at the moment.”
He scowls, chopping and focusing. I know well enough not to press him right now—we’ll talk about it later, in bed when I hold him and stroke him and give him the loving acceptance that he deserves.
Thankfully, Louisa steps in, and I want to embrace her when she says, “Max, we’re your family anyway, you know that.”
I had wanted to say something like that, but felt a little too self-conscious in front of everyone. Besides, I’ve never met his family, so it wouldn’t mean as much coming from me.
“You know what Leah is like, Max. You know,” she says. It’s like they’re speaking a secret language, the kind that childhood friends can invoke so easily, and I can’t help but wonder how this Leah chick will mix with me.
Max nods, working at
the vegetables, but I can see some bit of tension fade from his eyes at Louisa’s words. This uncertainty about my role here bugs the hell out of me. He’s my boyfriend, the love of my life, and he’s hurting, but I can’t even touch him or comfort him like he needs. Hell, I can’t even kiss him gently and tell him none of this crap matters because we’re together now.
Of course, I could come out right now and put an end to this game.
But instead I take the coward’s way, and I amble down the hallway, raking my hands through my hair. For a moment, I make like I’m going to the bathroom, but then I detour right into his bedroom. I close the door and drag in deep breaths. It will happen tonight, I know it. We’re coming out completely, no going back.
I know Max. I know Max, and whatever his sister said totally tripped his wires. Now he needs it to happen tonight, and because he needs it, I sure as hell want to give it to him.
Right in the middle of his room, I wonder how it will play out. I’m shaking all over, and I can’t even stop, because I know this is really it. Nothing can ever be the same now, not after what we’ve become.
Scenarios traipse through my head. I imagine a formal announcement—nothing silly like I’ve been playing with, but something real. Or Veronica might ask a pointed question.
But none of my imaginings feel true.
No, life is never so structured or rigid, and it won’t go like that. Some moment will come, maybe after dinner when we’re drinking wine, real relaxed. Max will do something daring, like that night on the beach. He might even kiss me in front of everyone. That’s how bold my sweet Maxwell is, and while it terrifies me, I’m okay with it, too.
I wring my hands, and pace in his dark bedroom, my gaze roaming in every direction. This room has so much of Max in it—the pictures I see of his hometown and his family. The well-worn books that he loves so much, stacked in orderly columns on his nightstand. Those suits and neat-pressed khaki pants hanging in his closet, crisp and perfect. I need to touch him, and the only way I can touch him right now is to run my hand over his clothes, so I wander to his closet.
