by Cooper Davis
My fingers trail across ties, and pants and suit jackets. I smell him, too, the faint cologne, the wonderfully fresh scent of my Maxwell. My hand lingers a moment over one suit in particular, and I remember our very first date, how he asked me to a client’s party for Memorial Day. Only, back then I didn’t realize that his client was gay.
I also had no idea that he was interested in me, that he wanted something more than friendship. I was clueless to another crucial fact, as well. That he was gay.
I remember how he passed the invitation off as a casual thing, a work party that was going to be boring. Did I want to tag along. But something in his expression struck me at the time, and I remember asking, “Just me?”
He only shrugged, like it was no big thing, and said, “Yeah, just you. You and me.”
Without meaning to, I blushed a little, and wondered why out of our whole crowd, he’d ask me to a party up on Mulholland Drive. Me, when I’m the most unpolished, least socially adept among our friends.
“Wear a suit, okay?” he prompted, turning back to me with a charming smile. We were in Louisa’s backyard during a cookout, but he’d found a moment when we were alone.
A suit, I thought. I barely owned a decent one. We don’t exactly wear too many of them in my line of work. Carpenters lean more toward blue jeans and T-shirts, with the requisite tool belt to accessorize everything, but I didn’t tell him that, and I didn’t question why he wanted me with him.
I hightailed it home, pulled the couple of suits that I did own out of the closet, and hauled the best looking one to the drycleaners. I even bought a brand new tie—I remember lingering over that purchase for a long time, asking opinions and holding different colors up to my face.
Though I never admitted it to myself, I wanted to look damn good for him, wanted him to be proud of me.
And when Max came to pick me up in his Explorer that night, looking fresh and handsome and polished, I know I blushed again. A whole lot deeper, as a matter of fact, especially when he lifted his hand and gave my tie a little tug to straighten it. It seemed his fingers lingered there near my cheek for an eternity, and I couldn’t even meet his gaze.
Later, at the party, I became a bit confused. Maybe it was the three martinis, or maybe that I didn’t know a damned person there besides him, but I wandered out onto the impressive balcony right around dusk. I stood there, elbows propped on the railing, and stared down into the darkening hills. Max followed me out a few moments later, and stood very close. For a long moment, we didn’t talk. We watched the way the setting sun played across the golden hills, the way it seemed to slip low into the valley.
A sudden chill hit the air after a long, muggy day.
“You okay?” he finally asked in that soft voice of his, and I felt a little weird. A little too interested in how close he stood beside me. I nodded, brushing at my hair where it had fallen into my eyes.
“Not your scene?” he pressed, and it almost seemed like he leaned a little bit closer.
I felt even weirder.
Max was one of my closest friends, but he’d never dragged me to something like this before, one of his swanky investment parties. Where were Louisa or Veronica or Ben? There was only me.
“Max, I don’t get…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t ask why he’d brought me out, and finally I took a long sip of my martini. The world grew a little more fuzzy and happy, and Max finished the sentence for me.
“Why I’d ask you here?”
I nodded, draining the glass.
He seemed to think a long moment, draping his arm over the railing in what struck me as a debonair gesture. I remember panicking slightly at how handsome he was, at how he made my pulse race, like the women moving effortlessly around me should have been making me feel. Like he was some prize girl from Beverly Hills.
Forget the girls; my attention was ratcheted completely on him.
He seemed to contemplate the question for a moment, then answered with a shrug. “Well, Hunter, because I wanted to be with you tonight. Nothing heavy, just that.”
“Just that?” I gulped, feeling strangely helpless as the setting sun caught the flecks of gold in his eyes. No one should be so lovely, male or female, I thought.
“Sure. We can go if you want.” He glanced around at the crowd. “It’s boring as hell here anyway.”
“No, no,” I protested lamely. If he took me home, then our night would be over. I wasn’t sure what we were doing exactly, but I liked it, the way it felt oddly forbidden. Terribly forbidden, I knew it even then.
“Or,” Max suggested with a gentle smile, “I can take you someplace else. Out to a bar, maybe.” He had the nerve to seem suddenly shy, dropping his gaze and folding his hands over the railing.
I knew then and there that he’d brought me out on a date. I distinctly remember that my heart kind of skipped, and my throat tightened. I was about to answer, tell him that I wanted to do the town with him, but someone from his office interrupted us, pulling him away.
I watched them talk and tried to get my body back under control. My emotions.
We stayed out until nearly three a.m. that night, laughing and drinking martinis. Over and over, it seemed our legs brushed together, our hands. I found dozens of ways to touch him, and I know he found as many to touch me. Hell, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, even though we were definitely on the subtle side.
We smoked a couple of rogue cigars, our shoulders pressed close together as we shared them, staring long into one another’s eyes. We never did those kinds of things as mere friends; it was a date, absolutely.
But we never kissed, not once the whole night.
I wanted to kiss him when he dropped me home, but I had no idea how to make it happen. It scared the living crap out of me, but I swear I wanted that kiss more than life itself.
Instead, we both kind of lingered there in his car, looking at one another and smiling like fools.
Finally, I brushed my fingers lightly across the back of his hand where it rested between us, and stepped out into the night before he could even respond to the gesture.
Three days later he invited me to dinner at his apartment, and we got drunk out of our minds. I think we both knew that’s what it would take. Finally, when it became apparent that I would have a hard time motoring home, he offered the sofa to me. I felt kind of squirmy and strange, and shook my head. He laughed, a little too loudly, as he picked up the phone and called a taxi for me.
He kissed me before opening the door to say goodnight. It was awkward and sudden, almost like I spun to face him and then he dragged my lips down to his.
For what felt a full minute, we stood with our mouths touching; not exactly opening, not exactly kissing. Almost like we were frozen that way. I think he was waiting to see if I’d bolt—but I didn’t. Slowly, cautiously, I remember parting my lips to him and letting the kiss really deepen.
My hand closed around the small of his back, and I drew him closer, as his shy fingers wound tentatively through my hair. My tongue darted within his mouth, and I remember tasting him for the very first time, such a sweet, perfect thing. Something deep within my heart was branded right then; I was marked as his forever, I’m certain. Just by that moment, that one brief kiss.
Nobody has ever kissed me the way that Max Daniels did that night, the end. Male or female, it’s an irrelevant argument, there’s something in the way my heart opened that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Maybe that’s what true love is.
I have no idea. I only know that I’m never going back, now that he’s mine. I’m on this side of things, and I don’t think it has much to do with sexuality or orientation. I think it’s about what he did to me with that very first kiss, and what he’s been doing to me ever since.
My hand trails absently over the suits, the ties, and I’m amazed that three months have passed since then.
God, I’m so in love, I think, as I recall those first days of awakening to him. For some reason, I think o
f how Max described Bruno’s kiss.
Something opened up inside of me.
That’s exactly what happened the first time Max kissed me, and I’ve been unfolding, awakening ever since.
I reach for one of Max’s T-shirts, discarded casually on the bed. I draw it to my face and inhale his warm scent, folding it over my mouth and nose.
For the longest moment, I stand there, feeling the coolness of Max’s apartment around me. After our week away, I know I’ve truly come home.
And somehow, too, I know precisely what I’ve got to do.
So I don’t mess around about it. I toss his T-shirt onto the bed, spin on my heel and march right back out to the kitchen.
Max is carefully spooning pasta onto each plate, neatly ordering the asparagus into perfect precision. The presentation is gorgeous, as he fusses over it with a charming scowl. Louisa and Veronica sit across from where he works, chatting on the other side of the bar. I glance in their direction, aware that they’re watching me, and draw in a deep, strengthening breath, as I step behind Max.
I fold my arms around his waist, wrapping him in a gentle embrace from behind. I lean close to his cheek and ask, “How’s it going, baby?” in my most offhanded voice.
Max is startled a bit as he glances sideways at me. He still hasn’t shaved, and that golden beard tastes sweet when I plant a warm kiss on his cheek. “Dinner almost ready? I’m starving.”
He stares for a long moment into my eyes, blinking in surprise, and it takes everything in me not to look at Veronica. Especially when he leans close and kisses me on the jaw. In fact, our lips nearly brush together.
“Just about, yeah,” he answers, his voice thick and husky. The dopey little smile on his face absolutely lights me up inside as we step apart again. I’ll be damned if I’m going to make this look hard. It feels too easy.
I still don’t look at anyone, as I pluck a stray piece of pasta out of the strainer.
“Fabulous,” I say, grinning at him like a lovesick schoolboy. Hell, I am a lovesick schoolboy. I nearly laugh as finally I steal a glance at Veronica. And Louisa.
And, yeah, they appear a little shocked, but not nearly like I thought they would, especially not Louisa, who gives me a strangely uncertain smile—but a supportive one.
It takes everything in me, but finally I meet Veronica’s strong gaze. What I see causes the blood to drain from my face. She’s not laughing, she’s not taunting. She’s doing the very last thing I might ever have imagined.
She’s about to cry, her lip quivery and poked out.
I don’t get her reaction, not at all, as she practically leaps from the barstool and races toward the bathroom down the hall. The door slams, causing the apartment to thunder a bit.
“What?” I demand sharply, looking to Louisa. My voice comes out shrill and edgy. “What’s her problem?”
“Hunter,” Louisa begins, gazing down at her hands, as she shakes her head. I look to Max in shock, still not getting Veronica’s reaction. But he’s looking at Louisa, waiting for what she’s going to say next.
It’s then that I realize Louisa doesn’t seem very surprised by this turn of events between Max and me, and I’m finally certain she knows about us. “You told Louisa,” I state bluntly, turning to him, and I’m pissed as I say it. “About us.”
He shakes his head vigorously. “No, Hunter, I promise you I didn’t.”
“Max never told me a thing about you,” Louisa argues, touching Max softly on the arm.
About you.
Those two words seem really crucial, as suddenly I think of Bruno and Brian, and Max being gay. I especially remember that Max figured out which way he swings when he broke up with Louisa.
“But, but…” I sputter for a moment, running my hands through my hair in extreme agitation.
Max completes the thought that’s growing in my head. “But she does know that I’m gay.” His voice is so gentle, I can’t possibly be mad. His eyes plead with me to understand, as he brushes a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “She’s known from the beginning.”
“Why didn’t you tell me she knew?” I ask, thinking that it might actually have made coming out to our friends easier.
“I didn’t want to scare you off,” Max answers, his narrowed eyes filled with sudden pain. I know what he’s remembering, how I left him that night in early summer, and I can only imagine the fear he’s carried.
Fear that I might still run away.
“I could never leave again,” I murmur, as I move close to him, and brush his hair off his forehead to plant a soft kiss. “Baby, you’ve got to know that,” I whisper.
“I know,” he murmurs, and I draw him close, holding him like there’s nothing beyond this moment. “I really do,” he says.
In front of Louisa, I tip his face upward and kiss him full on the mouth, and some part of me thinks that this still might be easy. There are dozens of things that I want to say to Max, dozens of promises, but instead I let my lips linger there against his, my fingers against his cheek.
Finally, I step apart from him, and say, “So Louisa knows you’re gay, and she figured out about us on her own.”
“It was kind of hard to miss, Hunter,” Louisa explains shyly. I swear she actually blushes as she says it. “You know, with the way you are together.”
Max is the one who turns to her in surprise. “How…are we?” I can’t believe how bashful he gets as he asks her, considering she’s his best friend. Considering I just kissed him right on the mouth right in front of her.
Louisa tugs on her long ponytail thoughtfully, and then finally says, “In love. You’re really in love.”
“Holy shit.” And I really thought we’d been hiding this whole time. “It can’t be that obvious.” It can’t. Can it? “I mean, before right now,” I clarify.
“Um, Hunter,” Louisa laughs sweetly. “Trust me, okay? It is that obvious.”
So that answers that question. I haven’t managed to hide a damned thing. What a waste of time this game has been.
I glance toward the closed bathroom door, listening to the water that runs in the sink. Veronica’s reaction makes absolutely no sense to me. “What’s wrong with her then?” I ask in confusion, gesturing toward the bathroom. I’m the one who had to bungle my way through coming out, and now Veronica’s the one in there crying? I definitely need somebody to explain this one to me.
“I mean, if it was so obvious, then…what? Is she weirded out or something?”
I love Veronica, I really do, but sometimes it’s like we’re from two different planets—the whole Venus and Mars thing. No wonder I went gay after dating her.
Louisa rises from her barstool, stepping toward Max. Oddly enough, she mirrors my own earlier gesture, slipping her arms around his waist, and leaning her cheek against his back. I’m struck by how tender they really are together, and I feel…well, I’m not exactly jealous, but envious somehow.
“She’s hurt with you both,” Louisa explains. “For not telling her the truth.”
“What?” I cry, and I know I’m scowling now.
“Hunter, Veronica adores you. Both of you,” Louisa explains, still holding Max. “She’s suspected this for months. It’s why she kept trying to ask you what was going on. Kept trying to give you the chance to tell her.” Fucking great. They’ve even been discussing this among themselves—quite a lot, obviously.
“But…but…” I’m stammering, and I can’t think of a reasonable answer. It’s impossible to explain how hard this is for me, how frightened I am.
The thing is, it’s been hidden and wrapped up inside me for months. So no wonder Veronica doesn’t understand, and no wonder she’s upset with us both.
I’ve shut her out with these terrible lies and secrets. The deception has hurt her. I’ve hurt her, same as I’ve hurt Max by staying in the closet.
At that precise moment, when I’m feeling the crappiest for what I’ve done to the people I most love, Ben wanders in from the living room.
&n
bsp; “What’s going on, guys?” He glances between us, clearly sensing the tension in the air.
I stare right into Max’s eyes, and our gazes lock for a long moment. “We’re gay. That’s what’s going on,” I announce bluntly, and almost laugh at the way Max’s eyes widen in shock. I might even have embarrassed him a little, but it’s worth it to see that sweet, flustered look on his face.
Right then, the bathroom door opens and I hear Veronica sniffling in the hallway. I’m tired of the secrets and I’m not going to fool around about this whole coming out thing anymore.
I’m out. All the way, and it’s where I want to be. Like I want to be with Max. I brood a bit, staring at Ben like I dare him to give me shit.
Instead, he reaches past me for the wine bottle with a shrug. “Oh. Good to know, man. Thanks for telling me.” He nods offhandedly, uncorking the bottle.
Thanks? Good to know? Doesn’t anybody get that this is a major event for me? I’m coming out of the goddamned closet.
Ben turns back to me momentarily, gesturing with the bottle. “And that would be you and Max, right? Just to be clear?”
“Yeah, Max and me,” I grumble, my gaze meeting Veronica’s. I can’t believe how red and swollen her brown eyes are.
“They’re a couple,” Louisa clarifies, smiling at me.
“Oh, so you told everybody but me?” Veronica asks, hugging her arms around herself tightly. “You could tell Louisa and Ben, but not me?”
“No, no,” Max explains, stepping out of Louisa’s embrace, toward her. “Veronica, it’s not like that. We didn’t tell anyone…I mean, before now.”
“You didn’t have to,” Ben interjects, grinning broadly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m defensive because this isn’t going at all like I imagined, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I can handle angry Veronica a lot more easily than hurt Veronica. I hate it when I hurt her.
“Well you spend every night here at his apartment, man.” He laughs wryly. “After a while I kinda figured you weren’t watching baseball. Especially with the lights off.”
