Taking You Home

by Cooper Davis

  Max stands with me for a moment, watching the two of them laugh together. “Darcy. Darcy Edwards,” he explains, and at that precise moment I make the connection.

  “Brian’s brother?”

  “Bingo. In from Manhattan for a whirlwind weekend of fun.” I’m beginning to get a very clear picture of just how this “stranger” wound up at our wedding. The thirty-sixth guest on the list if you will; I’m telling you, Maxwell Daniels can be a devious fellow if you give him free reign over an event.

  “Uh, huh,” I say, giving him my most dubious expression. “Too bad Louisa lives in Los Angeles.”

  Max reaches for my hand, drawing it to his lips. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he asks, showering my palm with tender kisses. “Darcy’s starting with our firm out in L.A. next month. Going to room with Brian and Peter until he finds a place of his own.”

  “How convenient.”

  He flashes me an innocent smile, but I know he’s just a sexy wolf in sheep’s clothing. I also have a sneaking suspicion that Max has great instincts when it comes to his best friend’s happiness, especially when I spy her twirling in Darcy’s manly arms, an Audrey Hepburn smile shining on her face.

  One word pops into my mind, one word that will forever frame the way the two of them look together at that moment. Smitten. Definitely smitten.

  Max folds me close within his arms, and this time we’re a lot more certain than with our first dance in front of everyone today. We’ve been at this for hours now; on and off we’ve shared a dozen of them. The music’s taken a decidedly sexy turn with another Santana song, so no wonder he needed to nuzzle close, and he wastes no time slipping a cozy arm right around me.

  “Hey,” he murmurs against my ear and the hair on my nape stands on end. Something about how husky and filled with desire his voice sounds.

  “Hey, yourself.” He pushes in closer, gets a little daring with the way he urges his hips against mine. “Watch it,” I caution him, but he’ll have none of it. In fact, he moves even nearer.

  “Watch what?” he asks, staring up at me through dusky lashes and my heart does a two-step of its own.

  I nuzzle his cheek with my mouth, kissing him on the jaw. “That hip action,” I explain, pulling him closer to illustrate. “You’re gonna give me a massive hard-on if you’re not careful.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” comes the reply, a breathy sigh against my ear.

  “It is with your old man watching this dance.”

  “Um, so that’s the objection?” he teases as the music changes into some kind of samba-influenced gyration that gets everyone throwing their hands into the air. Max begins moving his hips faster to the rhythm, and I have a sudden flash that I’m spending my wedding night with Ricky Martin.

  “Too late for objections now, Maxwell.” I close my eyes, like that night at the club, and just lose myself in the motion, in the sensation of him holding me this close. I lose myself in the rhythm of our love and it’s a beautiful, perfect thing.

  Somewhere in the wings, I feel the gaze of our families on us, but I can only smile. Let them watch because I don’t get any happier than this, and I want them to see that. Just like our kiss; they need to know what Max Daniels does to me. What my husband does to me.

  My eyes open and I find him smiling at me with a satisfied expression. “You’re so beautiful,” he reflects quietly. “You always are, Hunter, but you’ve never been more gorgeous to me than today.”

  For crying out loud, the boy makes me blush like a madman. How is it he can still undress me like that, with just one easy compliment? I wave him off with a flustered grin. “Oh, baby, you’re it, and you know it.”

  “It?”

  “The beautiful, seductive, gorgeous one here tonight.” I’m babbling at him, but I can’t possibly help myself, not today.

  “You saying you’ll spend forever with me?” he whispers in my ear and I feel his warm fingers slip beneath my jacket. At that precise moment, I spy his dad across the dance floor, Leah in his arms. He doesn’t give a shit about what I’m doing with his son, not anymore.

  I press my lips against Max’s jaw, feeling the soft bristle of his cheek. “I knew it was forever a week after you’d kissed me.” He pulls back, staring at me in surprise, kind of blinking. “Don’t look so shocked.” I brush my hand across his cheek where a little bit of glitter sparkles beneath the light. Must have come off one of the tables, since they’re dusted with the stuff.

  “It’s just, well, I fell so hard for you, Hunter. It seemed to take you a lot longer.”

  “Nah,” I say, spinning him in a dramatic turn. “I was just lost in hetero land for a while there. You had to do a recon mission to find my queer ass.” He bursts out laughing at that one, the kind of belly laugh I’ve always been able to work right out of him. I think it might even be one reason why he fell in love with me.

  “Queer ass just invokes all kinds of vivid imagery, Hunter,” he admits, giving me a demure smile.

  I shrug like it’s no big thing. “You said it, baby. Not me.”

  For a moment, he studies me, blushing a little bit. He’s happy drunk too. I can tell by the way his pupils have grown large, and by how he’s laughing too loudly.

  Then just like that, he kind of cries, “You know what? I’m ready to get to New York City. Now.” With that eager and none-too-subtle pronouncement about our honeymoon destination, he takes my hand and leads me toward his parents, who are now talking with Edna on the other side of the tent. Phillip and Leah have just finished their dance, so she stands right with them. Good time to make our goodbyes and cut out of this wedding joint.

  Phillip laughs heartily over something Edna’s told them, smiling and nodding at whatever joke she’s made. Edna has that gift, the rare ability to open people up despite themselves. “Somebody’s glad they came,” Max observes, nodding toward his dad. “I think he’s had a blast today.”

  “Yeah, he’s definitely happy, Maxwell,” I say. “Took him a while to come along, that’s all. Kind of like another guy we both know.”

  For a moment, he stops right there on the floor, staring at me. “What do you mean?” he asks, looking a little confused and kissable all at once.

  “Just that in a lot of ways, he’s no different than me,” I say with a smug grin. “You know, stubborn as hell, and trying to deny the obvious facts.”

  “Oh, that guy.” He gives a knowing laugh, tugging me toward the punchbowl where our families stand.

  I lean close, brushing my lips against his cheek as I whisper in his ear, “Yeah, that guy. Took him a while, just like your old man, but he figured out the score. Nobody can deny that you’re the love of my life. Not even me, sweetheart.”

  Not even me, or every macho vibe in my body can deny the facts anymore. After all, Maxwell Daniels is the husband of my dreams. I just didn’t know I needed to adjust my dreams a little, not until I met him. Now I can’t imagine spending forever with anybody else in the world. Not boy or girl, or anything in between.

  All my dreams have come true with him today, even the ones I never knew I had.

  Chapter Twenty

  The last moments of daylight fill the Vermont sky, brilliant pinks and oranges streaking the horizon. Max holds my hand as we wait just inside the arched doorway of the inn for the limo to pull up. Our guests are on the curb with rose petals in hand; ready to shower us as we make our break for it. It’s kind of like we’re offstage, waiting in the wings for the spotlight to illuminate our big moment.

  Max gives my boutonniere an adjustment. “Perfect now,” he assesses with a tender smile. I lean in to steal a kiss, closing my eyes as our lips meet, right when I hear Leah say, “You two weren’t going to leave without telling me goodbye, were you?” We snap apart like a pair of naughty soldiers, and find that she has an angry hand on her hip. It’s trouble, too, because my sister-in-law looks genuinely miffed.
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  “Oh, Leah, I couldn’t find you,” Max explains, rushing to kiss her on the cheek. “We asked John to tell you thanks for doing such a marvelous job on everything. I looked all over the place for you.”

  “It’s been amazing, Leah,” I chime in, nodding my head in vigorous agreement, but she still looks a little peevish. “We appreciate everything. Really.”

  “You’ve thanked me like a dozen times, guys,” she admits, rolling her eyes. “That’s not it. I just wanted to talk to you both for a minute. Alone.” Out of nowhere, a weepy expression comes over her features and she drops her head quickly so we won’t see.

  But of course Max notices, since after all they share the spooky super twin thing. “What’s wrong, Leah?” he asks, his dark brows drawing into a tight line of concern.

  Leah wipes at her brow with the back of her hand, breaking into a bright smile. Only then do I notice a thin sheen of perspiration along her hairline despite the late spring chill that’s in the air. “Nothing’s wrong, Max. Nothing at all. But there was a reason you two couldn’t find me.”

  “Okay.” Max gives an encouraging nod, but he still looks worried.

  “I was in the ladies room because I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “All right, so what’s the matter, then?” I bark, worried as hell all of a sudden. ’Cause she’s pale, I realize now. Very pale and looking like there’s a definite problem. “What are you trying to tell us here?”

  She shakes her head, kind of laughing and crying all at once. “I’m absolutely fine, guys! Fine. But I am pregnant. Almost twelve weeks to the day.”

  “What?” Max squeals, grabbing hold of his twin with both hands. “You’re kidding? You’ve got to be kidding! No, no, you’re not kidding,” he stammers. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  She bobs her head, her large eyes brimming with happy tears as Max clings to her, bouncing on his toes in tipsy enthusiasm. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he insists, pulling back to study the length of her. She doesn’t seem different yet—well, maybe just a tad fuller in her figure, now that I really give her a careful look.

  “Max, this was your special day. Your time with Hunter.” She glances at me, smiling in approval. “Nothing should have taken a moment from your celebration.”

  “Do Mom and Dad know yet?”

  “Yes, but I asked them to keep it a secret until after the wedding. Otherwise, you’re the first ones I’ve told,” she says, and I slip my arm around her, giving her a gentle hug. “Well, apart from John, obviously.”

  “Yeah, good thing he’s been brought in on the deal,” I say. “Key players and all that.”

  “I wanted to tell you both today so it would always be something we’d remember on your anniversary. Especially since I have something important to ask you.”

  “Okay,” Max says, nodding encouragingly.

  “John and I want you to be the godparents.”

  For a mini-eternity, neither Max nor I speak, just kind of nod, staring at one another, until Leah adds a little nervously, “Well, if you want to be, that is.”

  “Leah, trust me, we want to be,” I blurt, answering for us both. One look at my husband tells me I’m right on track, so I continue, “It’s just, well, I mean you must really believe in our union to ask that. To want us to be part of your baby’s life that way.”

  “Hunter, don’t you see by now that I think this marriage is a beautiful thing?” she asks, staring openly into my eyes. “That you’re the best guy in the world for my brother?”

  “I know, Leah, but—”

  “Hunter, I love you, okay? I feel so thankful that you’re a part of my family now.”

  She reaches upward onto her toes, and pulls me into the warmest hug she’s ever granted me. We’re talking the holding tight and snuggling close kind. “Besides, I’m on to you,” she says with a laugh. “You’re nothing but a big softy, so you’ll make a great godfather.”

  Wow, so I’ve been married about four hours or so, and I’ve already managed to finagle my way into a kind of surrogate fatherhood. Pretty damn cool, I tell you. My new family just keeps on growing.

  The limo pulls down the long, tree-lined drive, circling back past the inn with a chorus of blasting horns as Max and I lean out the window, waving goodbye to everyone. Finally, when our family and friends disappear from view, Max raises the window again, settling beside me in the plush, leather seat.

  Hard to believe, but it’s finally just us. Two grooms left to their own wicked devices, on the way to the Big Apple. The driver is separated by a discreet, darkened privacy window, which means that whatever we do or say is only between us. I lean back in the seat and kick off both my shoes. Maxwell reaches for the remote control for the CD player, just beside him in the door and hits play.

  The first notes of No Doubt’s “Hellagood” blast pretty loudly and he gives me a seductive wink. “Oh, Maxwell,” I sigh, because this is sex music, all the way. We’ve made love to this CD dozens of times. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, but I did. Planned ahead,” he explains, dipping into a champagne bucket for another bottle of the stuff, already uncorked with two lovely flutes right beside it. There’s even an oriental rug beneath my socked feet. Sinful pleasure palace on wheels, designed by one Maxwell Daniels.

  “Max, I’m not making love in a moving vehicle,” I argue, a little lamely as he hands me a foamy glass of champagne. “Not with a stranger five feet away.”

  “Who said anything about making love?” He lifts his glass, clinking it against mine. “This is a pure seduction scene, my love.”

  “I’m getting that general idea,” I say as he nudges the volume upward on Gwen Stefani’s sultry voice.

  “Don’t worry, Hunter, I won’t make you do anything you feel uncomfortable about.” He gives me a disarming smile, sliding out of his own shoes, and rubbing his toes against mine. Damn, how can something so mundane seem so sensual and erotic? Those ticklish toes of his are managing to give me a serious hard-on.

  “Four hours to New York,” I remind him, my voice cracking over the words. I sound like I’ve just hit puberty. Yeah, well I feel like I’m thirteen and discovering the joys of the human body for the very first time, as he folds himself right within the crook of my arm.

  “That’s four hours to have fun,” he explains, cupping my jaw and pulling me close for a kiss. “Four hours of kissing and touching and loving you, my husband.”

  “For crying out loud, Maxwell! You’re a terrible cock tease.”

  “I’m in love with you. Is that so bad?”

  That backbeat pounds through my body, my head, as he slips a sweet palm onto my thigh. My erection juts upward, making a lovely bulge in the tuxedo pants, and he strokes it softly with his fingertips. “That’s just beautiful,” he says with a throaty laugh. “Can’t wait to get a better look.”

  “Yeah, well maybe I’ll get drunk enough to withstand all this temptation, Daniels.”

  He sets the champagne flute beside his seat, then takes mine from my hand. Curling his fingers around my neck, he pulls me close for a kiss and I find myself lowering atop him on that leather seat. I hardly care that some stranger is driving this vehicle; after all, he can’t see a goddamned thing. I just want to make out with my husband for all I’m worth.

  I just want to spend these hours anticipating my wedding night.

  We pause at the door to our corner suite and I see an adorable uncertainty shadow Max’s eyes. I mean this is it. The threshold, our wedding night. The awkward thing is that never once in all our planning did we discuss this moment. We’ve been traditional as hell in our very non-traditional wedding, yet here it is—something that flat doesn’t translate, no matter how many ways you try to spin it in a gay context.

  I give a strained laugh. “Sorry, baby, I’m not carrying you over the threshold, no matter how much I love you.”

  �
��Who says you’d be doing the carrying, Willis?”

  Not much I can say to that, so I give him a flirty look, the kind that tells him what I want to do on the other side of the doorway. Even though we never talked about it, I do have a definite plan in mind, a way that I want this moment to go. I just wasn’t going to tell him until we got here.

  But Max obviously didn’t anticipate it, because he just kind of grins, inserting the card key, his hand shaking so badly that the damned thing won’t even go in.

  Ever his white knight, I shift the champagne bottle we brought up from the hotel bar to the crook of my arm, and deftly slip the card into the slot for him.

  “Good work,” he laughs, sounding self-conscious.

  “Practice makes perfect.”

  “Oh, what, you’re in the regular habit of taking a penthouse suite?”

  I shoulder the door open, and a cool blast of air conditioning moves over my skin from within the darkened room. “Nah, I’ve just fantasized about this moment like a million times.”

  And with those words, meant to woo him and romance him for all he’s worth, I step gallantly through the doorway and reach for his hand. This will be me leading him into our future, the two of us stepping together, equal partners sharing in union.

  This is the way I’ve imagined taking him over the threshold on our wedding night nearly every day for the past nine months. Simply, purposefully, like the two strong men we are in this relationship.

  I have to squint, staring back into the bright hallway, and for a moment Max seems to just gaze at my hand, almost like it’s some foreign thing he’s never seen before.

  “Baby?” I ask, a little uncertain. “You coming or what?”

  At last with a gentle smile, he slips his hand into mine, and follows me over that threshold. But when he closes the door behind him, and leans against it, watching me with hushed anticipation, something changes in his demeanor.

  I flick on the dim lights that line the entryway, and within the space of a moment, those lovely eyes grow sultry, as he transforms from my sweet love into my wily lover.