Greg snorted but looked pleased when Aaron settled close enough on the seat that he could put an arm around Greg’s shoulders.
“Nervous?” Greg directed the question to Jeremy.
“I’m not the one up for an award.” He made a face, glad not to have to get up on that stage in front of hundreds of people, not to mention the television cameras.
Kit frowned and glanced at him.
“No! I didn’t mean it that way,” Jeremy explained. “I’m good about not being up for it. I mean, c’mon, people barely know my name. I understand how these things work.”
“You know you deserve it though, right?” Kit grabbed his hand, laced their fingers together, and gave a gentle tug.
“You earned it, Kit,” Greg said, breaking into the discussion.
Jeremy gaped at Greg.
Kit looked at the screenwriter as if he’d grown another head. Or six. “You feeling all right, dude?”
A quiet, self-deprecating laugh made Greg bob his head. “You’re something, Kit.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not going to win.” Though he said the words with all of the Kit Harris trademark insouciance, Jeremy knew what they cost him. What Amber had cost him.
The scandal hadn’t been easy to take—even for Jeremy. While his sexuality had been known before, it fed the front page now. Apparently he liked to drink the blood of little children and wanted plastic surgery to add six inches to his dick—or at least that was this week’s favorite rumor. It wasn’t all bad, though. There were the guys and gals who wrote to him, and to Kit, thanking them for showing how they could live a life worth having if they were true to themselves. Those letters made it all worthwhile.
Leaning forward, Aaron grabbed some champagne from an ice bucket. He popped the cork and poured four glasses.
“To your nomination,” Aaron said, his New Orleans accent reminding Jeremy of the days on set when Kit spoke dialogue to him in those low, sultry tones. “May it gall the haters to their ratty toenails.”
Jeremy grinned and nudged Kit’s shoulder with his own. “I told them how you practically held me down and made me get my feet done.”
Kit took a sip of his champagne and mock shuddered. “Your feet, man. Ugh.”
Changing the subject, worried Kit might haul him in for another pedicure, Jeremy focused on Greg’s smirk. “What were you doing in New York the day before the premiere?”
Greg thought back on it. “Oh. Meeting with advertisers and finding backers for my next film.”
“And closing the deal on the Connecticut house,” Aaron said over the rim of his glass. “Speaking of which, to new beginnings.”
Raising their glasses, they parroted the sentiment and drank.
“Must feel good to get that monkey off your back,” Kit guessed. “No offense, but I hated that place.”
“Not a lot of good memories there,” Greg agreed.
Feet stuck out, crossed at the ankles, Greg looked more relaxed—and tan—than Jeremy had seen him.
“Are you taking a break?” Jeremy hazarded the guess.
“Nope.” Reaching up, Greg slid open the stereo panel and put on the soundtrack to No Apologies. “I’m writing a script for Aaron’s production company, called Out Takes.”
“Nice,” Kit said. “Who you casting?”
Greg looked between Kit and Jeremy. “You.”
“It sounds…” Jeremy began.
“Gay,” Kit finished.
They caught one another’s gaze and grinned before looking to Greg and chiming, “We’re in.”
The limousine entered the line to the theater, and Greg looked at his watch. Blew out a breath. Aaron placed a hand on his lover’s thigh and squeezed. Jeremy smiled at the gesture. These two had found their place—reconnected and hit their relationship stride. Together, they’d be unstoppable. Just like him and Kit.
Staring out the window, he spotted the flashing lights of the press gallery. News vans blocked every empty parking space across the street. The crowd stretched forever. This was so much bigger than the premiere.
“Nervous?” He posed the question to Kit this time.
Kit huffed a laugh and stuck his shades on his face. Turning to Jeremy, he grinned, his teeth sparkling like a toothpaste ad. One blond brow popped up, and he asked, “Is Kit Harris nervous?”
“Never.” Jeremy grinned and found his eyeglasses. Stuck them on his face.
“Geek,” Kit murmured, leaning in for a kiss.
“Showoff,” Jeremy whispered against warm lips.
Aaron coughed. Greg cleared his throat. Kit stuck up his middle finger at them both.
And then they were there. The door opening. Crowd clapping. Greg emerged first. Then Aaron, Kit, and Jeremy last. Glad the photographers had someone else to focus on, Jeremy pulled at his cuffs and tried to walk a couple feet behind. Kit turned, caught his attempt at hiding, and grabbed his hand. Tugged him forward. Catching them out of the corner of his eye, Greg looked at Aaron. Reached out and did the same.
Hand in hand, they all walked the red carpet together. Stood together as friends and lovers. Faced the paparazzi in solidarity. As a united front, they moved up the press gallery, fielding the difficult questions for one another. Bolstering confidence and smoothing nerves. Together, they could take on the world—would win the right to live, and to love, as they chose.
Two hours later, Jeremy took Kit’s hand—squeezed it tight—as the actress announcing the best actor award pried open the ribbon on the envelope.
“You’re cutting off my circulation, dude,” Kit said out of the corner of his mouth.
Jeremy clenched his teeth and wished for something to shred.
“And the winner is…”
He held his breath and felt Greg stiffen on his left.
“Kit Harris for No Apologies!”
The theme song from the movie blared, and Jeremy saw black spots as Kit let go of his hand and loped to the stage.
Holy shit!
Belatedly, Jeremy began to clap and shout his fool head off. His heart galloped to life with adrenaline. Filled with pride and bursting with love, he felt his chest inflate at least seven inches. Next to him, Greg shouted, “Atta boy, Harris!”
Waiting for the applause to die down, Kit grasped his golden statue and grinned at the crowd.
“Wow,” he said into the microphone. “And all I had to do to get this was kiss my boyfriend.”
Everyone laughed, and the clapping settled.
“Seriously. Thank you. For the first time in my life, I’m speechless.” He fished in his pockets. “Literally. I forgot my speech.”
More laughter.
“Um. Can Jeremy Ash come up?” Kit looked at a stage manager, who apparently nodded.
Jeremy tried to sink into his seat, but Greg said, “Get up there, or I’ll kick your ass.”
On wobbly legs, in front of hundreds and thousands, Jeremy made his way to the glitz-laden stage. Looking out at the crowd, he tried to focus on Greg and Aaron. Suddenly, everything grew quiet, and he realized everyone had been clapping…for him?
This moment. He didn’t know how he’d got here, or if he deserved it, but he knew it couldn’t get any better than this. Grabbing Jeremy’s hand, Kit curled it around the heavy statue, and they both held it aloft.
“We did it,” Kit said, leaning in for a kiss, “together.”
Tibby Armstrong
Tibby Armstrong’s reading tastes extend from biography to romance and science fiction/fantasy, but in her world no story is quite right without a love interest. In fact, her favorite books always feature edgy alpha heroes and the women or men who drive him to distraction.
Tibby holds a B.A. in English from The University of Connecticut and is studying for a Master’s of Library Science. When not writing, she works toward defying librarian stereotypes; yet, she lives with four cats, two computers, and enough books to collapse a poorly engineered house.
She enjoys hearing from readers at [email protected]
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