by Rachel Reid
Kip went back to the table. It was nice to know that he still had it, even if “it” was reserved for a certain superstar athlete.
They were all quite drunk by the end of the evening. As they waited outside for cabs, Maria hugged Kip with her whole body. “Thanks for inviting me, Kip. I like you. Your friends are cool. You’re cool.”
“Thanks for coming,” Kip said into her hair. “We should hang out more.”
“Yes! Yes, for sure! Kip... Yes.” She pointed at him as she walked backward toward her waiting taxi.
Jimmy, Chuck, and Shawn piled onto Kip in a group hug.
“Thanks, guys,” Kip said. “Love you assholes, you know that?”
“We love you too, Kip,” Shawn said. The three of them got into a cab together, and Kip was left with Elena.
“He’s on his way.” She was always eerily poised and coherent, even when she was drunk.
“Huh?”
“Scott. I texted him. He’s coming to take you home.”
“What? Why? How do you have his number?”
Elena stared at him like he was very stupid.
“You’re scary, you know that?” Kip said.
“Good thing I’m on your side.”
“It is. You are. I love you, Elena.” He hugged her. She resisted at first, but finally accepted it.
“You didn’t have to text him,” Kip said.
“I did. You’re drunk and I’m meeting someone soon.” She was typing on her phone as she talked.
“Another famous actor?” Kip grinned.
“Just a guy from my gym,” Elena said, “who is also a backup dancer for Rihanna.”
“Get it, girl!” Kip said, and raised his hand for a high five. Elena ignored him.
“Looks like your ride is here.” She nodded at a very nice SUV that had pulled up.
“Thanks, Elena. You’re the best!” he said, meaning it completely.
He opened the back door of the SUV and was surprised to see that Scott wasn’t there.
“Um, up here,” Scott’s voice said. Kip turned and saw Scott sitting behind the wheel.
He closed the back door and instead got into the passenger seat. He grinned sloppily at Scott. “Didn’t think you knew howta drive,” he slurred.
“I can drive,” Scott said. “Man, you’re a mess.”
“’M fine. You have your own car?”
Scott laughed. “Yes. I don’t use it very often, but I own this one. It’s, um, easier, to use a service. Not having to worry about parking and stuff.”
“Mm,” Kip said sleepily. Parking or car ownership was not a thing he had ever had to worry about.
They drove in silence for a minute, and then Scott said, “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. Yeah. My friends are awesome.”
“Good. Sorry I couldn’t be there.”
“S’okay.”
“No, I...” He sighed. “Never mind. We can talk about it when you’re not...”
“Talk about what?”
“Nothing.”
Kip could see the way Scott’s jaw tightened, even through his hazy vision. “I love you,” he said.
Scott relaxed a little. “I love you too. Even when you’re shitfaced.”
“Not shitfaced. Just a little tipsy.”
“Mm.”
“Thank you,” Kip said, concentrating hard at making his words as clear as possible, “for picking me up. Didn’t have to—”
“Of course,” Scott said. “I was glad Elena texted me. Not sure how she got my number—”
Kip waved a hand. “Fuck knows. She finds out everything.”
“Well, I’m glad she texted me. Made me feel...like what we have...”
Kip was losing the thread.
Scott stopped at a red light and looked at him. “I know it sucks keeping things secret. It sucks for me too. Tonight was really hard for me.”
“Scott...”
The light turned green.
“Anyway,” Scott said, turning his attention back to the road, “it was nice to get that text from Elena. Made it all seem more real.”
Kip placed a hand on Scott’s thigh. “It’s real.”
Scott’s lips quirked up. “Yeah,” he said. “Now let’s get you to bed.”
* * *
“Good morning,” a blurry Scott-shaped blob chirped. “Glad to see you’re alive.”
Kip blinked and rubbed his eyes. He was parched.
“Here,” blurry Scott said, and handed him a glass of water. Kip gulped it down.
“Thanks,” he said, handing the glass back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful,” Kip rasped. He flopped back onto the pillow.
“You were cute last night,” Scott said. “Real cuddly. Until you fell asleep on me.”
“Sorry,” Kip said.
“Don’t be. I’m glad you had fun.” Scott ran his fingers through Kip’s hair, and Kip closed his eyes and sighed happily.
“Do I smell bacon?” he murmured.
“Yes! I made French toast and bacon.”
“Oh my god. You are the best.”
“It’s ready whenever you are. Coffee too. I have to leave pretty soon.”
Kip sat up. “Right! Sorry, I forgot about your practice. Okay. I’m just gonna take a real quick shower.”
He stood under the shower just long enough to shampoo his hair once and run soap over his body. He felt a lot better when he got out.
He walked into the kitchen in sweatpants and a T-shirt and wet hair. Scott handed him a mug of coffee, and Kip kissed him.
“Seriously,” Kip said. “Best boyfriend ever.”
They sat at the kitchen counter and ate (incredible) French toast, and he told Scott a bit about his evening. “I remember,” he said, “in the car last night. You said you had a rough time?”
“Oh.” Scott looked at his plate and blushed. “It’s nothing. I was in a weird mood last night. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, come on. Tell me.”
Scott put his fork down. “I think maybe it was the first time I really felt... I mean, the gala was tough, but you going out with your friends for your birthday...”
Kip reached over and put a hand on his forearm.
“I should have been there,” Scott said. “That’s what was bothering me all night. I wish I could just...” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. No point in crying over things I can’t have. Should just be thankful for what I do have.”
Kip was very close to asking Scott if he was sure he couldn’t have those things. If it would be so bad if he publicly came out. But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t push that issue. Scott understood the stakes far better than Kip.
Instead, he said, “You need to be ready.”
Scott’s face was miserable. “I want to be ready.”
“You will be. Soon,” Kip said, squeezing his arm.
Scott nodded and gave him a tight smile. “Sorry. Like I said, it was just a weird, lonely night. Imagination started running a little wild.”
“I’ve been there. I understand.”
Kip kissed him, and Scott deepened it immediately, placing a hand on his face and sliding off his stool so he could stand over him. Kip’s neck strained up to meet him as Scott explored his mouth with his tongue.
“You’re good at that,” Kip breathed when they broke apart.
“Must be all those years of practice,” Scott said dryly.
“Stop it.” Kip hit him lightly in the chest. “When do you need to leave?”
Scott looked at his watch. “Now, pretty much. Car is gonna be here in a couple of minutes.”
“Nuts,” Kip said. “I’m working until two today. You’re busy this afternoon, right?”
“Yeah. Sports Illus
trated.”
“Right.”
“And I’m busy the next few afternoons too.”
“Well...we’ll figure it out. Do you want me to stay here tonight?”
“I do,” Scott said. “Can you?”
“I’ll make you dinner.”
“Oh yeah? I might be a little late.”
“That’s all right,” Kip said, grinning up at him. “Good luck with your interview.”
“Thanks. I kinda hate doing them.”
“There gonna be a photo shoot?”
“Yeah. Not today, but yeah. Soon. It’s the cover story.”
“Well, now!”
Scott grimaced. “Yeah.”
He threw a leather jacket on and kissed Kip by the door. “Oh! I thought of something! For your birthday present,” he said excitedly. “I was thinking that maybe on Saturday we could go to the Met together?”
“The Met? Like...the museum?”
“Yeah,” Scott said. “I thought you might like that?”
Holy shit. “I would love that.”
Had Scott figured out the thing that Kip hadn’t been able to bring himself to say: that all Kip had wanted for his birthday was to go somewhere he loved with his boyfriend?
“Okay then,” Scott said, smiling. “It’s a date.”
“Really?”
“I mean, obviously we will need to be...discreet.”
“Oh. Yeah. No, I know.” Kip deflated a bit.
“I’ll take you back here after and make it up to you, all right?”
Kip nodded, and tried to keep his face cheerful when he said, “Sounds great.” He kissed him. “Go be a superstar. I’ll be here when you get home.”
Chapter Twenty
“So who’s this guy?” Scott asked. “What’s his story?”
“I don’t know!” Kip laughed. “I don’t know everything!” He leaned in to read the museum’s description of the ornate set of silver armor. “Italian. Sixteenth century. Just a guy. A knight.”
“Just a random knight, huh? Pretty small knight.”
“Everyone was small back then. I wonder if he was wearing this when he died.”
“Geez, can you imagine how long it must have taken to make this thing? And they had whole armies of these guys?”
“They probably reused the armor. High job turnover.”
Scott laughed at Kip’s dark joke. Scott was in incognito mode: a Yankees hat pulled as low as possible without covering his eyes, a basic charcoal zip-up hoodie, and jeans. Kip wasn’t so sure his disguise was going to work; he was still the hottest man in any room. He was going to attract attention no matter what.
Scott’s shoulders were hunched, and he kept shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweater, as if to stop himself from reaching for Kip.
“My dad used to bring me here, when I was a kid,” Kip said. “He taught high school history and English.”
“So you got it from him?”
“Definitely,” Kip said. “My sister, Megan, was more into novels, but I was always interested in history.”
“What do you like about it?”
Kip wasn’t sure how to answer a question that enormous. “It’s... I mean, it’s one long story. One really long story. And there have been millions of people over thousands of years who have helped to tell it. To record their own little piece of it, or to try to fill the gaps or make corrections to the parts that came before them. Like, some people try to record their story in a way that makes them look better—or that makes someone else look worse. But then historians work to fix that. And that’s what I want to do—work to make sure the right stories are being told.”
“Wow,” Scott said. “That’s cool. I like that.”
Kip shrugged, a little embarrassed by his weird ramblings. “I just find it interesting.”
“So sixteenth-century Italian knights aren’t your area of expertise?” Scott asked.
Kip shook his head and smiled. “Not really, no. I’m more interested in peasants. But soldiers definitely interest me.”
“Tell me,” Scott said. “I want to hear about what interests you.”
“Oh. Mostly I’m just interested in people. Not so much the big names in the history books, but how people lived during different periods. In different places. Who the soldiers were in the wars. Who the workers were. That sort of thing. Marginalized groups, especially. People who haven’t had their history told properly.”
Scott nodded thoughtfully. “Like gay people?” he guessed.
“Sure, yeah. For one. I wrote my undergrad thesis on marginalized groups being drafted into wars.” Kip examined the detailing on a sixteenth-century glaive, and waited for Scott to change the subject.
After a minute, Scott surprised Kip by asking, “Do you have a copy of it somewhere? I’d like to read it.”
Kip blinked at him. “You want to read my thesis?”
“Of course. If you wrote it, I want to read it.”
God, that was sweet. Kip really wanted to hug him. Would Scott be angry if he hugged him? “It’s, like, ninety pages long,” he said, instead of lunging for his big, adorable boyfriend. “And probably boring as hell.”
“I can read ninety pages,” Scott said, smirking. “I’m an athlete, not a moron.”
Kip rolled his eyes. “I know you’re not dumb, Scott.”
Scott smiled, and then his eyes darted around the room for the millionth time. He seemed to be forcing himself to have a good time, but was obviously uncomfortable. It was bumming Kip out.
He put a hand on Scott’s arm, then snatched it away when Scott flinched.
Kip did his best not to be annoyed. He wanted to tell Scott to relax, but instead he turned and led him to another suit of armor.
“Hey, have you seen this before? This was always one of my favorite things here. This was worn by Henry VIII.”
“I’ve heard of that guy!”
“See? Not dumb at all!”
Scott frowned at the golden armor. “I thought he was fat. Wasn’t he, like, a big fat guy with a beard? This suit looks really small.”
“This was his armor when he was a young man,” Kip said. “Over here...” He gestured for Scott to follow him. “We see another one of his suits, which he wore twenty or so years later. Big difference.”
“I guess he spent those twenty years eating.”
“And fucking. And killing his wives.”
“Well, I was on board until that last part.”
Kip laughed. Scott beamed at him. “You should work here,” he said. “You’d be great at it!”
“Yeah. That’d be awesome,” Kip mumbled. He had never bothered to tell Scott about the fruitless job interview at the other museum. No reason to make himself seem even less impressive.
“What do you need to work somewhere like this? You have a history degree already.”
“Oh, I don’t know. A master’s degree at least, probably. Depends on the job.”
“And you don’t want to do your master’s?”
“I don’t know,” Kip said, pretending to be interested in a fifteenth-century gauntlet. “I mean, yes. I would like to. I just can’t—” He stopped himself.
“Afford it?” Scott finished for him.
“Don’t start,” Kip warned.
“I’m not! But if money is the only thing holding you back—”
“It’s not. For one thing, I would have to actually be accepted somewhere.”
“Have you applied?”
Kip couldn’t think of a reason to lie. “I sent in a few applications a couple of weeks ago.”
Scott’s eyes went wide with surprise, but he smiled. “That’s great!” Then his face fell a bit. “Um...whereabouts?”
“Oh, just around here,” Kip said quickly. He dropped his voice and smiled. “You t
hought I was gonna leave you?”
Scott looked at him seriously. “I would miss you like hell if you went away for school, but I would understand.”
Kip really wanted to kiss him, or at least squeeze his hand. This sucked.
“Thanks,” he said. “But I’m happier staying here. And besides, I might not get into any of them anyway.”
“You will.”
Things took a turn later when they were in the European sculpture gallery. In the bright lighting, and the wide-open spaces, people started to notice the celebrity in their midst. Suddenly the museum patrons seemed a lot less interested in the statues of Greek gods and began snapping covert photos of the modern-day Adonis who walked among them.
Kip leaned in close to Scott and said, “Those guys are—”
“I know,” Scott said tightly. “I see them.”
It wasn’t long before two young women approached them and asked if they could take a selfie with Scott. Kip could tell that he wanted to politely decline, but instead he forced a grin and said, “Sure!”
Kip could hear the mutterings bouncing around the quiet, marble atrium. “Did you see Scott Hunter over there?” “Is that really Scott Hunter?” “Who is that with him, do you think?”
More people approached Scott and had their picture taken with him. Scott signed a few museum guides, which seemed like an absurd request to Kip.
After a family of four took photos with him, Scott turned to Kip and said, firmly, “We should go. Sorry, but this is only going to get worse.”
They left quickly. They had planned on getting lunch nearby, but Scott was already calling his car service as they walked through the lobby of the museum.
“No lunch then, I guess,” Kip said, keeping his voice as cool as possible.
“Nope.” Scott’s tone was less cool, and his posture was tense and angry. Kip wanted to put a hand on him to soothe him, but he didn’t dare.
Back to the apartment. To hide.
Well, it had been a nice couple of hours of pretending he was in a normal relationship.
* * *
By that evening, the Scott Hunter fan accounts were full of cell phone photos—most of them taken without permission—of Scott and Kip at the museum. There were even a couple of celebrity gossip sites that were posting them. Kip only knew about them because, at just after eight o’clock that night, he received a text from Shawn.
