by Witt, L. A.
Fed, caffeinated, and pleasantly sore, we stepped into the convention hall to do some shopping.
As we wandered, I kept stealing glances at him. He’d skipped his contacts today, probably because the air in the convention center was so dry, and I still couldn’t get over how sexy he was with his glasses on.
But that wasn’t the only thing I kept looking at. My gaze kept drifting toward his hand. After being so affectionate and sexy, it was kind of jarring to not be touching now. So why weren’t we touching? Did I dare . . .?
If I was going to try to cross that line, this was probably the place to do it. Wolf’s Landing and its fandom were about as queer friendly as you could get, so if there was any place we could get away with being affectionate in public, this was it. The only one who might have any objection was Garrett.
So, with no shortage of nerves twisting in my gut, I let my fingers brush his. When he didn’t pull away, I did it again, and this time I allowed them to linger there for a second before letting them fall away.
Before I could make another attempt, Garrett slid his hand firmly into mine. He glanced at me, and we both smiled.
And . . . that was that. Neither of us said a word about it.
Of course, that didn’t stop me from grinning like an idiot, but whatever. It had been way too long since I’d been with a man who was okay with public affection, and I’d missed it more than I’d realized. I wasn’t into “get a room” levels of PDA, but this? Gentle contact that made it clear to everyone who cared that we were together? Fuck yeah.
We weren’t joined at the hip after that, either. We’d let go to pick something up or flip through a book, or if one of us needed to sign a credit card receipt or something. Sometimes we’d go two or three booths before our hands would find their way back to each other, or an arm would slide around a waist. How was it possible I’d found a guy who was comfortable with exactly the kind of public affection I liked?
Another booth stuffed with spoof merchandise—and not just from Wolf’s Landing—caught our attention and drew us in. While Garrett perused a rack of iPhone covers, I checked out a display of coffee cups. Not that I needed any more coffee cups, but I liked the ones with snarky slogans. Question was, did I want the one that said This Wolf Ain’t Landing Till He Gets Coffee, or the If the World Tree Doesn’t Grow Coffee, I Don’t Give a Fuck? Decisions, decisions.
Hands on my waist startled me, but only because I hadn’t heard him coming. As he slid his arms around me and kissed my cheek, I leaned back against him.
He looked over my shoulder at the coffee cups in my hands. “Getting into trouble?”
“Shopping is not getting into trouble.”
“Mm-hmm. Didn’t you buy like four mugs yesterday?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
“Do I need to go up to the room and count?”
I tried to elbow him playfully, but he just laughed and held me tighter. “You’re a dork.”
“And you’re going to need a bigger kitchen for all these mugs.”
“Yeah, probably.” I held them up so he could see the slogans. “Which one should I get?”
He paused to read them, and laughed. “Hell, why not get both?”
I twisted around a little, eyeing him. “Are you enabling me?”
“Maybe?” He flashed a grin that was probably supposed to look innocent.
I laughed, rolled my eyes . . .
And bought both mugs. Bastard.
We continued through the con. As we walked, we were almost always touching. Sometimes holding hands. Sometimes arms around each other’s waists. More often than not, he just had his hand resting on the small of my back, and I decided I loved that more than anything. It was possessive without being obnoxiously territorial. The gentle weight of his hand was comforting and kind of hot. Like a promise that while everything was calm and platonic right now, it would be anything but in a few hours.
Eventually, we meandered past the crowded section where the End o’ Earth booth was set up. I wasn’t at all surprised to see a huge mob in front of the tables and my bosses looking mildly panicked. My shift technically didn’t start for another half hour, but they were slammed. Scowling, I turned to Garrett. “I should probably get to work. I think they could use the help.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.” He held out his hand. “You want me to take that stuff up to the room?”
I glanced down at my shopping bags. “You sure?”
“Of course. You need to work, and I have a key.” He beckoned to me, and I transferred the bags to his hand.
“Thanks.” I didn’t move right away, though. “I’m working the booth until five, and since it’s the last night, Simon and Lydia usually do pizza or something in their room later on. If you want to go.”
“Sure.” He smiled, thumb rubbing gently against mine. “I’m game for anything.”
“Okay. Maybe we can go grab a light dinner or something first, since it’ll be eight or nine before they’re back in the room.”
Garrett nodded again.
“All right. I’ll see you in a few hours.” I raised my eyebrows. “You sure you won’t get bored?”
“‘Bored’?” Garrett snorted. “Go bankrupt maybe, but I don’t see myself getting bored.”
I laughed. “Well, I can spot you for gas money if you blow your entire wad.”
We locked eyes, both silently daring each other to run with the double entendre.
Finally, he just shook his head. “All right, you better get to work.” He nodded toward the booth.
I glanced over. Yeah, Simon was getting frazzled, and even Lydia looked like she was nearing the end of her tether. Ian and Dexy were nowhere in sight, and with the crowd thickening by the second, yeah—they needed all the help they could get. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”
“Looking forward to it.”
One quick kiss, one long look, and we separated.
As soon as I stepped behind the booth, Simon clapped my shoulder. “Oh thank God. Ian had to go to some studio thing, and we had to send Dexy to the office supply store, so it’s been just us holding down the fort.”
“Let me sign in on the time sheet,” I said. “And I’m all yours.”
And all through my shift, there was a cool spot on my lower back where Garrett’s hand had been.
* * *
That evening, I’d been desperate to get out of the convention center. I’d had enough of fluorescent lights, recycled air, and yes, even Wolf’s Landing. I was stiff and sore all over, but walking down the sidewalk was nice. The fresh air more than made up for the extra effort my legs had to put forth.
We grabbed some munchies and coffee from a food truck near a park and shot the breeze while we ate and walked. Eventually, we ended up by some shops, a lot of which were obviously geared toward tourists.
“My God,” I said as we slowed in front of one. I arched an eyebrow at the snow globes, spoons, coins, postcards, T-shirts, oven mitts, paperweights, beer cozies, bookends, and Lord only knew what else. “How many different things can they put Portland on?”
Garrett snickered, letting the backs of his fingers brush mine. “About as many things as they can put Wolf’s Landing on, I’m guessing.”
“Fair point.”
We exchanged glances and kept walking.
In front of a small jeweler, Garrett slowed, and we stopped so he could look at some Seiko watches in the window. While he checked them out, the display of magazines at the next shop caught my eye. I craned my neck, perusing the covers to see if anyone hot was featured this month. Levi was supposed to be on the cover of something soon to promote his new movie, and I was definitely grabbing a copy of that one when it came out. I didn’t see it, though, and none of the other magazines on the rack had anyone or anything worth coughing up seven bucks for a copy. The latest superhero abomination was out soon, so half the magazines were focused on that, and some controversial Oscar-bait monstrosity was getting a ton of attention from—
>
“You got a problem, faggot?”
I jumped twice. First at the slur. Then at the realization it had been directed at me. I shook myself and met the gaze of a snarly guy in an Oregon Ducks baseball cap. “Sorry, what?”
“I fucking saw you staring at me.” He faced me fully, puffing himself up as if he weren’t already twice my size. “So, you got a problem?”
I gritted my teeth. Behind me, though Garrett didn’t make a sound, his presence was suddenly . . . there. I glanced at him, ready to tell him to stay out of it, but there was nothing aggressive in his posture. It only took a split second of eye contact for him to tell me he had my back, but he wasn’t stepping in.
Then I faced the asshole again. “What makes you think I was looking at you?”
He glared at me. “I fucking saw you.”
All around us, heads were starting to turn. Conversations quieted. People stared.
I didn’t take my attention off Asshole McDuck as I quickly assessed my options. Sarcasm and mockery could usually shut people like this down in a hurry, but even with a bunch of people around and my good-sized boyfriend behind me, I didn’t want to gamble too much. Not when he had on a loose flannel overshirt that could easily hide something more dangerous than insecurities and a bad attitude.
I narrowed my eyes and gestured—with an exaggeratedly limp wrist, of course—toward the magazine rack. “Unless you’re a copy of GQ with Steve Bancroft’s face on the cover, I didn’t even know you were standing there until you said something.” I bit back an additional comment about So who was staring at who, darlin’? because I still couldn’t be sure what was or wasn’t under that flannel shirt. Sass wasn’t worth the risk.
His lips pulled tight and he glared at me. His eyes flicked toward Garrett. Then scanned our surroundings.
Finally, with some grumbling that was probably a few more homophobic slurs, he rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and stomped down the sidewalk.
All around us, everyone stayed tense for a moment before they slowly relaxed. Conversations started again. A few glances went his way, but otherwise, the world kept on turning as if nothing had happened.
I exhaled, trying to calm the jittery feeling in my stomach as the adrenaline began to ease.
Garrett put a hand on my back. On that spot that had been cool all day while I’d worked the booth. “You all right?”
I nodded, smoothing a hand over my shirt as if our altercation had ruffled my clothing. “Occupational hazard when you don’t act straight enough.”
He glanced in the direction the Ducks fan had gone. If looks could kill, that motherfucker would’ve dropped dead right there on the sidewalk.
I touched Garrett’s arm. “It’s okay. It’s done.”
“I know.” He was still scowling, but as he turned to me, his expression softened. “You sure you’re good?”
I nodded. “Yeah. And thanks for not jumping in.”
At that, he actually smiled a little. Cupping my face, he said, “I know you can hold your own.” His eyes flicked toward the space the guy had occupied, and the smile faltered. “If he’d lifted a hand to you, he’d have been shitting his own teeth, but . . .”
I laughed and put an arm around him. “I’ve never had a big strong protector. I kind of like this.”
He eyed me incredulously, but then he laughed and kissed my temple. As we started walking back in the direction we’d come, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I hardly think you need protecting.”
“Still.”
Keeping me close to his side, he said, “I’m your boyfriend. Not your bodyguard.”
I had to smile at the words. Not just because I agreed, but because he’d actually said, I’m your boyfriend, out loud. I didn’t give a damn if that made me a huge romantic dork. And getting all giddy and ridiculous about that was better than thinking about the confrontation, so I ran with it.
As we walked, we didn’t talk much. That was fine. I liked our companionable silences, and anyway, my mind was still on the altercation with that asshole that had left me shaken. It happened sometimes, and even in progressive places like Seattle and Portland, it was a real and fucking irritating part of being a loudly gay man, but I didn’t think anyone ever really got used to it.
If there was any silver lining to what had happened, it was the side of Garrett it had revealed.
Some guys seemed to think that because I was on the femme side, I needed a big bad protector to fight my battles for me. And yeah, if things got physical, I probably couldn’t do much against someone built like a brick shithouse. But as long as it was just verbal, I could stand my own ground, thank you very much. I hated being defended. I hated the assumption that I needed or wanted someone else to valiantly step in and fight my battles for me. Something like that had actually been the end of one of my few relationships.
Tonight, it was like Garrett had known exactly what I’d needed—let me know you have my back, but don’t tag in until I need you.
I stole a glance at him, and a fluttery feeling danced in my stomach. I had zero doubt whatsoever that he’d been serious about getting involved if things had turned physical, and just the rage radiating off him would quite possibly have made up for any difference in strength between him and McDuck. But he’d let me call the shots. I’d wanted a chance to defuse it, and he’d given it to me. I’d wanted to keep things from escalating, and he’d let me. A hotheaded guy could’ve stepped in, turned things into a brawl, and quite possibly found out the hard way if my gut feeling was true about what was hidden under that shirt.
I had to fight a shudder at the thought of Garrett getting hurt on my behalf, and I was once again thankful things hadn’t gotten out of control.
As we walked, I held him a little tighter. With this man, I felt safe and supported, but also respected. Like he could let me stand on my own two feet, but was one hundred percent there if my balance wavered.
Funny how that made me want to fall in a very, very different way.
Chapter 22
Garrett
“You did bring your cards, right?” Jesse asked after we’d returned to our room.
“Of course.” I nodded toward my bag. “I know what happens when we play Magic, so you’d better believe I came prepared.”
Jesse grinned. “Simon and Lydia said we’re playing while we do pizza. The ‘what happens after Magic’ part will have to wait a bit, but . . .” He raised his eyebrows. “You in?”
“Sure. That sounds like fun. Even if I do have to wait for the really fun part.”
A sly smile curled his lips as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “I’ll make it worth the wait.” He kissed me lightly. “Promise.”
“Oh, I know you will. You always do.” I claimed a deeper kiss, not to change his mind about waiting until later, but to let him know I was absolutely going to hold him to it. If his lips and tongue were to be believed, he liked that idea.
We’d be here all night if we kept standing here kissing, though. So, we pried ourselves apart, grabbed our cards, and headed down the hall to the room Simon, Lydia, and Ian were sharing.
Of course I was fully expecting to see the three of them there. It was a bit of a shock, though, when I realized there were a few more players tonight. Didn’t matter that I’d known who some of the regulars were at the shop. Didn’t matter that I’d known everyone at the comic book shop was friends with half of Wolf’s Landing. There just wasn’t much that could prepare a man for walking into a hotel room and finding Levi Pritchard, Carter Samuels, and Hunter Easton shuffling their decks and distributing munchies. Especially not when I’d been a shameless Levi Pritchard fanboy since his Chad Eastwick days. Seeing him cross-legged on a bed in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, shuffling a deck of Magic cards, shaved about twenty years off my life.
“Holy shit,” I said under my breath.
Jesse shot me a smirk, and when he winked, I didn’t have to ask if he’d known who would be here tonight. He took my elbow. “Guess I
should introduce you—”
The door clicked behind us, and we stepped out of the way. In walked Kevyan Montanari—not that I instantly recognized him from all those Wolf’s Landing interviews I’d watched or anything—with a stack of pizza boxes. “Food’s here!”
“Yes,” Jesse said. “Perfect timing.”
Kevyan smiled. Then his gaze shifted to me, and his eyebrows jumped. “Oh hey, I was hoping I’d get to meet you this weekend.” He gave me a very conspicuous down-up, followed by a lecherous grin. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
My cheeks burned.
Beside me, Jesse sighed with exasperation. “Shut up, Kev. I haven’t given you that many details.”
Kevin chuckled. “Aw, come on. I was just messing with him.” He shifted the pizzas to his left arm and offered his right hand. “I’m Kevin.”
Oh, I know who you are.
“Garrett,” I said, though he obviously knew that too.
We shook hands, and he went to put the pizzas down beside the TV on the big dresser. Then Jesse introduced me to everyone else. I’d already met Simon and Lydia, but I hadn’t met their boyfriend, Ian, until tonight. I managed to not make an idiot of myself as I was introduced to Hunter and Carter. Meeting Levi with some sense of dignity? That was a little more challenging. He obviously wasn’t the young guy who’d played Chad Eastwick anymore, but time had been incredibly kind to him. There was also a big difference between seeing that lopsided smile on a screen or a poster and having it directed at you.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he said as he shook my hand.
Nice . . . to finally . . . meet me?
I tried to speak, but choked. With a subtle cough, I regained my voice. “Yeah. Same.”
Something sparkled in his eyes, as if he knew exactly how much I was struggling to be a normal idiot instead of a stunned fanboy idiot.
