“You are remembering I have to spend the next two days with this guy, right? He’ll hate me on sight if we screw with him.”
But it’s too late. Richard’s knocking. Stacy’s grinning. I want to shoot myself.
The door opens, but I can’t see Maddox from where we’re hiding.
Richard goes from being a weird guy wearing a costume to flamboyant gay in the blink of an eye. “Maddox! Hi, darling. I’m Damon.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Richard’s right. You are evil.”
“Uh … umm …” Maddox’s confusion almost makes me feel sorry for him. His voice is deeper than I expected. Even through stuttering, it makes a rich, smooth sound.
“Not what you expected?” Richard asks, putting his hand on his hip which he pops out in the most dramatic way possible.
Oh, geez.
“No. I’m just wondering how much Stacy is paying you to get me to make an ass of myself,” Maddox says. He sticks his head out the doorway and glares at Stacy. “Nice try. You’re forgetting I know you too well. Also, if you thought I was dumb enough not to stalk your brother on social media, then I’ve lost all respect for your cunningness. The Stacy I know would’ve posted this guy’s mug on Damon’s profile.” He points to Richard.
I bark out a laugh. “You’re right, Stace. This was fun.”
Maddox’s blue eyes meet mine. With his square jaw, blondish hair, and young Brad Pitt resemblance, this weekend just became a whole lot more awkward. Of course, the straight guy is gorgeous, because the universe likes to watch me suffer.
Fuck, now he’s smiling. “Hey, real Damon. I’m Maddox.”
“’Sup.” ’Sup? Get it together.
Stacy drags me toward his outstretched hand for us to shake.
“Uh, is my job done here?” Richard asks.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Stacy says. “I’ll walk you out. See you on Monday, Maddox. Call you later, Damon.”
I watch my sister retreat, half-wishing she wouldn’t leave me alone with him. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. Not with my track record of falling for straight guys. Well, guy. It was only once, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do that ever again.
“Ready to head out?” Maddox asks. “I rented a car, and we’ve got about three hours on the road if traffic isn’t shit.”
“Yup.” I lift my duffel and the bag with my suit. “All set.”
***
“So, uh, I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Maddox says as soon as we’re out of the city.
The drive so far has consisted of awkward small talk and my brain deciding one-word answers are appropriate.
I nod and stare out my window. I spent four years playing baseball for Newport University, and I never found New Jersey as fascinating as I do now. I didn’t realize how awesome the I-80 could be.
“You think I’m an asshole, huh?” he says.
“Little bit.”
“At least you’re honest.”
I shift in my seat. He really wants to go there? Fine. “It’s because of guys like you that when I tell a girl I don’t date women, they call bullshit.”
“Really? They actually call you on it?”
“I’ve heard ‘But you’re so masculine’ and ‘If you didn’t want to date me, then fine, but you don’t have to lie.’ My favorite would have to be ‘But you’re a sports agent.’ I didn’t realize liking sports was against the rules. There goes any chance of winning Gay Man of the Year.”
“Fuuuuck. Way to make me feel like more of a dick. How did Stacy get you to agree to this?”
“You forgetting your bribe? Be honest, does the hockey guy even exist?”
Maddox’s jaw hardens. “Yes. He does. And for what it’s worth, I don’t like having to go through with this. I swear she’s the only girl I’ve ever pretended to be gay for.”
“Whatever,” I mumble. “I’m purely here for the opportunity to meet a new client.”
“Fair enough.”
“We should get our story straight,” I say.
“I tried to find out as much as I could from the internet, but you have privacy settings stronger than Fort Knox. All I found out was your name, you go to Columbia, you work for OTS, and your Twitter feed is full of baseball stats and not much else.”
“Did you Google me?”
“Uh, no. Just stalked you on Facebook and Twitter.” He should’ve Googled me. It would’ve given him my whole life story. I made sure to erase my former life as an upcoming baseball player from my social media accounts. “Why, what’s there to Google?”
I scoff.
“Damn it, now I’m intrigued. Did you kill a guy?”
“No.” Just my career.
“Is it an embarrassing middle name? A boyfriend should know that, right?”
I give him the side-eye. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into? I mean, we’re going to have to act like partners. You’ll have to hold my hand and touch me like a boyfriend would. Are you going to flinch every time I go near you?”