“That’s sexist.”
I step forward and kiss her forehead. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“And now you’re being condescending.”
“For fuck’s sake, woman, have some tequila.” Before she stops me again, I grab my phone, keys, jacket, and scarf and leave her in my apartment.
What am I doing? Last thing Damon probably wants is to see me right now. Do I go in and hide and wait until Damon’s alone to make sure he’s okay? Do I pretend to bump into him?
As soon as I step over the threshold into the restaurant, my eyes find him at a table near the back. Eric has his back to me, but he brought his fiancée.
Holy douche-canoe, I already know he’s a dick, and I haven’t seen his face yet.
Damon looks miserable even with his forced smile as he downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t shaved for days, and his fledging dark beard makes him look even hotter than the clean-shaven jock I met a few weeks ago. I don’t know what it is about this guy that draws me to him, but all I know is I want to be near him. Even if it’s just as friends.
He hasn’t spotted me yet, but I know a way I could rescue him. It’s time for me to repay the favor he did me.
Eric’s telling some story when I approach, his voice all douchey and frat boy like. No wait, that’s an insult to me and my brothers. Damon’s eyes widen when he sees me. There’s a half-eaten pizza in front of them, so Damon’s already had to endure this a while.
“Maddy—”
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” God, I hope he hasn’t told Eric he’s not seeing anyone or this will totally backfire. I squeeze in next to him in the booth.
He remains silently stunned until I lean in and kiss his cheek. His woodsy aftershave smells familiar—like I’ve already memorized his scent.
And my brain has officially gone into creepy territory. I follow this guy to a restaurant and then smell him? Suddenly, coming here doesn’t seem like a bright idea.
“Thought you said you couldn’t make it,” Damon says.
Phew. Thought I lost him for a second there.
“My other plans fell through.” I turn to fuckhead and don’t like what I see. Blond hair, blue eyes, just like me. Guess Damon can’t use the argument I’m not his type, because clearly, I am. “I’m Maddox.”
Eric frowns. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone, D.”
D. Ugh.
“Can say the same about you,” Damon says. “Turns out you’re engaged.” His tone is light but there’s aggression underneath it. “Maddy and I are new.”
“I’m Kristy,” the blonde woman says to me.
“Getting married, huh?” I ask. “Congratulations. You’re going to make very blond children.”
Eric’s still glaring. “How did you two meet?” He slings his arm around his fiancée. God, could he be any more obvious about what he’s doing? We get it, you’re straighter than a fucking ruler.
“I’m best friends with Stacy,” I say.
“Wait, you’re that Maddox?” Eric asks and then smiles. “You’ve hung out with my brother, Julian, a few times. He, uh, says you’re a great wingman. You know, and great at picking up women.”
Well, shit. I do know Stacy’s friend Julian, and yes, I’ve hooked up in front of him a few times.
“What are you getting at?” I ask.
Eric turns to Damon. “Really? Resorting to getting a straight guy to pretend to be your boyfriend? That’s sad.”
“Who says I’m straight?”
Damon grabs my hand on top of the table. “You’ll have to excuse my friend. It’s all gay or straight to Eric. He doesn’t like the grey area in between.”
Ooh, burn.
Eric turns a shade of tomato. “Bisexuality is the middle step to gaytown.”
Damon’s grip on my hand becomes deathly.
“That’s classic bi-erasure shit,” I say. I may’ve Googled a lot these past two weeks. Definitely learned some new terms. “I’m here, I’m bi, and I like guys … and girls.” I turn to Damon. “Hmm, not as catchy as We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it, is it?”
“Not so much,” Damon says with the biggest smile.
“When my boyfriend asked me to meet his best friend, I wasn’t aware I’d have to defend my sexuality. Sorry, D, but your friend is a dick.” I have to give Damon credit; he holds in his laugh well.
Kristy’s gaze ping-pongs between the three of us. It’s not clear if she’s confused or entertained.
Eric turns to his fiancée. “Can you go get me another beer from the bar, hon?”
“But—”
“Now,” he barks at her, and she obeys. They’re in for a great marriage.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Damon slumps in his seat. “What are we doing here, Eric?”
“You know our families will expect you to be the best man at my wedding.”
“Can’t you tell them you’re all bromanced up with someone from college? Or ask your brother. Friends drift apart, and they know we haven’t been as close since college. They don’t have to know how much of a homophobe you’ve become. Or always were.”