“Look, it’s Kellan and Donovan in five years,” Devers teased as Donovan wound his arms around his boyfriend and kissed his head.
“It is pretty romantic,” Kellan mused, and I must’ve thought so, too, because I could not take my eyes off them. It just wasn’t in my wheelhouse when I thought about being with a guy, and who could blame me? This attraction thing was pretty new. As most of the team moved down the beach, including Maclain, I stayed for another minute, watching. And I could tell Maclain was having trouble shaking the visual too because he kept glancing toward the shore as the ceremony moved along.
“That what you see for yourselves someday?” I asked Donovan as we strolled past the ceremony to catch up with the others.
“Probably. Marriage isn’t for everyone, so that’s up to each couple to decide,” he said, and I hadn’t heard it put quite that way before. Plenty of people focused on having that type of ceremony as the gold standard, but really, it was about the commitment, and thus far, I’d never felt strongly enough about someone to give it much thought.
Later that night, as I stared at the dark ceiling, I thought about the men on the beach again and realized that no matter who I ended up falling in love with, I would want something like that. I would want to stand proudly beside them and make a commitment to them for better or worse.
I kept tossing and turning until I landed on my back with my underwear off and my hand on my dick as I considered jerking off. Maybe that would help release this pent-up frustration for the man who was already tucked beneath his covers by the time I got to the room. He obviously wasn’t wrestling with the same shit I was.
Why did he have to be so hot and cold all the time? Though he did warn me. I must’ve growled a bit too loudly because next thing I knew, Maclain was stirring in his sheets.
“Girard?” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Shit, sorry I woke you,” I muttered.
“S’okay…I tried to wait up, but I was so tired,” he said around a yawn.
“You were waiting up for me?” I stiffened. “Why?”
He rolled to his side to face me. “I wanted to talk.”
My stomach tightened. “About what?”
“About…well, mostly about last night,” he said hesitantly. “Why did you leave like that?”
So I was right. That had bothered him. He could’ve asked me to stay, or hell, anything else besides making me play goddamned guessing games.
“Honest truth?” I tried to temper my tone. “I didn’t want to see the regret in your eyes.”
He scoffed. “Do you have regrets?”
“No, fuck no. I enjoyed what happened last night, and I want to do it all over again.” I stabbed at the air. “It’s you who’s always… You know what? Never mind.”
“God, Girard.” I could hear his harsh breaths as he sat up and threw the covers off him. “I don’t want to be like this, so conflicted, and I also don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want you to hate me after…after we’re done with this, whatever this is. Don’t quote me, but I sort of like having you as a friend.”
Holy shit, now this was an actual heart-to-heart, and I was ready for it. I’d wanted him to be more open and truthful all along.
“Um, what? So we’re, like, real friends?” I quipped. “Call the presses.”
“I know. It’s wild that you’ve somehow grown on me.”
“It’s not wild. I’m a lovable person.” I snickered a little, enjoying our back-and-forth. “And I wouldn’t hate you, not any more than I already do.”
He snorted out a laugh, then tried to take it back, then cracked up some more, and fuck if it wasn’t infectious. I couldn’t see him clearly, but just hearing the sound of joy coming from him made my shoulders start shaking with amusement too. And before we knew it, it had turned into that deep, belly-aching laughter that was difficult to break. Once one of us got going again, the other would follow.
Maclain threw his arm over his head. “Why the fuck are we laughing?”
“I dunno. You started it.” I took gulping breaths. “But Christ, it feels good.”
“Yeah…it does.” He sighed dreamily. “It’s better than constantly having that other feeling.”
I sobered. “What other feeling?”
He groaned low in his throat. “The one that’s sort of like having the flu.”
I sat up on my elbow and stared at him. “You’re saying I’m like some sort of virus?”
“Yeah, you make me feel all feverish and shit.”
The room grew quiet as the tension intensified.
“You make me feel feverish too, and sometimes I just want…” I made a frustrated noise, unable to put my feelings into words, not where he was concerned.
“Want what?” His voice was soft, earnest.