Chapter 7
“So, spill everything,” Owen says, his mouth already gulping down a mimosa. His Southern drawl is heavy this morning which means he’s been talking with his parents recently. They’re from Georgia, and Owen has a Southern accent that grows thicker the longer they’re together. And I love it. To be honest, I crushed on him a bit in high school just from the way he spoke. Until I realized the two of us were not compatible at all. Not one bit.
“Yes, Cooper,” Patrick adds, leaning forward and batting his dark eyelashes at me. “Tell us all the things.”
I glower at my friends, shifting in the booth and picking up a menu. I already know what I want. The three of us have met here on a monthly basis for ages, catching up on everything we’ve missed. Sometimes life is crazy and this is the only way to make sure we don’t miss out on each other’s lives. And they have missed out.
“You know, since we weren’t invited to the wedding,” Patrick adds, still salty about it.
“How did you expect me to invite you? It was impromptu and I was plastered? I can’t even remember my own wedding.”
“We should be embedded so deep in your subconscious that we should have at least gotten a text,” Owen adds, and I roll my eyes. “And we haven’t even gotten to meet your beautiful, blushing groom yet.”
Well, they’re correct on one thing. He is beautiful and he does blush. He blushed all morning yesterday when I held him against me in bed. I could feel how hot his face was, how needy his body was despite him trying to fight it.
I love watching those walls break down to find the touch-starved man underneath.
If only he’d just come to me without any prompting. The joy I’ll feel on that day, like I’ve won something that I didn’t expect.
“He has a dazed look about him, don’t you think?” Patrick says about me, and I hear Owen hum in response.
“He does. Must be the newly married bliss.”
“No, I’m just bored of this conversation.”
Owen laughs and I see Patrick grinning at me just as the waitress comes over and takes our orders before disappearing once more, leaving me to stare at my best friends.
“Fine. Sue me. I’m happy. He’s a nice guy. In his own way.”
Patrick and Owen nod in understanding, despite their eyes twinkling in delight. They’re loving this. Mainly because I’ve always said I’d never marry, never settle down, and yet here I am, a ring on my finger and a husband that comes home to me after work.
“When can we meet him?” they both ask.
“Never,” I reply and then turn on my phone and show them a picture of us. It was taken last Wednesday after he came home from teaching. He’d showered and sat down for dinner, and I forced him to look up and smile for the camera. He looked absolutely rumpled and wet. Lord have mercy. He’s any gay man’s sexy dream come true.
“Well, we have to meet him someday. I think we should just show up unannounced,” Patrick says, and Owen nods enthusiastically.
“I will ban you from entering. The doorman takes bribes.”
“We know this and Clifford loves us both,” Patrick replies, just as Owen pipes up that he brought him coffee last time he came by and that Clifford proposed marriage.
It’s hopeless. My friends are going to harass my new husband and there’s nothing I can do about it. Seems I could warn him though. So that he’s prepared when it does happen. Might have to pay for a therapist afterward.
“Fine, I was planning on arranging a dinner party anyways. It’s something you can come to.”
Beau and Max will have to attend as well, and perhaps Matthew’s other brother, Magnus, and his husband, Sem. I know that Matthew is still working on repairing his relationship with his youngest brother so perhaps a nice dinner party will help in that process.
Patrick and Owen nod in agreement, probably plotting all the ways that they can embarrass me. I’ll get them back eventually, just maybe not anytime soon. Patrick isn’t tied down to anyone, despite yearning for it, and Owen just sleeps around with anyone he fancies.
“So, tell us the truth. Is he really straight?” Owen asks, and I bob my head.
“As a piece of wood.”
“Yes, but we all know wood can warp and bend.”
“It can indeed,” I say, taking a bite of my breakfast scramble. “But I don’t know. Matthew is a hard nut to crack. I’m working on him, but there’s a good chance he may never see me like that.”
“Thoughts and prayers,” Patrick says, and I roll my eyes.
“I need both. Mainly for myself.” Because as much as this seems like a game at times, I really do enjoy watching him open up. Like when we were sorting those seashells the other day. He looked so happy, as if no one’s ever told him that collecting things from the beach was an okay thing to do. And don’t get me started on the cuddling. I like holding him, like feeling him press eagerly against me.
In fact, when I’m away from him or he’s away from me—which happens more often because he works—I miss him. I want him to come home, to spend time with me. Not that I’d tell him that because I don’t want to share any weakness with him, not yet. He’s definitely not ready for that. But even right now, as much as I’ve enjoyed seeing my friends, I want to be back at home, walking on the beach with Matthew. I want to slide my arm through his and pull him into the waves, watching as he bends down and pulls out sand dollars and seashells. And then I want to bring him home, run a bath for him, and make him dinner.
I’ve never thought of myself as domestic. I surely didn’t learn it from my parents. But I’ve realized that I want it. I want to be that person for someone else.
And it seems that person might be Matthew.
Fuck. It’s going to hurt when it’s over, when he finally pushes me into getting a divorce. At that thought, a bell pepper goes down the wrong pipe, making me choke, and I quickly drink some water to wash it down. Damnable slimy things. I hate all vegetables now. They’re trying to murder me.
“You do know you have teeth to chew with?” Owen says, and I fling a piece of egg at him.
He gasps as he wipes his shirt off.
“I do know this, thank you very much. I just forgot how to swallow.”
“Tragic, that will ruin your sex life,” Patrick says, and I can’t help the laugh that slips out of me.
“So, nothing has happened between you two? Nothing at all?” Patrick asks.
“No. Not that I can remember, anyways. And I won’t pressure him into it. If he wants something with me, he needs to ask.”
Both Owen and Patrick nod at that and we finish off our lunch, talking about everything else besides me. I focus on listening to Owen tell me about the drama in his office and Patrick gush about how great his drag show went last week.
It’s nearing three o’clock when it’s finally time to go, and I know Matt will be getting home from work soon. I give them both hugs and promise to send them dinner invites soon before nearly racing to my car. I want to get back to him.
My Matthew.
When I arrive home, Matthew is outside on the balcony, his eyes closed, a blanket pulled over him. I love that he is finding more time to relax now and that I can provide that for him. But mostly, I love that he’s here. That I have someone to come home to.
“Hey,” he says, peeling back one eyelid and glancing at me. It shuts almost immediately and he sighs, tucking himself under the blanket even further. Well, doesn’t he look just cozy. I want to crawl under there too, want to get a little up close and personal on this lounger.
“Just laid out here to listen to the ocean and accidentally fell asleep.”
“Good,” I say, moving toward him and running a hand through his hair. It’s become a bit of a habit for me, touching him like this, and I don’t hate it. Neither does he. He arches into it like he usually does. But unlike before, he sits up and scoots forward.
I don’t move for a second, and he glances up at me with a furrowed brow.
“Get back there.”
“Yes sir,” I say with as much snark as I can muster to hide my stammering heart and then slide in behind him, letting my legs fall to his sides and pulling his back to my chest. Because I’m the smaller one in most of my relationships, I usually end up being held more often than not, but right now, I really love that Matthew wants to be cuddled. That I’m the big spoon.
My arms move around him, cradling him to me, and my hands fall to his strong chest. The blanket is pulled up over us both and he settles into me, melting like a lit candle.
I can’t help but touch him, running my hands up and down his chest, feeling the hard nubs of his nipples, the way his abdomen contracts when my fingers glide over them. He’s so responsive, so sensitive.
“That feels good,” he sighs as he snuggles in further.
“Yeah?” I ask and then drag his shirt up and let my hands slide against his bare skin. He lets out a small, desperate moan, and I feel that sound slide through my skin and settle somewhere in my chest.
Those sounds, those needy little mewls make my dick hard.
“Did you have a good day?” I ask as my thumbs run across his nipples.
His breath hitches and he turns slightly and nuzzles his face into my neck. He probably doesn’t even realize that he’s doing it, but he is. And it’s driving me crazy.
“Yeah, it was okay. It’s nice to get home at an earlier time, now that my commute is shorter. I even stopped on the beach and picked up a few more shells. I know it’s dumb…” he trails off.
“Not dumb. They’re treasures, Matthew. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Thank you for doing that with me,” he says softly. “I like having somewhere I can put them. Display them.”
“Always.”
He shifts slightly and his nose brushes my neck. “I had to hide that shit growing up. Liking pretty things.”
“Well, that’s infuriating,” I say as I reach down and tug his shirt off over his head and toss it onto the ground. “There, that’s better.”
My fingers dig into his shoulders as I massage him, and he sighs.
“It is, but it’s nice not having to hide things, you know?”
“I do know,” I say as my fingers drag down his chest to the waistband of his sweatpants. I let my fingertip trace the line of it, dipping beneath the elastic and making his breath catch.
“Do you collect pretty things, Coop?” he asks when my thumb swirls around his belly button.
“I do. You already know I like soap. But you know what else I like? Lacy underwear.”
“Of course you do.”
“I do. It’s gorgeous. Would you like to see some of them?”
I’m teasing, half-expecting him to tell me to go to hell, but instead, he just sits up, the blanket puddling around his waist.
“Yeah. Okay. Show me.”
“What?” I ask, my eyes wide in confusion.
“You sat with me organizing my seashells. Show me your fancy panties.”
I let out a burst of laughter. “Yeah? You sure? Because you may just end up lusting after me.”
He rolls his eyes and stands up, pulling me to my feet. “Come on, Coop. Show me. I wanna see.”
“Like show you them or model them?”
“Model, why not?”
My cheeks are flushed and my heart is racing in excitement. He wants me to show him my fancy undies, the kind that go up my butt and have a dick pouch. Part of me thinks I drank too much at lunch and I’m hallucinating, but when he flops himself down on his stomach on my bed, his head in his hands, his legs crossed behind him, I walk to my closet.
“You sure about this?” I call out and hear his response loud and clear.
“Yep, bring it on, Cooper. I’m ready.”