Chapter 16 #2
Exactly the argument I'll be making when I tell my father that I'm not joining Huntington Law Group, but rather taking a job with an LGBTQ+ advocacy organization instead. That conversation is going to be spectacular in the worst possible way.
"My best friend in high school," Jaren says suddenly, voice quieter as he closes his toolbox, "he ran away when we were sixteen.
Bad home life that the grown-ups didn't notice.
Haven't heard from him since." He stands, meeting my eyes with surprising intensity.
"That's why I'm doing this. Some kids need someone to see them before they disappear. "
The confession hangs in the air between us, unexpectedly heavy. Before I can come up with the right thing to say, that easy grin slides back onto Jaren's face like he never let it slip. "Anyway, the vent's fixed. No more rattling to keep you up during your all-nighters."
Five hours later, I'm standing in front of my closet, contemplating the relative merits of the navy suit versus the charcoal one, when there's a knock at my door.
"It's open,"
James enters, already dressed in the suit we bought for our first fake date. He's done something different with his hair, pushed it back in a way that makes him look more sophisticated. More handsome.
Not that I care. Much.
"Hey," he says, hovering awkwardly by the door. "Gavin said you wanted to see me before we left?"
"Yeah, I just—" I hold up both suits. "Navy or charcoal?"
"For a fundraiser? Navy's more approachable, charcoal says you take yourself too seriously." He hesitates. "At least, that's what the guy at the suit shop told us when you took me to shop for mine."
"Mr. Harrington, the fashion expert." A smile breaks through despite my effort to remain grouchy as I reach for the navy suit. "Thanks."
A moment of awkward silence passes where I'm positive we're both thinking about the same thing: me pinned against a snow barricade, his hands in my hair, the taste of—
"So, about tonight…"
"Yeah, about that." James shifts his weight. "Are we still, um...?"
"Pretending to date? I guess that depends."
"On what?"
I'm opening my mouth to answer when my door flies open and Gavin strolls in like he owns the place, flopping dramatically onto my bed.
"Tell me there's at least decent food at these political things," he says, folding his arms behind his head. "The last football fundraiser I went to had these tiny appetizers that were basically weeds on a cracker. I had to hit McDonald's on the way home."
James glances at me. Yeah. We're both thinking the same thing, saved by Gavin, of all people.
"The food's usually decent." The navy suit lands on the bed. My hoodie comes off, then my t-shirt. "Senator Williams always brings in this catering company that does these amazing bacon-wrapped scallops."
James goes very still across the room, his eyes tracking every movement I make. Not subtle. He's staring, not even pretending not to. His eyes follow the path of fabric sliding over my skin.
The heat that follows his gaze is... It's not unwelcome. Not even a little bit.
My pants drop slower than strictly necessary. Just to see what happens.
James swallows so hard I can see his Adam’s apple bob from here.
Interesting. I want to lick that…
"Fancy," Gavin's laugh shakes us both out of the moment. "Any celebrities? I heard your dad plays golf with the governor."
Pulling on my shirt, I turn from the mirror to see James shake his head, and Gavin smirk at the two of us. "Probably the usual suspects. Local news anchors, a few minor sports figures, maybe a state representative or two."
"Cool, cool." Gavin sits up. "So you do this a lot, huh? The whole political scene thing?"
Something in his casual tone makes me pause. James is watching me as I slowly pull up my pants.
"Only when I can't get out of it." Sitting on the edge of the bed to put on my shoes. "Which is more often than I'd like."
"Not a fan of the spotlight?" James asks quietly.
My laugh has no humour in it. "I'm a fan of not being paraded around like my father's pet project. 'Look, everyone, I have a gay son and I love him anyway. See how progressive I am?'
The words are bitter. Gavin and James exchange a glance.
"Shit, man," Gavin says. "That's fucked up."
Shrugging, I try to play it off. "It's politics. Everything's calculated."
"Is that why you asked me to come?" James asks. "As a buffer?"
My eyes meet his properly this time. Honesty, then. "Partly. These events are always easier with someone else to talk to. But also..." The words stick in my throat; opening up is difficult for me. "I didn't want to go alone this time."
"Because of what happened at the last one? With Christopher?" James's voice is careful.
"Yeah." I turn away and fiddle with my cufflinks. "And because it's exhausting pretending to be the perfect, supportive son when all I want to do is tell everyone what my father truly thinks about 'the gay agenda' when the cameras aren't rolling."
"Which is?" Gavin prompts.
"That it's fine for his son to be gay as long as I'm not 'flamboyant' about it and still plan on giving him grandchildren somehow.
The hypocrisy is what gets me. Standing with his arm around me for the photo op, then telling me later that I shouldn't mention my 'lifestyle choices' to his more conservative donors. "
"Fuuuuuck," James mutters.
"It's whatever." The transformation happens automatically now, my spine straightens, and my jaw unclenches. A practiced half-smile slides into place. The one that says I'm fine, everything's fine, my father is a wonderful man.
"The food is good, the bar is open, and now I'll have you to talk to instead of bored trophy wives and ancient party loyalists."
"Well, now you have two someones," Gavin announces, springing off the bed. "I'm coming too."
"What?" James and I say simultaneously.
"You heard me. I'm coming to this shindig. I've got a suit." Gavin grins. "I can be your emotional support, like a golden retriever."
"Haha, just because your initials are GR doesn't mean you are a… Wait, in your case, it does. But this isn't a kegger, Gavin," James nods in agreement. "It's a political fundraiser."
"Even better!" Gavin doesn't let up. "I've been wanting to expand my social circle beyond sports and frat guys. This is perfect."
"You don't have a ticket."
"Don't you get a plus one? Plus two? Whatever?"
The truth is, I do have flexibility with guests. My father always tells me to bring friends, especially the ones who are "normal-looking."
"You really want to come to a stuffy political event?" James asks Gavin skeptically.
"Absolutely. Free food, open bar, and a chance to see Caleb in his natural habitat? I'm in." Gavin's already heading for the door when he stops, turns back with this manic grin, and drops into the worst Australian accent imaginable.
"Crikey! Look at this beautiful specimen, the North American Politicus Offspringicus in his native environment. Notice how he camouflages himself among the donor class with careful manipulation of his facial expressions and designer suiting."
James chokes on a laugh.
"Observe as he tolerates my presence," Gavin continues, creeping toward me with exaggerated stealth. "One wrong move and he'll retreat into sarcasm for protection. Absolutely magnificent creature."
"I hate you," I say, but I'm fighting a smile.
"See that? A rare display of almost-affection!" Gavin straightens up, dropping the accent. "Give me fifteen minutes to get ready."
After he leaves, James turns to me with a raised eyebrow. "You okay with this?"
The thought sits for a moment. "Actually, yeah. Gavin's like a social lubricant. He can talk to anyone."
"That's one way of putting it," James says with a small smile.
We stand, the question from earlier still hanging between us. About what we are now, after that kiss.
"James, I—"
"We should probably—"
We both stop. James waves me ahead.
"About what happened at the snowball fight." My heart is hammering now. "I don't regret it."
His eyes widen slightly. "Neither do I."
"But I also don't know what it means. For us. For this whole arrangement."
"Me neither," he says. "But maybe we don't have to figure it all out right now? Maybe we just... see where it goes?"
The suggestion is so reasonable, so uncomplicated, that I'm momentarily thrown. I'm used to analyzing every angle and anticipating every outcome. But with James...
"Yeah." Fuck it. "Let's see where it goes."
His smile is soft, genuine in a way that makes my emotions tangle together. "Okay."
"Okay. But for tonight, we're still—"
"Boyfriends," he finishes. "Got it."
"Right. Boyfriends." The word feels different now, charged with new possibilities.
I'm about to say something else when Gavin bursts back in, now wearing a surprisingly well-fitted gray suit.
"Ready to roll?" he asks, practically bouncing with excitement.
James flashes me a look that's somehow both annoyed and affectionate at the same time. "As we'll ever be."
As we head downstairs, I realize something unexpected: for the first time in my life, I'm not dreading one of my father's events. Because this time, I'm not facing it alone.
This time, James is beside me.
And weirdly enough, Gavin too.
God help us all.