Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
RHYS
This might be the best and worst shoot I’ve ever done. It was really fucking hot and from the expression on Sebastian’s face, it’s clear that he’s pleased with the results. But I’m wrecked by the time Sebastian yells cut.
Physically, it was demanding. I’ve never been fucked on the pole quite like that. Pro tip: don’t try this at home.
But really, it’s my emotions I’m worried about. They’re so jumbled up and twisted into knots that I feel like laughing hysterically and crying just as hard at the same time.
The look on Angel’s face at the end… oh my god. So dazed and cum-drunk. He was so pliable and soft that I wished we were in bed, snuggled together under the covers.
And Christ, the way he licked my boot, his tongue running over the straps and skin. How he rubbed his face against my leg, then sank his teeth into my calf .
He’s so innocently erotic, unintentionally kinky. There’s no pretense, no exaggeration. He’s discovering all these new things about himself and he just… accepts them. There’s no freaking out, no denying his reactions. He simply takes it all in his stride. Pure and unencumbered.
How could I not have fallen in love with him? I was a lost cause the moment he sat down next to me on my childhood bed.
Sebastian lets us lie on the stage for a bit while he and Christian work around us. Angel’s breathing gradually slows to a point where he might be asleep and I reluctantly lift my head from his shoulder.
His lashes flutter and he blinks lazily at me for a second before a smile spreads across his face.
My heart stops at the sight, then swells impossibly large. It presses against the inside of my ribs until I think I’m going to burst. Goddamn it. I love him so fucking much.
And I have to believe that he feels something for me too. Maybe not the way I feel for him. Maybe not love. But something , right? People don’t smile like that at people they don’t care about. People don’t say ridiculously sweet things to randos.
I cling to the idea, sink my manicured nails into it. It’s the only thing keeping me afloat. It’s the only thing preventing me from sinking into the depths of despair.
“Hey, you guys good?” Sebastian asks, squatting down next to us.
I watch Angel for his answer, scouring his face for any signs of discomfort, of regret. I don’t find any.
“Yeah,” he says, sitting up.
I follow him, keeping myself tucked into his side .
“That foot thing?” Sebastian shakes his head. “Whew, that was hot.”
Angel’s ears go red. “We didn’t plan to do that. Is that okay?”
“Are you kidding me?” Sebastian laughs. “It’s way more than okay. It’s fantastic. We haven’t had a foot video before. Fans are going to eat this up!”
Angel ducks his chin shyly, but his smile broadens. Fuck. I can’t wait to get him alone so we can fully explore this foot fetish. I bet I could come just from Angel sucking on my toes.
“Great job, guys. You go get cleaned up. We’ll put the rest of the equipment away.”
I take Angel back to the dressing room. A pregnant silence settles over us as we wipe down and put our street clothes back on. There’s so much I want to say to Angel, so much I want to tell him. And yet, I don’t dare.
It’s cowardly, I know. Especially since he’s been so brave this whole time. Stepping outside his comfort zone, exploring all these new parts of himself. The least I could do is be honest with him about how I feel.
But I can’t. Not today, at least. I don’t want to ruin this buzz we’re floating in. I’m greedy and selfish. I want to drag this out for as long as I can.
All dressed—Angel in his standard jeans and casual button down, me in mustard-yellow corduroy bell-bottoms and an oversized cream sweater—and with our coats on, we head back out to join Sebastian and Christian. I pull my phone out of my bag to check it quickly for notifications. There’s a message from Hayden wishing me luck on the video. A few from social media, comments on posts about our first video. And a voicemail from Mom .
Argh.
Dread fills me and I stuff my phone back into my bag. Nothing good ever comes from a call from Mom. Who even leaves voicemails these days? Ugh.
“What’s wrong?” Angel asks.
I wipe my annoyance from my expression. “Oh, nothing. My mom just called.”
His eyes widen in concern. “Is everything okay?”
I shrug. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll listen to the voicemail later.”
“Are you sure? What if something happened?”
My heart does that stop-and-swell thing again at Angel’s worry. He cares so much. Even for people he barely knows. Even for people I should care a lot more about.
Pouting, I pull my phone out again and tap the button to play the message.
“Ricky, this is your mother. I’m calling to remind you about cousin Barry’s wedding in a couple weeks. You’re expected to be there. Call me back.”
I groan and roll my eyes. “It’s about my cousin Barry’s wedding. He’s not even really my cousin. We’re like, fifth or sixth cousins or something like that.”
Angel nods, growing reserved. And when he speaks, he’s suddenly quiet. “Yeah, I know him.”
I freeze, realization dawning on me. “Are you going to the wedding?” Say no, say no, say no .
“Probably?”
That means yes.
Angel will be at the wedding filled with people from the old neighborhood. Apparently, I have to be there too. How… what …
We blink at each other for a moment, neither of us wanting to state the obvious. What are we going to do?
“Mario hasn’t told anyone,” Angel says finally. “He hasn’t asked me about it again, either. It’s almost like he forgot.”
I nod. My throat feels like it’s closing in on itself and I’m struggling to swallow around the mess of emotions getting trapped there.
Does this mean Angel doesn’t want anyone else in the old neighborhood to know? Will I have to pretend that this thing between us doesn’t exist? The thought of it feels like stepping back into a closet that I was never really in.
“You guys ready?” Christian calls out from across the club. “The car’s all packed up, so we’re going to head out. Rhys, you want a ride?”
I take a step forward, then hesitate. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I’m allowed to have.
“I can drive you,” Angel jumps in.
When I glance back at him, there’s more than a hint of fear in his eyes. It’s the same fear sitting in the pit of my stomach.
He holds out his hand, and weak as I am, I take it. As his strong fingers close around mine, I have to fight back the tears prickling my eyes.
“We’re good, Christian. Thanks for the offer!” I call out, surprised by how steady my voice sounds when I’m so torn up inside.
“Cool. See you later!” Christian ducks out, leaving us alone again.
“My place? Hayden might be there.”
Angel squeezes my hand, then takes a deep breath, like he’s bracing himself for something. “How about my place?”
The world stutters to a stop as my brain processes his question. Then runs through it again.
“Your place?” I squeak. “But… your mom?”
He gulps, his Adam’s apple working in his throat. “We’ll be upstairs. You won’t have to see her.”
Hayden’s warnings come flooding through my mind. About Angel being deep in the closet, about being in a relationship with someone who isn’t out, someone who hasn’t even acknowledged that they’re gay. The world of hurt that I’ve most likely got waiting for me.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to feel. Should I be excited that he wants to bring me home? Or should I be upset that he wants to hide me from his mom? Do I even want to meet his mom? Do I want to be anywhere near the old neighborhood if I can avoid it?
I don’t fucking know! Why does life have to be so hard? So confusing? Why did I have to fall in love with someone from the life I left behind?
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. We can go to your place. Or I can just drop you off, if you’d rather be alone.”
I stop Angel’s rambling with my fingers on his lips. He immediately purses them to give my fingers a kiss. My heart aches at the tenderness.
Ngh.
Fuck it.
I’m too far in already. There’s no hope for me, no way to protect myself from getting hurt anymore. Maybe I’ll get lucky, a miracle will happen, and this will somehow turn into a romantic fairy tale. Or more likely, my heart will get trampled and I’ll drag myself back to Brooklyn to nurse my wounds.
Either way, there’s no turning back now.
I rise up onto my tippy-toes and replace my fingers with my lips. Just a simple, sweet press.
“Take me home, teddy bear.”