Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
PHIL
I’m catapulted—literally—awake to the sound of ghoulish screams. It takes me a panicked, sleep-fuzzed second to realize it was just Calla jumping on my bed, demanding at the top of her lungs that I wake up.
“What the fuck, Cal?” I moan, rolling over and hauling the covers up around my ears. “Go away.”
Her laugh is an incredulous cackle. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Not after that little stunt you pulled in the chat last night. I’ve been delegated to get all the deets.”
So this is what morning-after regret feels like. I never thought the cause would be a text message.
“What time is it?” Maybe I can convince her we need to get ready for work.
“Six. When I realized you weren’t going to come home at a decent hour, I set the alarm for nice and early. Now stop pretending you’re going back to sleep and tell me all the dirty details!”
Sighing in surrender, I haul myself into a sitting position. “There are no dirty details.”
“Oh, Phil.” She shakes her head. “Please don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not!”
“Honey, lips don’t get as swollen as yours are when there are no dirty details. Unless someone punched you in the mouth, in which case, give me those details so I can go commit a felony.”
My hand flies up to my mouth, which, okay, is tender and puffy from all the kissing it did last night. With Griff. Because Griff and I are dating and we kiss each other.
“Oh my god, you’ve got heart eyes,” my best friend breathes. “Is that because you’re remembering last night? Did just thinking about him give you heart eyes?”
“I do not have heart eyes,” I argue, though if my face is reflecting how I’m feeling, I probably do.
“Phil’s in luuuuurve,” she sings, and I blush. The teasing expression drops from her face so fast, it’s a little creepy. “Phil… are you…?”
“It’s too soon for that,” I insist. Never mind what the jumble of emotions and hormones is telling me—I’m not ruled by them.
“But we’re… dating. He’s going to disclose our relationship to Damian today.
” Fuck, I didn’t stop to think this through last night.
“Is that okay with you? I should have asked—”
“Pfft, shut up. There’s no point in us working this hard if we can’t also be happy. Anyway, Damian won’t care—he knows you well enough to know you wouldn’t use Griff to get clients, or vice versa.”
I’m sure she’s right, but I still should have talked to her first, and I say so. To my surprise, her face goes all soft, and she gives me a hug.
“This is nice,” I say into her hair, which has taken on a life of its own and is trying to invade my lungs. “But why?”
“Because you’re the best person and I love you,” she mutters into my neck, so I hold on tighter until she’s ready to let go.
Finally she sits back, sniffling a little in a way that makes me suspicious, but after careful study, I conclude that she’s not actually going to cry.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. “You don’t usually get emotional when I hook up with someone.”
“Aha! So you did hook up!”
I roll my eyes. “Is that all you heard?”
“Nah.” She flips her hand in a dismissive wave. “But I’m fine. I was thinking about my love life last night, and I had to face some stuff. Plus, you know how I get with PMS. None of that’s as interesting as you and Griff hooking up.”
Since I do, in fact, know that PMS makes her either ragey or weepy, with no in-between, I decide not to push about her love life. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, anyway. “Griff and I didn’t hook up like you’re thinking.”
“You didn’t?”
I shake my head. “No sex.” Does it count as sex if you’re frotting but nobody comes? It wasn’t deliberate, just something that happened while we were making out that felt good.
Really good.
Honestly, I’m surprised we had the willpower to stop. If Vivi hadn’t wandered in with her eyes of judgment, we probably wouldn’t have.
“Just kissing?” Calla asks. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that, but I’m kind of surprised. You’re not usually hesitant about sex.” Her eyes get wide. “Is Griff—”
“I don’t even know whatever scenario is in your head right now,” I interrupt. “We didn’t have sex because… well, it just didn’t happen. Circumstances. We didn’t decide not to or anything.” I hesitate, feeling my cheeks get hot again, then add, “It’s kind of nice, though. The tension, I mean.”
She nods. “Like that first high school crush feet-kicking butterflies with hormones feeling?”
It’s a collection of words that should make zero sense, and yet somehow it perfectly describes what I’m feeling. “Yeah.”
“I get it. So how long—”
“Oh, we’re gonna fuck as soon as we get the chance.” Griff asked me to spend the weekend with him, and I said yes so fast, I almost got dizzy.
Calla laughs. “Gotcha. Gotta say, I am loving this for—”
The sound of a ringing phone cuts her off, and she frowns, patting around on the comforter until she finds it.
“Who’s calling this early?” I ask as she glances at the screen.
She snorts and swipes to answer. “Hi, Harold. Yeah, he’s awake…. No, they didn’t fuck.”
“Calla!” My outrage is fake, since I would have told Harold that anyway, and she gives me a “be for real” look.
“You were totally right. He’s head over heels, and from the very, very little he’s told me so far, Griff’s the same.”
Aww. I mean, I knew that—as much as I can know anything that hasn’t been said out loud—but it’s encouraging that other people have the same understanding of the situation.
“Okay, I’ll tell him. You set it up with the others.”
Oh no.
She ends the call and smiles at me. “Harold’s leaving work early today so he can come up for dinner.”
“Calla—”
“You brought this on yourself, Phil. If you hadn’t posted in the group chat, nobody else would know. At least this will keep everyone from calling you today.” She pauses. “Except Polly and Marty. Since they can’t come, they’re gonna want an update.”
I sigh. This is the downside of trying to torment your friends. They torment back.
Blaise and Jordan offered to host this dinner so that, to quote Jordan, “We don’t get kicked out of the restaurant for adult language.
” Given that Calla already told Harold that Griff and I didn’t fuck yet, and that I know Harold would have passed that information on, I’m not sure what he thinks is going to be said.
When I texted that to Griff, he sent back three laughing emojis, followed by
If your friends are anything like I think they are, you’ll probably talk about all the things we’re *going* to do. And sweetheart, talking about those would definitely get you kicked out of a restaurant.
The heavy-handed insinuation got me so hot and bothered, I had to go splash cold water on my wrists and face. I would have done more, but since the showroom is so small, the bathroom is a shared one, and I refuse to be that guy.
Griff’s right about my friends, though, so I’m prepared for pretty much anything as I follow Calla and Blaise into the living room.
Except this.
Blinking at Polly, I ask, “Aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of the country?”
He scoffs. “Like I was going to miss this. As soon I saw Harold’s message this morning, I canceled my weekend plans and booked a flight.”
Because that’s not weird at all.
“I promised Marty to text him updates. I was going to video call so he could be part of it, but he’s having dinner with his parents.”
“Poor Marty,” Xera says.
Jordan claps his hands like a schoolteacher. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started. We can cover a lot of ground before dinner arrives.”
“Okay, now you’re all getting creepy,” I declare. “There’s no ground to cover.”
“Hard disagree,” Harold says firmly. “I didn’t know until last night that you were even interested in someone.
Butch said she only knew that he existed and was a stylist. Calla knew about the date.
There are a lot of holes here, Phil, and we demand they be filled.
” He blinks, then smirks. “Heh. Like what you were doing last night.”
A groan ripples around the room, and I grab a chip from the bowl on the coffee table and throw it at him. “You already know we didn’t… fill holes.” Oh my god, I can’t believe I stooped to his level and said that.
Harold cackles, and Blaise elbows him. “Don’t be an ass. Phil, don’t feel like you have to share if you don’t want to… but can you tell us his name?”
I smile gratefully at him. “I don’t mind sharing some stuff. His name’s Griff. Griff Pevensy.”
Blaise’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “Big guy? Works for Style Me?”
“You know him, babe?” Jordan asks, reaching for the chips.
“I’ve met him—once, at a party. And some of the actors I’ve worked with are clients of his. I’m… a little surprised. I wouldn’t have picked him as your type, Phil.”
I don’t get a chance to answer before Butch says, “Ooh, really? Why? Spill.”
Blaise eyes me cautiously. “I didn’t mean—”
“I get it,” I assure him. “We don’t look like we have a lot in common.”
“Yeah. Though I guess you’re both in fashion, and he doesn’t talk much either. So appearances can be deceiving.”
“Can we take a minute to appreciate how fucking hot he is?” Xera cuts in. “I’ve only seen one little profile pic, but there was still a lot to like.”
“There really is,” Harold says, staring at his phone screen, and there’s an immediate mad scramble as everyone who hasn’t seen Griff yet races to look over Harold’s shoulder. “He looks big. Is he big?”
“He’s six-three and built,” I confirm. I know because it came up last night. I remember what else came up last night, and my face gets hot for the millionth time today.
Polly snickers. “From the looks of that blush, he’s big all over.”
“Do straight guys make jokes like that?” I wonder, desperately trying to distract myself and them from thinking about Griff’s dick.
“This one does. Anyway, I’ve been friends with all of you so long that I’m practically an honorary queer person.”
“Oh, honey,” Calla chides. “It doesn’t work that way. The word you’re looking for is ‘ally’—but yes, you can still make those jokes. Where are you staying tonight? I assume Harold’s got the guest room here.”
“Dibs,” Harold says absently without looking up from what I presume are photos of Griff. I really hope he’s referring to the guest room and not my guy.
“Can I crash with you?” Polly asks. “Otherwise I can get a hotel.”
I let Calla answer, since he sleeps in her bed when he stays with us.
“Sure.” There’s something in the casual way she says the word that gets my attention, but she looks normal, and I’m not going to ask in front of everyone. She and I are definitely having a conversation soon, though.
“Okay,” Jordan says, “so you meet this good-looking guy who works in the same field as you, hit it off, and start texting? Am I getting that right? Butch said something about a dog.”
So I tell them all about Vivi and what a doting dog daddy Griff is, which segues into Vivi and Carter’s nighttime routine, and from there into the details of last night and how we went from a maybe-date to fledgling relationship.
By the time the pizzas are reduced to a few stray crusts, I’m bashfully admitting that Griff makes me feel giddy and I have high hopes for what that might mean.
Xera sighs dreamily and leans against Butch. “I love this, and I’m so happy for you, Phil.”
“Me too,” Blaise agrees. “But I think we’re all in agreement that we need to meet Griff.”
The chorus of yeses is practically deafening.
“You will,” I promise. “It’s early, but—”
“This weekend,” Polly interrupts. “While Harold and I are here.”
What? “That’s too soon. We literally just started dating last night.”
“Ask him,” Harold suggests. “Lunch tomorrow. We’ll understand if he says no.”
“I say no. I’m not asking him to meet my friends after one date.”
Polly screws up his face. “Fair enough. What about next weekend? I can stick around until then and go straight to my mom’s for the holidays.”
“No. That’s still—”
“Please? Just ask. And if he says yes, we’ll be on our best behavior,” Butch swears. As if I believe that.
But part of me does want to show Griff off, and even if it’s technically only been one date, our relationship has legs already, so I send him a text.
How would you feel about lunch with my friends next weekend? You can say no.
“I’ve asked. Now, let’s talk about—” My phone dings.
I’d love to.