CHAPTER 16 #2
‘Fuck!’ Jeremy said, jumping out of bed. Check-out had been at ten am.
There hadn’t been time to talk after that.
After quick, more utilitarian showers, they’d put on their clothes from the night before and stumbled to the lobby.
Then they were finding the car, working out if they could navigate home on two per cent battery, leaving the venue, getting slightly lost, then finding a petrol station, buying gum and Gatorade and cheese-flavoured things for their hangovers, before finally hitting the highway.
‘So,’ Jeremy broached, his heart in his mouth, ‘we should probably talk … about … all of that.’
Sam chuckled. ‘You’ve been holding onto that “so” for a long time, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah, I guess I just wanted to check in … see how you’re doing,’ Jeremy hedged, looking at the side of Sam’s face as he drove, remembering what it was like to kiss the squareness of his jaw.
‘I’m doing amazing,’ said Sam, glancing over at Jeremy and smiling softly. ‘Last night was amazing too. Spectacular.’
That sent a warm thrill through Jeremy. He smiled in return. ‘Yeah … yeah, it was amazing.’
Sam looked at him for a moment longer, and then furrowed his brow. ‘I think I have a pretty good handle on the type of person you are now, Jeremy.’
‘That’s a dangerous thing to claim,’ joked Jeremy, but a hot prickle of warning flushed through him.
What did that mean? Was he referring to the fact that Jeremy was a giant mess?
That he was in some way undateable? That the only reason they’d met in the first place was because Jeremy was trying to spite the ex-boyfriend who’d humiliated him?
Jeremy flicked through all his faults as if they were on display in a cursed photo album.
‘Yeah,’ Sam continued, his eyes back on the road. ‘I think I know what’s happening in that beautiful little head of yours, and I just want to say – don’t spiral. Don’t think too deeply about this: don’t over-analyse.’
‘Oh, okay,’ said Jeremy, doom settling in his stomach, a fear he hadn’t even known he had harboured confirmed. Sam didn’t want to date him. Sam didn’t love him. It had all been just a fun drunken hook-up. ‘Yeah, for sure. Easy breezy. Beautiful. Cover girl.’
‘Let’s just take things slowly, not stress about what anything means …’ Sam was saying, but Jeremy wasn’t really listening, too busy trying to stamp down on the sadness and disappointment he was feeling.
‘Of course, just have fun, chill out,’ he muttered.
‘That’s not quite what I meant,’ Sam said.
‘No, no, I get it,’ Jeremy butted in. ‘No need to get emotions involved.’
‘If that’s how you feel, that’s fine too,’ said Sam, now looking a bit pained. They drove on, Jeremy forcing a smile.
‘Okay …’ Sam began. ‘Let’s just … Can I see you tonight, please? Let’s go home, change our clothes, have some food, but can we talk more tonight?’
‘Sure,’ said Jeremy. Sam was clearly doing that Sam thing of being kind and accommodating to everyone in his life, so he was drawing a boundary and making sure Jeremy was happy at the same time. It was, as always, hatefully considerate.
Jeremy knew he was being unfair. Sam had no way of knowing Jeremy was into him, and he recognised that was on him – but it didn’t stop the hurt.
They’d had a magical night and there was a part of him, a stupid idiot part, that had wanted Sam to make everything easy and black and white and turn to him and tell Jeremy that he loved him. Wouldn’t that have been simple?
But that was a fantasy. What they did have was a pretty amazing friendship, and they’d had a bunch of consenting sex, so Jeremy really shouldn’t have been complaining, and he shouldn’t have felt so devastated, and he shouldn’t have been taking it out on sweet Sam, who was just trying to do his best. So he did his best to tamp down on the prickly feeling, the hot tears he could feel looming, the urge to sit in sullen silence in the car, and he looked around desperately for something to speak about.
‘Cool wedding; I enjoyed how we had sex,’ was an option.
Or maybe, ‘Great dick; I loved putting it in my mouth.’
‘Jeremy, I’m worried that I said the wrong thing …’ Sam started to say, right as Jeremy looked into a patch of bush next to the highway and saw a whole bunch of goats.
‘Goats!’ yelled Jeremy, and Sam swerved in surprise. The goats were like a palate cleanser, and they were able to drive for the next few hours with only minimal awkwardness, joking tentatively, and talking about the huge rally Sam had been working on all year, which was now only a few weeks away.
Sam dropped him off out the front of his house. Jeremy had been getting more and more anxious as they’d got closer. What was the right way to say goodbye?
‘Thank you again for saving me this weekend,’ said Jeremy. Then, because he couldn’t stop himself, because he’d always had trouble monitoring the gap between his emotions and his mouth, he said, with only a touch of bitterness, ‘You’re a good friend.’
Sam smiled, and this one was definitely sad. ‘Of course,’ he said, letting Jeremy peck him on the cheek over the console. ‘I’ll message you this evening. You can come over and maybe I’ll make dinner.’
‘You don’t need to do that,’ said Jeremy.
‘Okay. I’ll message you regardless,’ pushed Sam.
Jeremy had got out of the car, waved as nonchalantly as he could as Sam drove off, and then slumped against his front door, feeling suddenly exhausted.
That had been the longest car ride in his entire life, in the history of the universe.
He was wrung out by the charade he’d played, the failed rocket launch of emotions he’d been through, the night of no sleep and marathon sex, the copious booze, the strange wedding.
He’d entered the house, dramatically falling into bed, with the intention of getting up in a second to shower, to eat real food, to sort out his life, but instead Jeremy had immediately fallen asleep.
When he’d woken up, it was getting dark.
He was disoriented, and grabbed his phone to check the time, to see if Sam had messaged him.
It was still flat, so he popped it on the charger, leaving his room to go to the bathroom, to clean his absolutely feral teeth, to quickly shower.
When he returned to his charged phone, he discovered it was almost six pm, and there were no messages from Sam.
However, there was a string of messages from Brian Northern Trellis, which Jeremy opened out of only vague interest, his stomach seething with concern over Sam.
Hi handsome , the message began. Thank you so much for the amazing feature and review of my book on your website Popbuzz. I was touched and grateful.
‘PopBuzz,’ muttered Jeremy. ‘Nobody remembers to cap the B.’
My publicist and my agent are both over the moon – they’re saying I can reach a whole new youth demographic now, and I won’t go into it, but my publisher wants to chat about a new book … It’s all very exciting. Anyway, long story short, I’d love to have you over tonight and thank you properly.
Jeremy felt his heart begin to race – this was more than he’d ever dared to dream when he started phase two of the revenge campaign.
A personal invitation to Brian’s house? It was the kind of thing that Miles, when they had dated, lived for, dreamt of, and the possibilities were endless.
Not only could Jeremy drop into conversation that he’d been spending time with Brian, but maybe he could snap a photo of them looking chummy for Instagram.
Maybe he could subtly brag about being invited to spend some of the summer with Brian at his beach house (he assumed Brian had a beach house). It was an impossible opportunity.
There was only one problem – Sam.
He was aware that Sam wanted to hang out again tonight, but he was also pretty sure that was only because he felt awkward and was interminably nice. Plus, he was the engineer of the whole phase two part of the campaign, so he’d have to understand. Jeremy made a decision.
I would LOVE to , he texted back to Brian. What time works for you?
Then, quickly, so he didn’t have to think about it too hard – like ripping off a bandaid – he texted Sam.
Hey lovely, raincheck on hangs tonight sorry! Big spite-pie opportunity just came up, I’m sure you understand. Will fill you in later.
He stood for a moment waiting to see if a text returned immediately from Sam. But instead Brian Northern Trellis responded: Gorgeous! I’ll put some wine on ice. 7?
Seven was basically in an hour, and Brian lived on the other side of the city – affluent and grown up, rather than dirty and cheap like where Jeremy was – so Jeremy pushed Sam out of his mind and hurriedly chose an outfit, throwing clothes around like a whirlwind.
He felt panicked, but also focused – this was the opportunity he’d been working towards all year.
This was like the prize fight and he was one of those boxing men and it was time to use all the special punches he’d learnt.
He thought back to some of the only advice his mother had ever given him and realised that turning up empty-handed would send the wrong message too.
He tried to work out what his mum would get.
Expensive cheese? So add in a stop at a hipster deli on the way too.
He arrived at Brian’s apartment only fifteen minutes late, a neat package of ostentatiously rank cheese in his hand, bedecked in a casually fashionable outfit that didn’t look like he’d had an entire breakdown trying to choose it.
‘Darling,’ trilled Brian, ushering him through the door. ‘Welcome to my humble abode. Aahh, if you wouldn’t mind me being beastly, shoes please. Like my fetta, the rug is Persian.’
Jeremy remembered to fake laugh generously at Brian’s fetta rug gear, removing his boots and lamenting their loss, as they did a lot of the lifting with his outfit.