Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
FINN
Seeing Melanie’s and David’s faces when we told them about the cupcakes and the dress—both Curtis’s doing—was the highlight of my week.
Since then, it’s been fielding phone calls, constantly changing table plans, but acting like this is all breezy and fine and totally cool whenever Beth is around and our phones are going mad.
It’s been less than a week of this, and I swear I’ve never needed to go out more.
Melanie and David are having a combined bachelor/bachelorette party at a club in downtown Edmonton, and the hours until pre-drinks are ticking down in kiddie time. It’s never been so excruciatingly painful to be patient.
With everything going on, Curtis and I haven’t spent any time together.
I asked to come over after the cake and dress hero moment, wanting to show him how much I appreciated what he did for my sister, but he said no.
It was a tiring day, so I got it, but he hasn’t offered all week, and the two videos he has posted were solo ones.
Obviously, that’s totally fine. Normal, even.
It’s just that I’m getting this off feeling that’s grown to a point I couldn’t even jerk off over his videos.
This is why you should never catch feelings. Especially when you’re warned in advance how things will go.
Curtis has a busy life with enough stress in it that he doesn’t need me adding emotion to it, but fuck.
I can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of how cute he looks sketching when he thinks I’m not watching.
Or the teasing smile when we’re playing video games.
Or his playful side after sex, or the sadness that he bottles up, or the incredibly smart way he handles literally everything in his life.
Godfuckingdammit. I’ve got it bad.
At least I’m smart enough to keep that side hidden and can enjoy spending time with him tonight. There’s a high chance we’ll end up back at his place filming, and I should be more excited about that than I am.
I head up to the main house too early, and Melanie, David, and I have pre-drinks before we order a car to take us to the party.
Melanie was very specific in having no dick attire, so I’ve made her a veil covered in condoms instead, and for David, I have a lacy pink garter for him to wear over his pants.
It was too last-minute to go all out, but I wanted to give them a hint of the embarrassing kind of fun.
Curtis is waiting for us out the front with the others when we pull up, and the second I catch sight of his face, I almost swallow my tongue.
He’s beautiful. So beautiful.
And goddamn, that mesh shirt belongs on the floor along with the rest of our clothes.
He’s wearing metallic hot pants, and the rest of their friends are dressed in similar bright and tight clothing.
Wish I’d gotten the memo. Compared to them, I look like the kind of person who door knocks asking if you’ve heard of Christ our Lord and Savior.
Without drawing attention to myself, I pop a few more buttons on my shirt and try to mess my hair up some more.
My eyes have barely left Curtis though. He’s joking around with David and Mel, and my heart is in my damn throat as I wait to catch his attention.
The moment doesn’t come.
He turns with the group to head inside, and I have to pinch myself to prove that, yeah, I am actually standing here.
The pit in my gut deepens.
Melanie booked a pod off the dance floor for the night, which gives us a perfect view of the flashing lights of the club while giving us somewhere private to hang out and drink.
The whole thing is futuristic themed, with the servers in flesh-tight body suits and everything either white, metal, or red.
“This is cool,” I say, quickly nabbing the space beside Curtis.
His eyes finally meet mine, and that gnawing worry settles. “We used to come here a lot when we first turned eighteen, but it’s not my scene anymore.”
I shift my chair closer. “Perfect for a fun night like this though.”
There’s hesitance behind his smile, and I’m trying to tell myself I’m paranoid. “Yeah. Should be good.”
“Listen up, you pork chops,” Alfie says, standing with his hands raised.
“Tonight, we’re going to party like we’re eighteen, there will be no photo or video evidence, and we will have the most fun of our lives before waking up tomorrow and nursing hangovers that remind us of our age.
Oh. And we’ll celebrate these two getting hitched. Obviously.”
Dolcie and Ben jeer him as the server brings around a tray of shots. Guess we’re doing this.
“To Dave and Mel,” Kayson says, lifting his drink. There are about thirty of us here, half of them I know, half I don’t, and we all echo him before downing the vodka.
It’s a harsh burn, but the second it’s gone, I’m already ready for more.
And when Curtis gets up to go and talk to someone else, I’m ready for lots, lots more.
It’s like a race between Curtis and me to see who can get the drunkest. The server keeps us all well supplied with cocktails and shots, and I have no clue what time it is, only that the night has me riding high, and I can’t remember what the hell I was so worried about earlier.
We’re huddled together in the booth, watching Alfie strike out with another person on the dance floor.
“I told him not to bleach his hair,” Curtis says, leaning into me.
I breathe in his scent, his warmth, his everything. My hand finds his thigh, and it feels like it was made for me.
“Ten bucks says he goes for the guy in the leather pants next,” he says.
“Nah. Bald guy. For sure.”
We’re silent as we wait, the lights and music and constant everything making my head swim. Alfie makes his choice, and we both slump together as he picks a cute twink in a midriff.
“You don’t know your friend as well as you thought,” I tease, and Curtis laughs. That deep, warm laugh that makes my gut swim.
“Someone’s had me distracted.” His eyes meet mine, and a blast of heat shoots through me.
“Good distraction though.”
“Very, very good.”
His eyes crease in the corners, giving him the gorgeous glow of genuine happiness, and before I even know why, we’re both curled over each other, laughing hard. Curtis is playing with my fingers, and sitting here with him, having fun and enjoying the night, is the most perfect I’ve ever felt.
Everything is happening exactly as it’s meant to happen.
That earlier paranoia has numbed, but the constant touching and attention is going a long way to soothing my ache for him.
“Let’s go dance,” I suggest once I’ve caught my breath.
“You just wanna rub up against me, don’t you?”
“Can you blame me?” I lean toward his ear. “I haven’t so much as jerked off this week.”
His eyebrows lift. “Not even to my videos?”
I don’t want to tell him the whole reason, so I only shake my head.
An evil glint hits his eyes as they focus on my face. He holds out his hand. “Let’s go.”
We strip off our shirts before heading down there. Melly is still in the booth with some friends, but I have no idea where the rest of the group has gone.
Mainly because I don’t care.
They could have all evaporated into nothing, and I doubt I’d notice with Curtis here.
His shirtless muscles lure me deep into the press of bodies on the dance floor. Despite not looking a thing like him, his gaze runs hungrily over me, and it boosts my confidence far beyond anything the alcohol has done.
“Come on, then,” he shouts over the music. “Rub already.”
I pull him in close. “Rub? That’s sexy.”
“Everything is sexy when it comes to you.”
I’m barely sure anything that’s happening is real. My head is all hazy, even as Curtis’s chest meets mine and he pushes his thigh between my legs. My hands settle on his hips, blazing warm with his skin under my palms, and I want to hold him here forever.
“Everything,” he repeats. “You don’t know what you do to me, Finn.”
My head drops forward, forehead meeting his. The music is pumping loudly in my ears, and when my eyes drift closed, I forget the crowd buffering us from all sides. I forget the noise and the people and the heady musk filling the dance floor.
It’s Curtis. My anchor. The one who makes my heart feel like it’s being crushed in my chest. His fingers are playing with my hair, sending ripples down my spine, and between his touch, his scent, the sweat building between our bodies, it’s too much.
We grind together, a panting, needy mess, and the only difference between this and sex is that we’re partially clothed.
The way I want him is indescribable. I’d climb into his skin if I could. Close isn’t close enough, and I know I should pull back and play it cool, but the swamp of vodka around my brain is telling me it’s okay.
He’s here.
He wants this.
Maybe needs it as much as I do.
I tilt my lips until they brush his, and the bruise on my heart deepens. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and I can play pretend and push it down, but the more I do that, the worse it gets.
I love him so fucking much.
This time, his lips brush mine, and I think I could die.
“Curtis …” I murmur. And I have no idea if he can hear me or just feel the way my lips move, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m grinding against his thigh, and he’s grinding against mine. Hard and insistent, our bodies locked together the way we’re meant to be.
I’ve never felt so strongly that someone was made for me as I am in this minute.
He’s mine.
And I’m his.
I kiss my way along his jaw to his earlobe and gently tug it into my mouth. “Can we go someplace?” The begging tone is obvious even through my drunken fog.
I question that I’ve asked it out loud at first because it takes him too long to answer. “Yeah.”
Curtis takes my hand, and I follow. Anywhere.
Anywhere turns out to be a bathroom stall, and the second we step inside and lock it, my mouth is on his. I’m so greedy for him I can barely see straight, and as I work the button on his pants open, Curtis pulls out something else.
“Lemme just …”
I pull back in time to see him hit Record on his phone.
My vision goes as red as the button on the screen.
“Fuck the phone,” I say, wrapping my hand around his and flattening it against the stall above his head.
His phone slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground.
This isn’t about filming. This isn’t about all those thirsty viewers online.
This is about us. We give everyone so much of ourselves that I want this one drunken moment to be ours.
“Fuck your viewers,” I snarl by his ear.
“This is for us. You and me.” That pit in my gut yawns open, vulnerable and raw. “Let me show you what you mean to me.”
“Finn …”
Holy shit, I love him. The force of it is flooding every limb, and I want to pull him out and make him feel good. To know that none of it is faked or forced, and for him to feel exactly how I feel. My chest is a crushing pressure as I kiss my way down his neck.
I love him.
I love him.
“I love you so much.”
“Finn!”
I’m shoved hard enough that my back slams against the stall wall, and my head swims so badly I have to blink Curtis back into focus. His mouth is hanging open, eyes wide and disbelieving.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, freaking out that I somehow hurt him.
“You … you …”
“What? What did I do?”
“You love me?” His voice cracks, and it takes me way too long to catch up.
When it finally sinks in, his tone, his expression, that I must have said that out loud, I want to melt through the fucking floor. “No.” I shake my head so fast I get dizzy again. “No. I didn’t … I don’t …”
“So why did you say that?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
For someone who’s usually saying too many words, nothing is coming out. My heart is pounding sickeningly fast. “I’m drunk.”
“So am I,” he throws back. “I didn’t just tell you I love you though.”
Oh no. Have I forgotten how to breathe? “Curtis, I—”
“Why, Finn?”
I can’t tell if he’s angry or annoyed when I’m struggling just to stay conscious.
“I don’t know.” The lie sounds too loud in the tiny stall.
His jaw clamps tight, lips pressing together hard as he stares me down. Then he tears his eyes from me to the door and manages, “I … I can’t, I …”
That’s all he can get out, and I can’t manage anything else.
When the silence stretches too loud and too thin, he reaches for the door and flicks the lock open.
“I’m sorry,” I burst before he can leave.
He pauses for the briefest moment, but it doesn’t stop him.
Curtis grabs his phone off the dirty floor and walks away, leaving me standing here, suddenly sober, wondering what the fuck I’ve done.