Chapter 38 #2
As we escape the chaos of the backyard, I catch a glimpse of someone in the shadows, slipping away from the party with a phone in their hand. The Ice Queen, maybe? Or another student documenting the madness?
I don’t care. Because Drew’s hand is warm in mine, his ass is perfect under my palm, and our relationship is real in every way that matters. The Ice Queen wanted proof? Well, she got it. Turns out love really can be proven by knowing your boyfriend’s ass in a lineup. Who knew?
Drew pulls me through the kitchen, past couples making out against counters and someone doing body shots off someone else’s chest. The bass from outside thrums through the walls, but all I can focus on is the urgency in Drew’s movements, the way his hand grips mine like I might disappear.
“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced,” he says as we climb the stairs. “Fuck, Jackson.”
We barely make it to his room before he’s on me, pressing me against the door with his whole body. His cock is fully hard now, grinding against my hip, and I realize my white briefs are probably showing exactly how affected I am too.
“Everyone saw,” he pants between kisses. “Everyone knows you’re mine now. That you know my body better than anyone else ever could.”
“And you know mine,” I remind him, gasping when his teeth find that spot on my neck.
“Gonna prove it,” he promises. “Gonna make you forget every other ass you touched tonight.”
But that’s just it. They’re already forgotten.
I wake up from the most insane party of my life with Drew’s arm draped across my chest. My head pounds from last night’s beers, but the memory of identifying his ass in front of everyone makes me grin like an idiot. The morning sun streams through his window, highlighting the stubble on his jaw.
“Stop staring at me, creeper,” Drew mumbles without opening his eyes.
“Can’t help it.” I press a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re pretty.”
He cracks one eye open. “Pretty? That’s what you’re going with after last night’s performance?”
“Would you prefer ‘owner of the most identifiable ass in BSU history?’”
“Better.” He stretches with a satisfied, smug expression. Then something more serious settles over his features. “Hey, Jacky?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you ready to tell everyone the truth? Because I am. I’m tired of the Ice Queen’s games. Tired of people questioning us. We passed her stupid test, but you know she’ll come up with another one. And another. Until we speak out.”
“I’m so fucking ready.”
Drew’s smile is blinding. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I need coffee first. And pants.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting on Drew’s bed, freshly showered and caffeinated.
His phone is propped up on a stack of textbooks, the recording app open.
My hands won’t stop shaking. I think about all the moments that led us here.
The Polar Bear Plunge. The roller rink. The art performance.
Last night. Each memory is etched into my skin, written in the language of touch and want, and something that started fake but became the most real thing in my life.
Drew hits record. “Hey everyone,” he starts, his media training evident in how easily he addresses the camera. “Drew Larney here with Jackson Monroe. We wanted to address some things that have been circulating on campus.”
I wave awkwardly. God, I hate being on camera. Give me a football field any day over this. But Drew’s hand finds my knee, grounding me.
“So,” I jump in before I lose my nerve, “you all know about the Ice Queen. Well, she was right about one thing—this did start as fake.”
Drew nods. “After the Polar Bear Plunge, everyone immediately assumed we were together.”
“Which was ridiculous to us at the time. Because we weren’t,” I add. “We really were just friends. Really close friends who maybe stared at each other too much and found excuses to touch, but still. Friends.”
“And then, one night at the Lobster Shack, we saw someone taking pictures of us,” Drew continues.
“That was when I came up with the idea for Jackson and me to fake date. To be seen in public, being as much of a couple as Elliot and Gerard. The hope was that people would move on to something or someone else once they tired of us being so damn cute.”
I laugh, but it comes out slightly hysterical. “Except somewhere along the way, the feelings that we’d always had for each other became too much to ignore.”
“For me, it was the roller rink,” Drew admits, glancing at me with soft eyes. “When we ended up in the bathroom and dry humped each other? That wasn’t fake. That was real. Raw. Feral.”
My throat grows tight. “For me, it was earlier. I kept telling myself I was straight, that this was to help out a friend. But every time Drew touched me, every time he smiled at me, every time he called me Jacky…” I have to stop, overwhelmed by the truth of it.
Drew takes over seamlessly. “We were both pining for each other while thinking the other was simply playing along, doing as asked. It took a sensual art performance to get us to admit it.”
“And now we’re here,” I say, finding my voice again.
“Really together. Really in love. Really fucking confused about how we got this lucky. We’re not perfect,” I add, surprised by how steady my voice is now.
“We’re still figuring things out. I’m still learning what it means to be with a guy, to be out, to be this visible.
Drew’s still learning how to let people in. But we’re doing it together.”
“This is our truth,” Drew finishes. “Take it or leave it.”
Drew ends the recording, uploads it to social media, then tackles me back onto the bed.
We did it. We told the truth. The whole messy, complicated, beautiful truth.
“Think people will believe us?” Drew asks, suddenly vulnerable.
I think about the journey we’ve taken. The fake that became real. The friendship that became everything.
“Does it matter? We know what’s real. That’s more than enough.”
Drew’s phone buzzes. Then again. And again. The video’s only been up for thirty seconds, and already the reactions are pouring in. But I don’t want to read them. Not yet. Right now, I want this—Drew in my arms, the morning sun making patterns on the wall, the truth finally setting us free.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you too, Jacky,” he says against my lips. “For real this time.”
Drew - Two weeks later
Spinfinity Roller Rink hits different when you’re not pretending anymore.
I grip Jackson’s hand as we glide around the rink, our matching purple spandex catching every flash of pink and blue from the lights bouncing off the disco ball overhead. The familiar smell of popcorn and floor wax wraps around us, and I can’t help but grin at the way Jackson’s eyes light up.
“Back where it all started,” he says, squeezing my fingers.
“Technically, it started at the Polar Bear Plunge,” I correct him. “This is where I dry humped you in a bathroom stall.”
“Drew!” His ears go pink, and God, I will never get tired of making that happen.
Gerard rockets past us on his skates, a blur of hot pink spandex that burns our retinas. His ass cheeks ripple as he whizzes around the rink, and somewhere behind us, a group of freshmen audibly gasp.
“Best day ever!” Gerard bellows, executing a spin that makes his package do alarming things. “Team bonding on wheels!”
Elliot follows at a much more reasonable pace, his black spandex somehow making him even smaller next to his Viking boyfriend.
He’s wearing his glasses and a scowl, which means he’s having the time of his life.
“If Gerard’s cock gets hard one more time,” he mutters as he passes us, “I’m filing for divorce. ”
“You’re not married,” I point out.
“Yet,” he says ominously, and disappears into the crowd.
Jackson’s hand stays in mine as we weave between other skaters, and every brush of his shoulder against mine sends warmth flooding through my chest. We’re better at this now, more comfortable in our skin and with each other.
Kyle appears in his newly bought red spandex that stretches over corded thigh muscles. “Monroe,” he grunts.
“Kyle,” Jackson responds with equal gravity.
They stare at each other for a long moment, and I watch the silent communication pass between them with fascination.
“Your ass identification skills were impressive,” Kyle finally says. “Respectable.”
“High praise,” I whisper to Jackson.
“Shut up, Larney.” Kyle’s eyes narrow at our joined hands. “If you hurt him, I’ll end you.”
“Noted.” I give him my most sincere nod. “If I hurt him, I’ll help you end me.”
Kyle grunts again, apparently satisfied, and skates off to terrorize someone else.
Nathan wobbles past us, his green spandex wrapped around an ass that I’ve never noticed is as round as it is.
“Looking good, Paisley!” I call out. “You’ve been doing your squats, I see.”
Nathan’s body jerks, wheels shooting in opposite directions as his arms windmill frantically to keep from eating hardwood. “Thanks! Gerard’s been teaching me!” He wobbles away toward the safety of the wall.
The DJ booth crackles, and the current techno song fades out. For a moment, there’s just the sound of wheels on wood and laughter echoing off the walls. The magical noise of a roller rink on a Saturday afternoon. Then the opening synthesizer hits, and my entire body lights up.
I know this song. I know it in my bones, in my blood, in every stupid romantic gesture I’ve ever been too afraid to make. The keyboard builds, drums kick in, and Huey Lewis’s voice fills the rink with words about the power of love being a curious thing.
“Oh no,” Jackson says, recognizing the gleam in my eye.
“Oh yes.”
I release his hand and skate backward, never breaking eye contact. The crowd around us starts to notice something is happening as I build momentum.
“Drew, don’t you dare—”
But I’m already gone, arms spread wide, skating in circles around my boyfriend like he’s the sun and I’m a very enthusiastic planet. My voice joins Huey’s, belting out the lyrics at maximum volume, and with absolutely zero regard for pitch or dignity.
Gerard whoops from somewhere across the rink. “SING IT, DREW!”
I grab Jackson’s hands and pull him into a spin, both of us wobbling but somehow staying upright. The chorus hits, and I’m singing right into his face.
“You’re insane,” Jackson gasps between laughs.
“Insanely in love!”
The crowd has formed a circle around us now, phones out, cheering and clapping along. I spot Elliot pinching the bridge of his nose while Gerard bounces beside him, singing backup. Nathan’s shaking his head, and Kyle looks like he wants to murder me, which means he’s enjoying himself.
I pull Jackson close as the song builds, our foreheads touching, both of us breathless and grinning. “I love you,” I tell him, quiet enough that only he can hear. “Always have. Always will.”
The song ends, and the rink erupts in cheers and wolf whistles. Jackson kisses me right there in the middle of everything, his hands cupping my face, and I don’t care who’s watching because this is real.
This is us.
This is the power of love.