12. Graham
GRAHAM
THEN
April, Year One
Miguel and I were strolling across Tatum’s lawn when he brought us to a halt and pulled my thumb from my teeth. “Please stop. If I’m not nervous, you shouldn’t be either.”
He was about to meet my family. The chosen members, at least. Tatum would think the world of him and vice versa because she was a sweetheart.
But Maisy…she and Miguel had similar personalities.
Their first encounter would end one of two ways: as best friends or mortal enemies.
A middle ground didn’t exist for no-nonsense people like them. You were in, or you were out.
“I want everyone to click,” I said.
“We will.”
He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a leather cord. I stood there like a confused garden gnome while he tied it around my neck and situated a black pendant in the center of my chest.
“What is it?” I asked, pinching the flattened stone between my fingers.
“Onyx. It goes with your earthy aesthetic. When you get anxious, rub the stone instead of eating your thumb.”
In the span of a blink, I felt the overwhelming urge to propose marriage. Miguel’s thoughtful gift had come with two realizations. He expressed his feelings for me in subtle, meaningful ways, and I might have fallen in love.
“Thank you,” I whispered through the emotion clogging my throat.
“There’s no guarantee it’ll work, but you’re welcome.” He left me to my epiphanies and strode toward the house like he hadn’t rocked me to my core.
I came to my senses and caught up with him on the porch, where I punched in the code to the front door. “Here we go,” I muttered under my breath.
The Mediterranean-style villa was brighter and more open than my house. A grand foyer boasted a soaring ceiling, and a curved staircase climbed one wall. Tatum had the entire house redecorated within months of moving in, and she wasn’t even in the country while it happened.
Miguel’s low whistle heralded his approval. “Not bad.”
“Honey, you’re home!” A bleach-blonde messy bun flopped on Tatum’s head as she rushed over and leapt into my arms.
We met when I played the love interest in her first music video. Maisy, her best friend since high school, was also on set that day as her stylist. The three of us became an instant, unbreakable trio.
With Tatum wrapped around me like a koala, I laughed and spun us in a circle. “It’s the other way around. You’ve been gone for months. Let me look at you.”
She planted her bare feet on the terracotta tile and smiled up at me. The shadows beneath her blue eyes contrasted with her fair skin, highlighting her exhaustion. And the tan hoodie she always wore swallowed her skinny frame.
Tatum toured nonstop, running from the painful loss of her stillborn son. When she wasn’t touring, she spent time locked in a studio, recording songs she’d written about the baby’s father, her first and only love. Her overall health suffered in the process.
I brushed the stray hairs out of her face. “You good, Tot? Sleeping okay?”
“The last leg of the tour was insane, but I’m recovering. A few days of rest, and I’ll be ready to get back on the road.”
As we hugged again, I glanced at Maisy, who leaned against the banister, shaking her head. Even as Tatum’s stylist and personal assistant, she had no influence over our friend’s questionable decisions.
“Don’t ask about Manchester,” Maisy said, attempting to keep the mood light. “I’m surprised the new bodyguards we hired didn’t quit on the spot and leave us there.”
Tatum turned on her, gasping in fake outrage. “Pouring glitter in their socks was your idea. But you conveniently forgot to mention that the head bodyguard can’t take a joke.”
Before they started bickering like sisters, I said, “Hey, so this is Mig—” I searched the foyer for my missing man. “Where did he go?”
“Looking for me?” Miguel appeared from the kitchen and smiled at Tatum. “Love the house, dear. Great layout. Mind if I check out the upstairs too?”
“Go for it,” she said.
Miguel’s feet faltered when he caught sight of Maisy. Mouth gaping, he took in all five feet of her, from the curly hair with blue tips to the orange corset top and boots with neon laces. “Pictures don’t do you enough justice. You’re like an adorable, edgy sprite.”
“And you’re a walking dress-code violation.” Her disapproving scowl deepened while she examined his braided sandals, green pants, and a paisley shirt.
I held my breath. Miguel was sensitive underneath his witty, sarcastic armor. And people who didn’t know Maisy could never tell when she was teasing, thanks to her dry humor and monotone voice. The moment could’ve ended in disaster, but Miguel hit me with a huge, dimpled smile.
“Dibs. This one’s mine.” Linking their arms, he dragged her up the stairs. “Lead the way, angel.”
Tatum fanned her face with both hands. “What a cutie. And those dimples!”
“I know, right? He’s also really smart and funny without trying to be.”
“What’s under the fancy clothes?” Her eyebrows danced on her forehead. Their light shade of brown matched her natural hair color, which I’d only seen in photos.
“A tender heart, but don’t tell him I said so. He’ll deny it.” I threw an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the staircase. “We better get up there before Maisy shows him your messy closet. We’re trying to make a good impression.”
“He barely acknowledged me,” she whispered.
When her bottom lip jutted out, I tossed my head back and laughed. She was used to people fawning over her.
“It takes a lot more than fame to impress Miguel. He makes everything a challenge.”
“Sounds like you’ve found your perfect prince.”
Kissing the top of her head, I said, “I’m pretty sure I have.”
We followed the voices coming from her bedroom. Maisy and Miguel were lying in similar positions on the king-size bed, feet crossed at the ankles and arms folded over their stomachs. They must’ve cut the house tour short.
“People who dig in the popcorn bowl for a ridiculously long time,” he said.
Maisy scoffed. “Twelve out of ten. Grab some fucking popcorn already. It’s not a treasure hunt.”
“What are we doing?” Tatum asked, picking up the guitar that was leaning against the wall.
“Rating all the things we find annoying,” Miguel replied.
She looked at me and mouthed, “Oh my god. There’s two of them,” then giggled while finding space on the mattress.
As the rating game continued, I snapped dozens of photos with my phone while Tatum strummed a new melody. Our trio had become a quartet. I should’ve known better than to worry. Miguel fit right in.
After we heard all the wild tales from the tour, he excused himself to use the restroom. Maisy shot to a sitting position while keeping an eye on the door.
“He’s cute, and you’ve kept him from us. No pictures or anything,” she said.
“We’ve been getting to know each other.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Fully clothed or…”
The eager expressions on both women had me shaking my head. “No comment, except to say the past three months have been the best of my life.”
Maisy pointed at my mouth. “Shit. You love him. That sappy, disgusting smile is a dead giveaway.”
The smile she was referring to had become a permanent fixture on my face, and it grew even wider. “He’s the one. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like I’m wide awake and experiencing all the things poets write about. I think he feels the same, but he’s holding back.”
“Maybe it’s because you have a girlfriend.” Tatum’s eyes glistened. It was hard to tell if they were happy tears or sympathetic ones because everything made her cry. “How does Miguel feel about our situation?”
“He understands my reasons, and I think our relationship could protect him too. If he starts going places with us, people will notice. As long everyone still believes you and I are together, we won’t raise suspicions.”
“Sticking to our story is no trouble for me. I’m committed to my spinster life.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “We protect each other. We’re a team, and Miguel is part of it now.”
The bathroom door opened with gusto. “I’m shocked the bidets in these humongous bathrooms aren’t gold-plated.” Miguel’s tight smile set off my internal alarms. I was already sitting up when he shifted his weight to each foot and asked, “Can we go? I’m not feeling well.”
“Of course.”
I bumped knuckles with Maisy and kissed Tatum’s cheek.
Their goodbyes and well wishes followed us as I ushered Miguel from the house.
The trek was quiet as we reached the gap in the fence, hidden by ivy on Tatum’s side and tall hedges on mine.
A breeze rustled the canopy of sycamore and oak on my property, and as soon as we were under its protection, Miguel grabbed my arm.
“Wait a minute. I have something to say.”
In the dappled moonlight breaking through the trees, his face paled, and my heart hammered from the sheer worry consuming me. He searched my gaze with the intensity of someone trying to convey a secret message, but his lips were sealed shut.
I placed my hands on his shoulders. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”
He fisted my sweater and slammed our mouths together. I grunted, stumbling backward into the hedge. Hurried hands slid down my chest and stomach. Fumbling fingers tugged at the waistband of my jeans. He popped the button, and the sound of my zipper ripped through the night.
The urgency felt foreign on him, but it brought out a feral side of me. I clamped a hand on the back of his neck and matched the ferocity of his kiss. Our tongues launched a full-scale attack as he shoved a hand in my boxer briefs and wrapped it around my dick.
I groaned, thrusting against his clammy palm. “What are you up to, darling?”
Miguel paused and stared down at my cock in his fist like he wasn’t sure how it got there. “I’m being spontaneous. Just go with it.”
He dove back into the kiss with vigor, stroking me in a tight grip. I broke away from his lips and nipped at his jaw until he tipped his head to one side.
“You’re tempting me,” I whispered, scraping my teeth above his collar. “Do you feel how badly I want you?”
“Maybe I want you.” He squeezed my dick, hard, and a ragged moan crawled up my throat.
God, I ached for him. After the first night I got on my knees for Miguel, we shared test results and things got more physical.
The hand jobs and blow jobs we’d exchanged were incredibly hot.
He always took the lead, but he drew a hard line at taking off his clothes.
I was desperate to find out what he would do once all the barriers between us were gone.
Keeping my excitement under control, I calmly asked, “Whatever happens next, can we please do it naked?”
With a long, shaky exhale, he closed his eyes and released me. I fixed my clothes while studying his face. His shuttered expression gave no clues about what he was thinking or if he had a change of heart.
“Talk to me.”
“I heard what you said to Maisy and Tate.” His eyes flew open, pummeling me with his uncertainty. A glimmer of warm acceptance also peeked through and softened the blow. “This thing between us…it’s real, isn’t it?”
I cupped his face in both hands and locked on to his gaze. “So very real. And it’s way too special to be called a thing.”
He twisted my shirt in his fingers and yanked me down to him. Our foreheads collided, and he rolled his against mine in a pleading gesture. Like he was begging for a fight and salvation at once.
“Don’t disappoint me, Graham. And don’t you dare break my fucking heart.”
My thumbs grazed his dimples, the hallmarks of his joy. They lit up every room he walked into, and I’d make certain they were always on display.
“May you never forgive me if I do either of those things.”