CHAPTER 15 #2
‘Stop worrying! We are going to have fun.’
Jeremy lay down beside Sam on the bed, still feeling tense, suddenly awkward around him in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time.
He kept his left leg and arm almost hanging off the mattress, and realised that this bed, as comfortable and soft and large as it was, reminded him of the elevator all those months ago – although it smelt much better.
He imagined he could feel warmth emanating from Sam, and he tried not to let scenes of what they could do on that bed flit through his mind.
In one quick move, he could roll over and straddle him, he could grab Sam’s hands and pin them against the bedhead, he could …
Jeremy felt a tap on his shoulder, and he rolled over, only to discover Sam’s face lying on the pillow a finger’s distance from his own.
He froze, staring into the deep gentle eyes looking back at him, noting the soft smile on Sam’s lips, and a thousand thoughts flashed through his head.
Did he want to kiss Sam? Did Sam want him to kiss him?
Did he want Sam to kiss him? Should he want to be kissed by Sam?
And if so, what did that mean? Or were they friends and Jeremy was just stupendously horny, and Sam would be horrified if he found out …
He opened his mouth to say something, to break the crackling tension, and then he felt a hand snake into his.
‘Stop worrying,’ Sam repeated. Miraculously, the sensation of Sam’s hand, warm in his, meant that Jeremy did.
‘My man,’ shouted Garth, who was already looking less polished than he’d been at the ceremony, jacket discarded, shirt rumpled and bowtie askew, a heavy red flush across his cheeks. ‘This is epic. Thank you for coming – it’s been too long.’
‘One might say an entire lifetime,’ said Jeremy dryly.
‘God we used to have fun. Remember when we climbed that tree and couldn’t get down? That was epic.’
‘Not at all, but I’m glad you do,’ Jeremy said, which Garth ignored.
‘Family is so important. And hey, this must be Sam. Gee whiz, you are a good-looking chap – all the sheilas in the family were saying so. Showing me up on my own wedding day!’
Sam chuckled, slapping Garth on the shoulder. ‘Just as long as the bride knows she’s the most beautiful woman here,’ he joked.
‘And she is,’ shouted Garth, misty eyed. ‘God, she’s gorgeous, just gorgeous. You have to meet her!’
Garth moved through the mingling crowd like a wrecking ball, towing Jeremy and Sam behind him.
‘I read PopBuzz every day,’ Lara informed Jeremy once they’d been introduced, ‘and your mum sends us all your articles – they’re great.’
‘I didn’t even know my mum could read.’ Jeremy laughed but was incredibly touched.
Dinner was a perfectly fine affair where Maria mostly drank champagne and said outrageous things to make their table laugh. Jeremy enjoyed watching Sam join in, picking up the game pretty quickly.
‘Maria, I’d happily marry you,’ he answered, after she archly made the offer. ‘But unfortunately, I don’t have the money to give you the life you deserve.’
‘Ah well.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘You’re too beautiful to divorce anyway.’
‘Everyone needs to stop being so horny for my boyfriend!’ protested Jeremy, and for a second, he was swept up in what it would feel like if Sam was his real boyfriend, rather than a fill-in for his fake one, rather than a friend he had kissed while drunk.
The night continued in a blur. Jeremy took joy in seeing Sam on another dance floor – a lot of enthusiasm, a lot of passion, a surprising acquaintance with Beyoncé choreography.
The way he effortlessly met new people and chatted, like small talk wasn’t painful for everyone involved.
How he even managed to twirl Jeremy’s mother, despite the fact she always said she hadn’t gone near a dance floor since the eighties.
How he kept making sure Jeremy was dancing with him, drinking shots with him and Garth, how Sam kept looking up and smiling at him, inviting him over.
At one point, they were standing with Garth on the balcony, surrounded by the warm glow of lanterns and candles, looking off into the darkness where a fat yellow moon illuminated the cold night.
‘How did you know?’ Jeremy asked.
‘Know what?’ Garth asked, his eyes a bit unfocused now, his speech slightly slurred.
‘That Lara was the one … that it was a good idea to marry her,’ Jeremy said.
Sam laughed, explaining to Garth: ‘Our Jeremy has some trust issues.’
Garth – who Jeremy and Sam had discovered was a tradie and major Star Wars enthusiast – thought about the question, and looked inside to where Lara was.
‘I guess it has nothing to do with trust,’ he said. ‘Or maybe it’s just that trust doesn’t matter. I don’t know. The thing is, you just know when you know. You just know! You know?’
Sam laughed again, clapping Garth on the shoulder and proclaiming him to be a poet.
But Jeremy nodded, drunkenly – because he was drunk too – hearing a lot of wisdom in what Garth had said.
He looked at Sam, who was laughing at something Lara had just yelled outside, and he wondered – was this knowing?
Sam might be the kindest, most beautiful, most handsome man he’d ever known, but was that love?
And even if it was, Sam was the kind of guy who should end up with a genuinely perfect husband, not just someone pretending to be perfect for revenge, like Jeremy.
Later that night, Sam grabbed his hand and led him out past the rapidly winding-down wedding into the gardens.
He had half a bottle of champagne with him, and his cheeks were flushed in the cold air, his tie long gone, shirt open.
They found a bench surrounded by winter flowers that seemed to ripple in the moonlight, and Jeremy went to sit, opening his mouth to say something: to thank Sam for bringing him tonight, to thank him for all the help he’d given him over the past few months, to apologise for kissing him at Mardi Gras, to maybe tell him he thought he was amazing and he was glad they were friends, but he didn’t get the chance because, before he could sit, Sam lightly touched his arm and he was frozen into silence.
Jeremy looked at him, mute, and Sam put the champagne down on the bench, reached a hand slowly to Jeremy’s face, giving him plenty of time to pull away, to understand the motion, looking deep into his eyes.
Sam wasn’t smiling now; his face was radiating intent.
Jeremy stepped in closer, could feel his whole body vibrating with anticipation, his heart punching him from the inside, his brain curiously devoid of any thought, and then there it was: Sam kissing him.
His lips were warm and gentle, his hand on the side of Jeremy’s face, slowly caressing him, and Jeremy allowed himself to melt into it, into the moment.
It was slow, and it felt timeless, even when he felt Sam’s hot tongue graze his own.
That was when two things happened – Jeremy may have moaned, something he was pretty sure a mere kiss had never made him do, and Sam shifted the kiss from soft and slow into confident and hungry.
It was nothing like the kiss they’d shared at Mardi Gras, which had been hurried, rushed, a question they were asking each other – are you attracted to me?
This one was making a statement, and Jeremy felt Sam telling him – with his mouth, with his hands, with the way he crushed Jeremy’s body to his own – that he wanted him.
Jeremy believed it, and did his best to tell Sam that he wanted him too.
He ran his hand into the thick wave of Sam’s hair, realising he’d been dreaming of doing that for months now, feeling the incredible heft of it, using it to control the trajectory of their kiss.
He felt light, cradled in those arms, those incredible arms, and Jeremy allowed himself to grasp Sam’s shoulders, grip the back of his neck.
The rasp of stubble against stubble, that smell – musk and spices and sweet vanilla – the feeling of Sam hot and hard against his thigh – Jeremy couldn’t think outside this moment, couldn’t help but continue it, deliriously happy, himself swelling with desire.
He wanted to die; he wanted to live forever so he could feel this again.
Sam raised his head suddenly, looking back up the path, where the noise of a bunch of men singing loudly was coming closer. The wedding was over, and the guests were spilling out of the function room.
‘Oh no,’ Jeremy groaned, extracting his fingers from the tangle he’d made of Sam’s hair.
Sam was quiet for a second, and then leant in close to Jeremy’s ear, so close he was nipping at the lobe, so close it sent a thrill of fire through him, and he whispered huskily, ‘Let’s go back to our room.’
Jeremy could only nod.