Chapter 9
“You’ve been weird.”
Scott flinched and lifted his eyes from the glass of champagne in his hand to his cousin.
Will was watching him carefully, his expression thoughtful.
“Have I?” Scott said lightly, glancing around the garden party, searching for an excuse to walk away.
But his mom—whose birthday they were celebrating—was surrounded by other guests, and he couldn’t see anyone under the age of fifty he could talk to.
He looked back at Will. “Surprised you noticed any difference. I barely see you these days now that you’re so loved up with your boy. ”
Will fixed him with a steady look and didn’t take the bait. “You’re usually the life of the party, but you’ve barely spoken to anyone today. Something’s wrong if you can’t even be bothered with the social niceties you’re usually so good at.”
Scott chuckled. “Wow. Didn’t realize I was that interesting.”
“Scott. Spill.”
Scott grimaced. He hated how well Will knew him. They’d grown up together, and Will had always been more of a brother to him than a cousin, but sometimes it annoyed Scott how easily Will could make him feel young and juvenile. He was twenty-eight years old, for fuck’s sake.
“It’s nothing,” Scott said, taking a sip of his champagne.
“Boy trouble?” Will said.
Scott nearly laughed. “No. I mean, not really.”
Will narrowed his eyes. “Not really?”
Scott sighed and took another sip of his drink. Fuck, he needed something stronger.
“I have… this friend,” he said, turning away to stare at the central fountain of the garden. “We’ve been friends for a few months, and it’s been—great, honestly. But last week something happened, and now I’m not sure if our friendship is over.”
“You mean you fucked that friend of yours,” Will said, his tone very dry.
Scott winced. He really hated how well Will knew him. “We were drunk. Very very drunk. And it wasn’t full-on sex. Just a blow job.” A blow job seemed such a wrong way to describe what had happened, but he could hardly tell Will that he’d let his friend fuck his mouth and gotten off on it.
His face hot, Scott cleared his throat a little. “Anyway, it was obviously just a drunken mistake. He’s straight, and actually pretty homophobic. He clearly—”
“Wait, why are you friends with a homophobic guy?”
Scott shrugged, unsure how to explain it. “It doesn’t bother me much, because I know that was how he was brought up. He’s trying to do better and overcome his homophobia.”
“Bullshit.”
Frowning, Scott glanced sideways at Will. “You don’t know him—”
“I’m not talking about him,” Will said. “I’m talking about you.
I don’t believe for a second that you’re friends with him because he’s trying to be less homophobic.
No offense, but you’re not exactly the most empathetic, understanding guy out there.
You normally wouldn’t have the patience to put up with someone hateful just because they’re trying to be better.
You have plenty of friends to choose from. ”
Scott looked away. He didn’t know what to say.
Will was right, and yet. He honestly couldn’t explain his friendship with Cam.
Cam’s barely-concealed—or sometimes not concealed at all—homophobia should have pushed him away.
Hell, Cam had been outright rude and awful to his boyfriend.
Scott should have been angry about that instead of…
feeling long-suffering and fondly exasperated.
He cut Cam a lot of slack, and he couldn’t even explain it to himself.
“He’s…” Scott hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. “We just click, you know? I like being around him. It feels—good. Right.”
He could feel Will’s gaze boring into the side of his face.
“So that homophobic friend of yours somehow ended up giving you head while you were drunk?”
Scott flushed. “Sort of,” he said stiffly.
“Anyway. The point thing is, I’m not sure where we stand.
He was already gone when I woke up the next morning—and I know it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, because he had an early flight, but it’s been basically radio silence since then.
He didn’t text me once.” He chuckled. “Not that we were the type of friends to text every single day—he’s far too busy for that anyway—but not a single text over nearly ten days? That’s weird, right?”
Will hummed. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to text him. If he’s straight and homophobic, he’d feel worse about the drunken hookup than you do.”
“Right,” Scott said, grimacing. The thought had occurred to him once or twice. And the thing was, he got it. Of course what had happened would freak Cam out more than him.
But that didn’t mean Scott had any idea how to handle the situation.
Should he just pretend nothing had happened?
People often forgot what they did when they were drunk, right?
Except the radio silence between them eliminated any plausible deniability.
If he wanted to go that route, he probably should’ve texted Cam the next day with something like Hey, did I do anything stupid last night?
I have no clue how I ended up in your room.
But it was too late now for that. It wouldn’t sound believable.
So here they were.
“Why are you so bothered by the whole thing?” Will said, studying him with his sharp, observant eyes. Although they were almost exactly the same shape and color as his own—maybe a bit closer to gray than blue—Scott often felt like they were nothing like his own. They saw far too much.
“Told you, he’s my friend. I don’t want things to become weird.”
Will’s expression was downright skeptical. “I’ve never seen you this stressed over a friend. You have plenty of other friends. If he starts acting weird, you can always cut him off.”
“Right,” Scott said, frowning and trying to ignore the knot of discomfort in his stomach.
Later that night, he found himself staring at his phone hesitantly.
Finally, fed up with his own indecision, he opened his chat with Cam and typed.
Scott: Hey! How’s summer break treating you?
Cam was online.
Scott held his breath as the other man started typing.
Cam: boring. Itching to get back on track.
Scott exaled, the knot in his stomach loosening a little. Cam’s words sounded fairly normal, right? Not weird at all. Maybe they could just ignore the whole thing.
Scott: Amsterdam next, right?
Cam: Zandvoort
Scott: eh, you got what I meant, so whatever.
Cam started typing. Stopped. Started typing again.
Scott watched it with trepidation.
Cam: Are you coming to the next race?
Chewing on his bottom lip, Scott considered it. The Dutch Grand Prix kind of conflicted with the business meeting his dad wanted him to attend.
But.
If he begged off, would Cam think he was avoiding him? Scott didn’t want things to become weird between them. Well, weirder than what had happened in Hungary.
Scott: I’m kind of busy that weekend, but I guess I could fit it into my schedule.
Cam: I’ll send you a pass.
Scott: OK, and find me a room close to the track. I’m not traveling from Amsterdam every day.
Cam: you’re so high maintenance, Jesus.
Scott: why, thank you! [kissing emoji]
He regretted the emoji the moment he hit send. Banter like this wasn’t unusual for them, but it probably wasn’t very advisable after what had happened.
Cam didn’t reply immediately.
Wincing, Scott stared at the screen, as if he could will Cam into replying.
At long last, the typing dots appeared.
Cam: I just checked. All hotels close to the track are sold out. Zandvoort is tiny. Even I can’t find you a room this late, mate.
Scott frowned. That did sound believable. Or was it just an excuse to keep him far away?
There was only one way to find out.
Scott: no problem! I can share your room again! [winking emoji]
He was starting to have second thoughts the moment he sent it, but it was too late.
This time the pause until Cam’s reply was even longer.
Cam: Sure. I’ll text you my room number once I’m there.
Fuck.
What was he getting himself into?