Chapter 35
RILEY
Today must be my lucky day, because not only is my bag the very first one off the carousel in baggage claim, but Scott’s is within the first dozen off as well.
“Home sweet home,” he sighs. Although, it comes out sounding more like, “Ho’swee’ho” with the hair tie between his teeth as he finishes wrangling his long, dirty-blond hair into a messy bun. “Say what you will about the Tulsa airport, but it’s always easy in and easy out.”
“That’s what she said,” I deadpan, scrolling through notifications on my phone while Scott digs through his backpack for his car keys. For someone who travels as often as we do, I’m continuously amazed at how unorganized he can be.
Scott’s stomach grumbles loudly as he locates his keys and we head across the street to the long-term parking garage. “You want to grab a late dinner before I drop you off?”
Tempting as that is, since I’m sure there’s not much food in my apartment after a week away, I’m kind of ready to get home.
Scott and I had a blast covering Pride this weekend in New York City, but the more I travel, the more I appreciate being alone in my own space.
This trip also reminded me of last year when Luke and I were supposed to volunteer at WeHo Pride together, and it’s got me feeling some type of way that I would rather sleep off than look too closely at.
“If it’s cool, I think I’d rather just head home,” I admit.
“All those crowds and people for three days straight kinda took it out of me, and I think I need to go home and crash for a couple days.”
“Getting soft in your old age, Cunningham,” Scott snorts, tossing our bags into the trunk of his car.
I roll my eyes at that. “Whatever. We’re the same age, and you’re the one who wanted to go back to the hotel before midnight last night.”
To be fair, I didn’t mind—I love a good gay event as much as the next guy, especially at Pride, and especially in New York City, but the party scene has never done much for me.
And unfortunately, because events in the gay scene tend to revolve around drugs and alcohol.
I learned pretty quickly that if you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all, and it’s no fun being the only sober one in the crowd after midnight.
“Hey, you’re the one who booked a 10 a.m. flight out of JFK!” Scott argues.
Well, he’s got me there. One of the downsides of Tulsa: no direct flights anywhere good. I could probably scrounge up a pretty decent down payment for a house if I had a dollar for each hour I spent sitting in airports on layovers. After nearly a full day of travel, my couch is calling my name.
We ride most of the way home in silence.
Well, silence except for Scott’s weird heavy metal music.
I don’t know how he listens to this stuff.
We’re about to turn into my apartment complex when he finally kills the music and says, “So we’ve got the trip to Fire Island next and then San Francisco after that, right? ”
“Other way around,” I correct him. “San Fran is in ten days, and Fire Island is next month.”
I’m dreading going back to California again so soon.
When Scott told me he got us on the guest list at the grand opening of the latest gay resort in Palm Springs last fall, I tried to think of any possible excuse to get out of it.
Luke is rarely far from my mind, even still…
but being in the same state was a special kind of torture made even worse by the fact that I was in the same city where it all fell apart.
At least San Francisco is at the other end of the state.
Not that it will probably do much good. Everything in my body, down to the very marrow in my bones, feels the pull toward him when I’m there.
“Fuck, you’re right. I can’t keep track of anything anymore.” He shakes his head and parks the car across from my building. “Hey, do you know that guy outside your place? Looks like he’s waiting for you.”
Time seems to slow and then stop as I turn to see Luke leaning against the patio railing outside my unit, head ducked to look at his phone, and one knee bouncing rapidly as he sweeps a hand through his dark hair.
He looks really good, his biceps bulging beneath his heather gray T-shirt a bit more than I remember, his shoulders broader, and the taper of his waist more defined.
It’s been months since I’ve even seen a photo of him.
I had to stop looking at his social media for my own sanity.
His posts consisted mostly of self-portraits, typically tasteful nudes with moody lighting and his face covered.
A far cry from the bright, colorful selfies on the beach and at the gym he used to post. Luke’s broken heart was bleeding out all over the page, and it was hard to look at.
“Rye-bread?”
My head snaps back to Scott at the sound of his stupid nickname for me. I love Scott, but sometimes I wonder why when he comes up with stupid shit like that. “Yeah,” I say slowly. “I know him. It’s been a while, though.”
Luke has shoved his phone in his pocket now, head swiveling back and forth a couple of times, looking for something, before he checks his watch.
His haircut looks new, the sides freshly buzzed, and he’s clean-shaven except for the mustache I love so much.
He’s wearing those sunglasses with the mirrored pink lenses that I can’t resist, and his favorite ratty pair of Vans, and suddenly all I want to do is launch myself into his arms and never let go.
But I can’t do that. I don’t know what he wants, or why he’s here, and I can’t get my hopes up that anything has changed.
Taking a deep breath, I open the car door and try to play it as cool as possible, even though I’m pretty sure all of my insides have turned to hot lava.
To my dismay, Scott also jumps out and rounds the car to help pull my bag from the trunk.
Even with my back to Luke, I can feel his eyes laser-focused on us as Scott pulls me in for a tighter-than-necessary hug.
“Are you sure you’re cool, dude?” Scott whispers tightly. “I can hang around for a bit if you need me to. Or text you in thirty minutes with a fake emergency. Just let me know.”
“I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine,” I insist as I gently disentangle myself from him. “Go get some rest, we’ll talk later.”
Scott looks skeptical, but finally nods, shooting one last wary glance at Luke before finally leaving.
Heart pounding, breath catching in my throat, I turn and make my way across the lot toward the man I thought I’d never see again. The only man I’ve ever loved.
Luke’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as I approach, and his Adam’s apple bobs visibly before he says, “Hey, sunshine,” in a shaky voice.
“Hi,” I whisper, my own voice hitching unexpectedly at his nickname for me. “What are…I didn’t, um…” My mouth doesn’t seem to want to cooperate with my brain. Clearing my throat, I try again. “What are you doing here?”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, suddenly looking nervous.
As much as I love those sunglasses, I wish I could see his eyes.
“I…I wanted to see you…and…and talk to you,” he stammers.
“If that’s okay? I know you’re just getting back from a trip, so I can come back if this isn’t the best time… ”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. I definitely did not wake up this morning expecting to see my ex for the first time in a year, but now that he’s in front of me, the last thing I want is for him to leave. “I’m glad you’re here. You wanna come in?”
His shoulders sag a little in relief, and he nods.
He keeps a respectful distance as I unlock the door, and it’s obviously taking him a lot of effort.
Even with the space between us, I can feel the warmth of him at my back.
His familiar scent, dark and woodsy, permeates the air around me, and a million memories flash through my mind at once, unbidden.
I fumble with my keys and have to consciously remind myself not to sink back into him.
The gravitational pull between us is still as strong as ever, and I would be lying if I said that no part of me wanted to let myself get sucked back in.
Flustered, I push the door open a little harder than necessary.
“Sorry it’s a mess,” I offer lamely as I take in the pile of laundry dumped unceremoniously on the old armchair in my living room and the clutter on the kitchen island.
“I wasn’t expecting company.” My place is sparse, but not in the chic, minimalist way Luke’s is; my vibe is more lived-in-briefly-between-trips.
Ever since my blog took off, I’ve been traveling at least as much as I’m home, if not more, and since it’s just me here, I don’t bother with basic things like putting laundry away sometimes.
Come to think of it, maybe Luke is partly to blame, since he’s the one who took care of all of that when we lived together.
“Make yourself at home,” I tell him, gesturing to the couch.
He immediately obeys, and something hot and familiar shoots through me.
I’ve hooked up a few times in the past year, but nothing has ever even come close to being as explosive or as satisfying as it was between Luke and me.
The way he turned to putty beneath my hands and begged me to fill him up…
I shake my head to derail that train of thought and abandon my bag at the front door, making my way into the kitchen to pour us each a glass of water.
Iced coffee was always more his thing than mine, and I don’t have all the necessary tools or the time to make some now.
I won’t offer him a glass of the wine I have chilling in the fridge, so water it is.