Chapter 25
Monty
What Hilliard was supposed to have said was, “my home is yours, sugar,” or “don’t leave,” or even “you don’t have to move out if you don’t want to.” After weeks of enjoying an intimate sort of domesticity, Monty had expected an invitation, a plea, a declaration.
Instead, Hilliard had beamed at him and said how proud he was. And even though Monty had waited for what he was sure would come after, it didn’t come. Instead, Hilliard had chatted about how pleased Monty must be, but Monty couldn’t bring himself to agree.
How could he look forward to driving again when he wouldn’t have Henrietta on his lap or Hilliard sitting next to him, looking dapper in driving gloves?
How could he look forward to the swimming pool when Hilliard wouldn’t be around to eye his swimming trunks or tease him for his vanity?
How could he look forward to his big empty house with no Hilliard, no soft music on the radio, no click-clack of Henrietta’s nails on the floor?
And how the hell could he look forward to sleeping in his own bed alone?
The very idea of it made him want to cry.
The worst part was that Hilliard might be looking forward to all of that.
Perhaps his friend wanted his own house back?
Perhaps Monty had been in the way when he leaned against the counter and chatted while Hilliard cooked, or when he sunned himself in the backyard while Hilliard hung up the laundry.
Maybe he was tired of sharing his bed. Then Henrietta could go back to sleeping on the dog bed and he could have the bed all to himself again.
Maybe the whole relationship had happened in order to make Monty feel more comfortable staying at home all the time.
That idea made Monty feel sick on top of feeling weepy.
He thought back to how he and Hilliard had started down this path together.
The seduction conversation had been an excuse for good banter, mostly.
A tentative reach into the uncertain feelings between them with an easy excuse to pull back if Monty had been wrong about everything.
But Hilliard had seemed to enjoy it. Maybe that was the key?
Neither of them talked until they were halfway home. Hilliard broke the silence saying, “It was very kind of you to help Jesse out.”
They were still not the words Monty wanted to hear. So he shrugged and looked out the window. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”
“Where are you thinking we should go dancing?” Hilliard asked.
“I was thinking The Lavender Lounge.”
“Fancy.”
Monty felt himself grin despite his maudlin mood. “Don’t try to pretend you aren’t tickled at the prospect of dressing up for it.”
Hilliard arched an eyebrow. “As it happens, I have the perfect outfit in mind,” he said primly.
“Let me guess: it’s lavender.”
“It wouldn’t do to be too obvious, doll.”
“Lilac?”
“Too light. Can’t dance in that. It’ll stain.”
“Eggplant?”
Hilliard’s forehead wrinkled in distaste. “Certainly not. Too somber.”
“Grape?”
“Are you just naming things that happen to purple, Montgomery?”
“What other shades of purple are there? Violet?”
“I have a plum-colored suit that will do very nicely, I think.”
“Damn. I was going to guess mulberry next.”
“However,” Hilliard went on. “I have a bowtie with lavender spots that should go well with it.”
Monty looked over at the other man. His hair was ruffled by the wind as they drove and the cuffs of his driving gloves had been folded over to display the velvety insides.
He always looked so dashing. Monty didn’t have to wonder how well he’d look in a plum-colored suit.
His heart gave a pang at the thought of losing this sort of banter every day.
Even the idea of missing out on seeing Hilliard in his everyday wear—which still managed to be exceptional—made him feel mournful.
He quickly turned away and pulled his gaze back to the window.
* * *
Monty had a much harder time determining what to wear than Hilliard did.
He needed something bold and tempting. He needed something that would make Hilliard impatient to get him back home again.
He irritably flicked through his clothes again.
He considered a slate-colored pinstripe pair of trousers.
He always liked the way he looked in those.
But then he imagined dancing in them and swiftly put them back—way too tight for that kind of thing.
The thought made him pause. Then he dug through the closet until he pulled out his pair of denim pants.
He hadn’t missed the way Hilliard’s gaze had flicked over his ass when he’d modeled them before.
He tried them on and tested out a few dance moves.
They were stiff at first but he knew they had the potential for better movement.
After all, he’d seen Hilliard in his own pair often enough.
After about ten minutes of stretching and moving about, they began to soften at the hip creases and the knees.
He grinned at his reflection in the mirror.
Then he put on a crisp linen shirt to complete the look and sauntered out of the room.
Hilliard was waiting for him, looking lovely in his plum-colored suit. The entire outfit comprised of different shades of purple. Which would have looked ridiculous on many people, but not Hilliard. He took one look at Monty and his eyes went wide. “Are you trying to get on the front pages again?”
Monty tilted his head in an innocent way. “What do you mean?”
“They won’t let you in the door.”
“Sure they will.”
“Montgomery—”
“Trust me, Hilliard. It’ll be fine. Better to be comfortable than to split a seam trying to dance, isn’t it? Then I’d really make the front pages.”
Hilliard looked him over again, his expression conflicted. Finally, he sighed, “Let’s go pick up Jesse.”
Jesse was waiting for them outside the dormitory. He looked adorably nervous as he greeted them and slid into the back seat.
“You look nice, sweetheart,” Hilliard said, before throwing a meaningful look at Monty.
“Thanks,” Jesse said, running his palms over the tops of his thighs. “I wasn’t sure how fancy this place was.”
“Oh, it’s very fancy,” Hilliard said, at the same time that Monty said, “It’s not that fancy.” Hilliard gave Monty a disapproving look and Monty responded with a wink and a grin.
“It looks like you dressed comfortably which is the most important thing,” Monty said to Jesse in a soothing voice.
Jesse gave a distracted sort of nod. “Thanks.”
Getting through the door did take some finesse. But Monty didn’t have charm magic for nothing. He laid it on thick, smiling and batting his lashes and pouting his lips. When they were finally allowed in, Monty threw a cocky grin at Hilliard.
Hilliard rolled his eyes. “Let’s get something to drink while we wait for Cal.”
Monty made a big show of bending over the bar to hail the bartender. When he glanced over his shoulder to ask Hilliard what he wanted, the other man’s gaze flicked upward to meet his, his cheeks red. Monty didn’t bother hiding his grin. Hilliard eyeing him was exactly what he wanted.
He ordered them both a Horse’s Neck and got Jesse a ginger ale. Then he ordered Cal a martini with a twist, remembering that he’d seen the man drinking one at the Pink Peacock. As they waited, Monty bumped his hip against Hilliard’s.
“Caught you looking,” he murmured in the other man’s ear.
Hilliard blushed but didn’t hide it. “I imagine that was your intent.”
“Well, when you’ve got it…”
Hilliard raised an eyebrow at him. “No one ever said you didn’t have it.”
But what I really want is you was what Monty wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the attention.” He turned more fully toward Hilliard and hooked a finger under Hilliard’s suspenders and tugged him closer. “Especially yours.”
Cal chose that moment to join them.
“About time you showed up,” Monty teased as he passed Cal his drink.
Now that the last member of their party had finally arrived, Monty was tired of standing around. As soon as there was a decent lull in the conversation, he put both his and Hilliard’s drinks on the bar, took Hilliard’s hands in his, and coaxed him to the dance floor.
Hilliard let him. His expression was unmistakably fond as he followed. “You really will make headlines with that outfit,” he said.
Monty wiggled his hips with a grin in response. “As long as they get a decent picture of both of us, I don’t mind.”
Hilliard chuckled and slid his arm around Monty’s waist, pulling him close. “Trouble, that’s what you are.”
“Your favorite kind.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Monty wrapped his arms behind Hilliard’s neck and kissed him.
“As long as you don’t get dragged in front of Ezra again, I won’t complain.”
Monty felt the breath whoosh out of him at the words.
For a brief moment, he wondered if getting into trouble again would force him back into Hilliard’s home for a longer stretch.
The risk almost seemed worth it. He studied Hilliard’s expression.
He couldn’t disappoint him. That was the very least he owed his friend.
So before he could do something stupid, like cry or beg Hilliard to let him stay, he forced a laugh and kissed him again.
“No promises,” he said with a wink.
* * *
Cal took Jesse home, which was unsurprising, and a relief, as that had been Monty’s hope.
The drive to Hilliard’s house was as quiet as it had been that afternoon, but with less tension.
Monty felt sore and tired from dancing for hours, and his body felt loose in the way that alcohol and dancing can provide.
Once again, he found himself staring at Hilliard as he drove.
He had planned to make a whole production of going to bed together, maybe make Hilliard peel the denim off of him.
But as he stared at Hilliard’s softly contented face, he knew he couldn’t do it.
Because all he really wanted was to curl up in bed next to the man he loved, and feel safe and found while he still could.
So when they got home, they each undressed and showered with no fanfare and no teasing.
It was just as well, as Hilliard seemed too exhausted from dancing to handle any seduction.
Monty climbed into bed and patted the coverlet.
Henrietta hopped up and took her usual spot against his hip while Monty snuggled close to Hilliard.
Hilliard wrapped him up tightly in his arms, as if nothing had changed, as if their time together wasn’t ending soon. “You spoil her,” he murmured in Monty’s hair.
Monty smiled against Hilliard’s chest. “She deserves it. She’s such a good girl.”
“Seems like your plan worked.”
“What plan?”
“Jesse and Cal.”
“Oh that! Of course it did.”
Hilliard chuckled. “So modest.”
“You love it.”
There was the barest pause before Hilliard said, “Yes, I do.” Before Monty could say anything else, Hilliard kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, sugar. I’m so proud of you.”
Monty buried his face against Hilliard’s shoulder and breathed in the fresh scent of Hilliard’s soap. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he mumbled. He took a deep breath and added, “It’s meant a lot to me, you know, your help. I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”
“Well, to borrow your own line: that’s what friends do.”
Monty bit his lip to keep himself from crying and saying some truly embarrassing truths. Hilliard had helped him because he was his friend, and that’s what friends do. But Monty wanted more than that. He wanted everything. And he couldn't help but feel that he’d somehow missed his chance to get it.