Parker’s smile was maniacal, and for some reason, that calmed me down. We’d had an unspoken rule in our relationship for years.
Only one of us could be unhinged at a time.
And he was pretty fucking unhinged right now.
“Here,” I said, pulling the fancy wedge of cheese we’d brought them out of my pocket and slapping it into Tiller’s palm. “Cheese. For you. Well, for all of us, really. It’s just… cheese.”
Parker tilted his head at me and widened his eyes as if to say, Remember the unhinged pact?
I blew breath out between my lips and offered a sheepish grin. “Act normal. Everyone, just be cool. We’re cool, right? Everyone here is casual and cool.”
Mikey and Tiller stared at us like they’d just wandered into the most fascinating shitshow on Earth. But it was fine, because we were going to be cool about everything and talk about it later.
Parker let out a strange kind of distorted laugh. “It’s fine. I’m cool and you’re cool. They’re always cool, so…”
Sam’s voice came from the kitchen. “What the fuck is taking you so long, and why do I keep hearing the word ‘cool’?”
Tiller didn’t take his eyes off us when he shouted back. “Replace that wine with whiskey, Sam. Quickly.”
I flapped a hand in the air and kicked my boots off on the wide tray next to the door. “No, it’s really very fine. Nothing is happening. It’s all very normal. We’re normal. Everything is normal. See?” I gestured to my… solar plexus. “Totally normal.”
Parker’s eyebrows folded together as his boots joined mine on the tray. “Baby… I have some concerns about your definition of normal because, like I told you before, that sweater isn’t my favorite. I wanted you to wear the navy cashmere again, but—”
I cut him off. “And I told you, it needs to go to the dry cleaner because of the marshmallow you got on me when I was wearing it. When I have it on, you can’t ever stop petting me. Sometimes it makes things… awkward around other people.”
“But I like petting you.”
Mikey’s voice took on an odd high pitch. “It’s happening. Oh my god, it’s happening.” He turned and shouted toward the kitchen while shoving us forward. “Sam, Truman, code red. I repeat, code red. It’s happening.”
I leaned over to Parker and whispered, “What’s happening?”
Parker shrugged. “Maybe they’re excited about the cheese.”
We followed them into the kitchen, where every gay, pan, and bi man I knew in Aster Valley seemed to be waiting with eager anticipation.
“Hey, everyone,” Parker said, reaching for a shot glass full of amber liquid and passing it to me. I tossed it back without thinking.
Mikey nudged us over to the giant wooden table by the windows. Most everyone else was already seated around the table enjoying a couple of trays of appetizers and predinner drinks. Music was playing in the background, and a security light in the backyard illuminated a light flurry of snowflakes falling outside.
A fire blazed in the kitchen fireplace, and the smell of garlic and other savory treats filled the room. I let my shoulders relax—or maybe it was the whiskey—now that we were among friends.
“Sit,” Mikey said, indicating two empty chairs next to each other. At least they weren’t planning on using a divide-and-conquer strategy to grill us.
Or were they?
Before Parker could follow me into the empty seat, Tiller grabbed his elbow and turned him toward the pantry door. “Come with me for a second. I need help with something.”
I stared after them. Parker turned to look at me over his shoulder. His eyes were wide.
Stay strong, I thought with a silent but near hysterical giggle.
Mikey took the empty seat next to me and lulled me into a false sense of security. “I’m so glad you’re here because I need some advice.”
I blinked at him and looked around at the other guys who seemed to be listening in also. “O-okay…”
“It’s this friend of mine from Texas. Do you remember me telling you about Shannon from Hilltop Cafe?”
I searched my brain but found nothing, so I shook my head.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, waving his hand through the air. “She’s the one who’s been flirting with this regular customer for like a year. Every day, he brings his laptop after the breakfast rush and proceeds to work in a corner booth with breakfast and coffee refills until the lunch rush starts. He tips her like crazy and makes great conversation when she’s free to chat.”
I relaxed into the story. “That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, so he finally asked her out, and she said no, can you believe it?”
I glanced around the table to see if I could figure out why I was the one he was asking about this, but all I saw were blank faces. “That sucks. Did she say why? And why are you asking me?”
Mikey’s forehead crinkled for a second before smoothing out. “Oh. He’s a lawyer like you. I figured you know how lawyers are. Anyway, I asked her what she was so afraid of and said she’d rather live with the fantasy than the reality. It just… I don’t know. It just seems sad to me.”
I agreed. “Lonely, too. Has she had disappointments in relationships in the past?”
“Not really. But she’s definitely romantic. She wants to be adored and taken care of, and this guy seems to be perfect. He’s so freaking into her. He really listens when she talks, and he remembers important things she’s said. He takes care of her, like when she… dropped a tray of drinks, he pulled her out of the way so she wouldn’t cut herself.”
“He sounds like a good guy.” I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say.
“He is. I’ve met him several times. He’s a really, really good guy.” Mikey’s eyes had an intensity to them that unnerved me. “Can you imagine preferring a fictional fantasy to a good, devoted guy in real life?”
I opened my mouth to respond when the pieces finally fell into place with a loud and obnoxious snap. “It’s safer to cling to the fantasy,” I said, trying to act casual. “Real life is much messier. The fantasy can’t break your heart.”
Truman spoke up from his spot halfway sprawled across Sam’s lap. “But it can’t reach something on the high shelf for you either.”
“Or rub your feet after a long day,” Darius said, glancing at Miller.
“Or arrest overly aggressive paparazzi to keep you safe,” added Finn.
“Or suck cock until you accidentally alert the people in the stalls next to you,” Tiller said, returning from the pantry with a tall stack of plates.
Mikey shot him the bird. “It wasn’t people, asshole. It was your father and uncle.”
Parker followed Tiller with his own armload of dishes. His were thick soup bowls, which he set down with a clatter next to a tall pot of something simmering on the stove.
Tiller winked at me. “And that’s why they send him tulips now on his birthday.”
Thankfully, the subject changed as Mikey got up to continue working on getting dinner on the table. Parker fixed me a drink from the supplies on the kitchen island and brought it over.