The comment causes some pitying looks. “Anyway, back to your original comment, maybe Briar can give me some tips. I want it to be believable. His ex is a cocksucker.”
“Which is good in gay land,” Casper says, winking at me.
“Oh. Right. Okay, then he’s a dirty unwashed ball sac.”
Everyone cringes. “Thanks for the visual, boss,” Elizabeth says, playfully gagging.
I chuckle, leaning on the counter. “Well he is. Briar is the kindest, sweetest person I’ve ever met, and that piece of shit treated him like he was worthless. I want him to realize what a terrible mistake he made.”
“You’re a good friend,” Sam says. “I can’t imagine a lot of straight guys would play gay all weekend to support a friend.”
“They would if they cared about the person. Briar is my best friend. I’d do anything for him.” Even this. “He’d do the same for me.”
Casper nudges my arm. “Well, when the ball sac takes one look at you, he’ll wish he was Briar instead of wishing he had Briar.”
Rolling my eyes, I gently shove his arm. “Whatever.”
“He’s right,” Luca says. “Girls come in here all the time trying to catch a glimpse of you.”
I laugh softly, trying to deflect attention. I hate when people focus on my looks. It’s not like I’m responsible for how it all worked out. “Thanks, guys.”
“I have a question,” Elizabeth says, raising her hand like we’re in school.
“Sure.”
“Why are you telling us? You never tell us anything.”
I pull my head back slightly. Why did I tell them? Maybe this favor is messing with me more than I thought.
I shrug, downplaying my internal thoughts. “Guess it was just on my mind because it happened today, and I need the time off.” Grinning, I continue. “Didn’t want you guys thinking something was wrong.”
She laughs. “Good call.”
I look down at my watch. “Gonna clean up and get out of here. Working out with Briar at five.”
“Tell the lucky groom we’re excited for the nuptials,” Casper teases as the rest of the group bursts into laughter.
“You laugh, but wait until you see the registry,” I call back on my way to my office. In my office, I check my email and upon seeing there’s nothing pressing, I log out and grab my gym bag. As I leave, I wave to my team, smiling as I see the chairs filling up with customers again. The shop has always done well, getting progressively busier, but after I took care of major NBA star Dante Higgins last month and he posted my work on his IG, things have literally blown up. It’s more than I ever dreamed of when I scraped together enough to buy my first tattoo machine ten years ago with tips I made from waiting tables. My dad supported my dream to open this place three years ago, giving me the funding I needed to make it happen without a bank loan, and I proudly paid him back within a year and a half. I’m a lower middle-class suburban kid with an art history degree who is making it big in Miami. I have more than I imagined for myself.
Now if I could just figure out this love bullshit, I’d be set.
Briar
“Did we finish the Logan order?”
I look up from frosting the last batch of carrot cake cupcakes for tomorrow’s birthday party order to see my boss, Saint, standing in front of me. I remember being so intimidated by the big, imposing man when I interviewed to work at his bakery, but he’s one of the nicest people I know. He’s one of the best Latin bakers in the city. The funny thing is, he’s not Latin. His best friend is, and his grandma taught Saint the fine art of Latin pastry. Saint is about as Latin as the Scottish kilt he sometimes wears, but you wouldn’t know it from his baking.
“Yes. Logan order is in the chiller.”
He nods, glancing at his clipboard. “And that’s for Moore?”
I nod. “Yep. Finishing the frosting right now.”
He tilts his head. “You did both orders today?”
“Yeah.”
He frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Saint.”
“Come on, Briar. When you power bake, something’s wrong.”
Chuckling, I put the piping bag down and lick some stray cream cheese frosting from my fingers before turning to the sink to wash my hands. “I have to go to a wedding that my ex is gonna be in.” After grabbing a paper towel, I twist around to see Cairo, Genesis, and Tate have joined us. Oh great, the whole crew is here.
“Whose wedding?” Cairo asks, his big brown curls bouncing on his forehead, following the flow of his excited question.
“Ron. He’s one of my best friends.”
“I thought Jude was your bestie?” Tate asks, his blue eyes wide in question.
“He is now.” Four sets of eyes study me. I exhale, knowing I might as well just spill the tea if I want any peace. “Okay, guys. Ron was my best friend since middle school. We lived next door to each other. Then in high school, we met Michael who had moved to our area, and we all became friends. After high school, we all went to different colleges, but stayed close. Once Michael graduated, he moved back, and we started dating. Ron got a great job straight out of college and moved to Chicago.” I take a breath, fighting back the emotion that still hits me years later. “Michael and I dated for years, but it wasn’t a good relationship. Finally, I found out that he was chronically cheating on me with hookups he met online, so we broke up two years ago. Shortly after that, Michael’s job transferred him to Chicago. Fast forward to this morning, I get a call from Ron. He’s getting married in three months, wants me to be a groomsman, and, oh by the way, my loser ex is the best man. I couldn’t really say no, so I came up with the idea to ask Jude to go as my fiancé.”
The four men stare at me like I’m speaking another language, until Saint nods and says, “Well, if you have to have a fake fiancé, Jude is a good one to have.”
Genesis nods. “He’s so hot.”
“No lies told,” Cairo says.
“Do you need an extra fake boyfriend for a fake threesome?” Tate asks. “If so, I volunteer as tribute.”
I laugh, snorting as I do. “You guys. Jude is straight.”
“Straight?” Saint asks, looking surprised. “And he agreed?”
“Yeah. We’re best friends.”
“Are you gonna, like, coach him?” Cairo asks.
“Good idea,” Genesis nods. “He needs to be coached.”
“Coached?” I cross my arms. “What does that mean?”
“Well,” Cairo continues. “I imagine he hasn’t had any romantic dealings with men, right?”
“Zero. To my knowledge.”
“So he might be awkward or uncomfortable with it. You need to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, maybe pat his butt.” He giggles, scrunching his nose. “You know, get him used to it.”
“Cairo makes a point,” Saint says, with his trademark seriousness. “You should talk to Jude about that. If you go in cold, it could be obvious you’re not really a couple.”
“I didn’t think about that.”