“You don’t trust her?” his friend mouthed.
In the month he’d spent in her home and her bed, there had been no revealing blind items in blogs, no new intimate details about him or his life in the tabloids, no tell-all interviews on entertainment television shows. Her coworker Mel, for all the woman’s enthusiasm about Gates, didn’t seem to know a thing about him other than the basics: his name, a few of his roles, his status as a onetime local. All April had told her, according to Mel, was that he was kind.
Given the circumstances, given the way he’d doubted April and concealed crucial information from her, he’d had to fight a wince at that description.
No, Marcus hadn’t spotted a single sign that she would ever betray him to anyone. Which he should have known from the moment he found out she was Ulsie, but he hadn’t had sufficient faith in his own instincts or her, and now he was paying for it.
Leaning closer to Alex, he spoke in a bare whisper. “I do trust April.”
“Then why haven’t you told her?” His friend’s brow furrowed. “If you’re serious about her—”
“Of course I’m serious about her,” he snapped, as quietly as he could. “But if she found out I kept something so important from her this whole time . . .” She has trust issues, April had written about Lavinia. Major trust issues. “I don’t know if she’d forgive me. I’m not willing to risk it.”
A lie of omission wasn’t quite as heinous as an outright falsehood, he’d repeatedly informed himself. Plus, he’d basically stopped corresponding with her as Book!AeneasWouldNever as soon as they’d begun dating, so it wasn’t much of a lie, and surely no one would blame him for—
“Dude.” Mouth pinched, Alex shot him a chiding look. “Dude. I don’t blame you for tossing aside my advice last time, but—dude.”
“I know. Just . . .” Shoulders slumped, he sighed. “Just tell me what you were going to say, but leave out the beta-reading, okay?”
After one last tight-lipped stare of disapproval, the other man obliged.
“I was reading Gates fanfiction the other night, since you told me about April’s online alter ego on AO3,” he said with a hint too much sarcasm, “and I was intrigued. So I read a few Cupid/Psyche fics too. They were amazing. A vast improvement over the actual scripts, honestly, especially this last season.”
Oh, God. Marcus thrust a forefinger in the direction of April’s guest room, where her coworker—whom neither of them knew well—could probably hear every damning word his friend had just uttered.
Rolling his eyes, Alex waved off the silent rebuke. “They’re playing some sort of horrible folk music now as they sew. They can’t hear anything.”
When Marcus listened closely, he heard the acoustic guitar and off-key wailing too. It was awful, in an objective sense. But also good, in that the music drowned out Alex.
“What kind of stories did you read?” Marcus asked. “Out of morbid curiosity.”
His friend winked. “Only ones rated E, for explicit.”
Of course. Of course.
Alex’s head tilted, and his brow creased. “I’m not entirely certain why so many fans seem convinced I’m a bottom and in desperate need of getting pegged by Psyche, but . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe they’re right. So I wrote my own Cupid-getting-pegged fic, only with an original character as my pegger-in-chief, because I thought it would be creepy to involve our coworkers, even tangentially. My pen name is CupidUnleashed.”
Marcus pinched his forehead and groaned.
“I chose only the best tags. Porn without Plot. Smuttity Smut Smut. Half-Human Disaster Cupid. Bottoms Up. The Peg That Was Promised.” Elbows akimbo, Alex leaned back and rested his head on his linked hands. “So far, I’ve received over a hundred comments and four hundred kudos. Someone named SoftestBoiCupid dubbed me ‘the Bottom Whisperer,’ and I think it was a compliment.”
Okay, now Marcus was jealous as well as worried. None of his fics had reached anywhere close to a hundred comments. Probably due to a critical lack of pegging.
“In between all the lube and mutual orgasms, I included lots of pointed commentary about how Cupid had changed too much over the years to ever abandon anyone he truly loved, no matter what Venus and Jupiter told him to do.” Alex grinned. “It was very satisfying, on a variety of levels. I think my next fic will be a modern AU where Cupid is starring in a popular television show, one which the incompetent, overprivileged showrunners irretrievably fuck up in the final seasons, and he meets a woman who helps him get over his resulting depression by—”
Marcus sighed. “Pegging him.”
“—pegging him.” Somehow, his friend’s smile gleamed even more brightly. “How did you guess?”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you enjoyed writing your story, but Alex, you need to be careful. If anyone found out—”
“Lauren knows.”
Marcus’s groan was so heartfelt, it actually hurt his throat.
“She caught me working on it one day, and I told her if she wouldn’t let me have fun in real life, I could at least have a good time in fiction. She must have read the story once it posted, because she said she hoped Cupid’s partner used less lube next time.” Alex pursed his lips in thought. “For such a humorless harpy, it was quite a good comeback. I was impressed.”
“Alex.” Jesus fucking Christ, his friend’s career was done.
“Don’t worry.” Alex waved a dismissive hand. “She won’t say anything to anyone.”
Gulping air, Marcus forced himself to speak slowly. Precisely. “You told me part of her job was to report to Ron and R.J. about what you do off set, especially anything objectionable. Writing fanfiction critical of your character arc is more than objectionable. It’s grounds for firing you, and potentially actionable in a legal sense. Believe me, I know.”
When it came to his own fanfic transgressions, the email earlier that day had only strung his nerves that much tighter. The prospect of imminent doom didn’t appear to inspire so much as a single fidgety twitch in his best friend, however.
“Well, she caught me a week ago, and I haven’t heard a peep from Ron and R.J.” Still sprawled back against the couch cushions, Alex shrugged. “I didn’t think that was the sort of thing she’d report. Guess I was right.”
The drone of terrible folk music and the buzz of the sewing machine stopped, and both men looked toward the guest room. Moments later, Mel and April emerged, smiling.
“I think we almost have it done. Just a few more pieces to attach, and one more fitting. We’re leaving the sewing machine here, but it shouldn’t get in your way, Alex.” Mel bumped shoulders with April. “Then it’s time for My Chemical Folkmance’s new costumes, exclusively designed by April Whittier.”
April snorted. “Tim Gunn taught me well.”
“I’d be happy to talk to one of the show’s costume designers, if you two wanted some insider tips or tricks for cosplaying Lavinia.” Arms crossed, Alex drummed his fingers against his biceps as he glanced toward Marcus. “Who do you think is the best bet? Marilyn? Geeta?”