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“You’re a romantic. I’m…not.”
“Well, I don’t believe that at all. I don’t think you wanna be. I don’t think you see it. Maybe you’re a little scared of it, but I think you’re a romantic.”
“Sam…”
“Em, shut up and walk with me.” I tugged him, and he listened. We didn’t say much as twigs and leaves crunched beneath our feet.
It was about a twenty-minute walk to the small lake. It wasn’t anything special. Not the kind of place most people would come to, but it was the kind of place where we could be alone while also not being at Emerson’s house. “Remember how I told you I like being naked outside?”
Emerson grinned. Hell yeah. Score for me.
“I do.” And then without me saying a damn thing, he pulled his shirt off. When I saw his face again, the grin had stretched into the smile that made me feel like I was the luckiest man in the whole world.
He took his shoes off next, and then we were racing, both of us stripping out of our clothes as fast as we could. Emerson won, and just as I tugged my underwear off, he scooped me up like I weighed nothing and carried me the way they did in movies when the man picked the woman up to head into the house or the bedroom. We needed more movies where two men did that, or two women. I didn’t much care, just wanted it to be queer. To see it the way I did with straight couples, just like I’d wanted to hold his hand.
And now I knew what it felt like to be carried into the water, which was both sexy and sweet because it was Emerson and he was smiling so big, laughing so hard, that I felt it vibrating through me.
Emerson Fox was always a beautiful thing, but a happy Emerson Fox was indescribable. At least, I didn’t have the words to explain it.
Despite the heat and thick humidity in the air, the water was cold, making us both gasp. When he reached just above his waist, he let me go. I wrapped my arms and legs around him the way I did in our sleep.
“You could have told me where we were going. I would have at least brought towels.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Emerson wrapped his arms around me and walked deeper into the water. I knew it was a lie, that it wasn’t real and just my foolish brain playing tricks on me, but damned if I didn’t feel loved and cared for. Like I had what everyone else did: someone who was mine; who put me first the way you were supposed to, who didn’t take me for granted or make me feel like I had to take care of them.
We kissed in the water, then wrestled around some like we’d done in the hot tub before we dissolved into kissing again. I didn’t think I would ever get enough of Emerson’s mouth.
We stayed out there for hours, alternating between finding a sliver of sun to dry off in and going back into the water to kiss and touch and play. Playful Emerson was the best.
We didn’t talk about anything sad. Daniel didn’t exist out here. My mama and her problems weren’t my reality. I wasn’t in the closet, and he wanted something real.
We didn’t drive home until after the sun went down.
The ride home was heavy, but I tried to lighten the mood, joking and teasing.
We showered together, and cooked dinner together, and when it was time for bed, I went to his room with him and Em didn’t argue.
He fucked me slow before we fell asleep, and I became that octopus again, all tentacles wrapped around him.
The next day, when it was time for me to head home, he said, “How would you feel about keeping the weekend arrangement, but without the money?”
I liked that he knew I wouldn’t keep taking money from him. “I think that’s smart.” But keeping those set days, those rules when we saw each other, kept it less personal, less real. Because I couldn’t let myself get too close. I couldn’t trick myself into believing this was a relationship, even though it was starting to feel that way. As real as it had felt this weekend, the fact was, Emerson and I were just playing pretend.
He nodded, pressed a slow kiss to my lips, then turned for his room. I waited until I heard the door shut before walking out.
Mama was cooking dinner when I got home.
“Hey, baby! How was your weekend with Molly?”
I looked at her, studied her face, the way she moved, the sound of her voice, searching for a sign, that little hint that always told me she’d been drinking, but I didn’t notice it. Nothing was there.
