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I give a little nod of my chin.
“Everything good?”
Cutting him a sideways glance, I arch a brow.
His mouth twitches. “You were gone for a while. Ivy said Waylon was freaking out.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “He’s fine. It was nothing. Just Ivy giving him shit and pushing boundaries as usual.”
He nods, accepting this, before walking away. A flash of color in my periphery has me turning to find Waylon standing there, and I freeze when I see what he’s wearing.
Chewing the corner of his lip, he glances down, following my gaze to where a rainbow feather boa hangs loosely down his chest. For a second, I’m no longer here, but standing under a sea of rippling blue light, with music pulsing against my ears, and bodies undulating around me.
And there’s this boy, this beautiful raven-haired boy with eyes like a sunlit forest staring back at me, fiercely, determined, and pained, so, so fucking pained.
That love in his eyes hurts a lot less now.
Something tells me it hurts him less too.
He takes a step closer, putting us toe to toe, and drops his voice so it’s just for me. “I might not know who or what I am,” he says steadily, carefully, not taking his fervent gaze off mine, “but my boyfriend is gay.”
My heart drops somewhere in my stomach, emotion gathering deep inside me, pulling back like a wave.
“And that is something to be fucking proud of.”
With that, he drapes another rainbow boa around my neck, tugs it, and pulls me in for a quick, barely there kiss. Our chests and noses and shoes bump, and the heart sitting like a rock in my gut, suddenly lurches up, stuffing itself in my throat, and making it impossible to swallow.
“Way,” I murmur a hairsbreadth away from his lips, my voice hitching.
He gives a little shake of his head, lowering his gaze to the little sticker booklet he must’ve grabbed along with the boas, flipping through the pages. It’s mostly just rainbows of various sizes. He plasters one to my cheek, and then I grab the book from him and do the same, but instead I take two tiny rainbows and stick them at the top of his cheekbones, one under each eye. He grins, his dimples sinking in deeply, and the stickers crinkle slightly, but otherwise stay intact.
I open my mouth to say something, when footsteps thudding down the stairs has us turning toward the arched doorway just as Phoebe and Jeremy appear.
My eyes widen faintly, taking in Jeremy’s long legs, made to look even longer by how short his black, form-fitting booty shorts are. He’s shirtless, with nothing more than a rainbow feather boa draped around his neck, and there’s glitter and rainbow paint smeared over his shoulders and flat chest and stomach, like someone decided to make him a canvas for their finger painting.
One guess as to who’s responsible for that, if the smear of blue on Phoebe’s face, and stained fingers are anything to go by.
Someone coughs behind me, and Jeremy’s gaze narrows, shooting somewhere over my shoulder. His jaw ticks, and his cheeks pinken the faintest bit before he looks away, ducking his gaze. I don’t miss the glare he aims at the floor before it disappears behind his arm when he brings his hand up to run his fingers through his pale, silver blond hair.
Phoebe claps her hands together and skips toward the couch, joining Ivy.
Removing my feather boa, I hand it to Waylon and strip off my own shirt, tossing it on the coffee table, before looping the boa back over my head. Hazel eyes meet mine, glinting with something I can’t name. Before I have a chance to try and figure it out, he looks away and does the same, so he too is left in nothing but his low-riding black ripped jeans and a rainbow feather boa, putting his expansive ink and nipple piercing on full display.
He arches me a knowing brow when he catches the direction of my stare.
If he’s expecting me to flush, he’s sorely mistaken.
Dragging my tongue over my lip, I ogle him more intensely. His jaw clenches and he looks away, glaring at some unseen spot. I chuckle, my chest getting all goopy when I notice the flush creeping up his neck.
God, I love him.
I have to forcibly drag my gaze away. Glancing over at Jeremy, I catch the small grateful smile he shoots my way. But it’s quick to still, then fade when his attention is pulled behind me. He gulps.
Color me not shocked at all when I turn around, following his wide gaze to where Mason now stands shirtless, his dark wash jeans hanging low around his hips. His gaze is downturned, his jaw ticking visibly. His movements are jerky and almost angry as he balls up his shirt, drops it on top of his duffle on the floor, and kicks it all under the end table with his boot.
Okay then.
“Phoebe!” a deep voice barks.
