Cooper Davis by Boys of Summer

Author:Boys of Summer [MM] [Summer, Boys of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-02-20T22:08:11.452000+00:00

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Max nods, working at the vegetables, but I can see some bit of tension fade from his eyes at

Louisa’s words. This uncertainty about my role here bugs the hell out of me. He’s my boyfriend, the

love of my life, and he’s hurting, but I can’t even touch him or comfort him like he needs. Hell, I

can’t even kiss him gently and tell him none of this crap matters because we’re together now.

Of course, I could come out right now and put an end to this game.

But instead I take the coward’s way, and I amble down the hallway, raking my hands through my

hair. For a moment, I make like I’m going to the bathroom, but then I detour right into his bedroom. I

close the door and drag in deep breaths. It will happen tonight, I know it. We’re coming out

completely, no going back.

I know Max. I know Max, and whatever his sister said totally tripped his wires. Now he needs it to

happen tonight, and because he needs it, I sure as hell want to give it to him.

Right in the middle of his room, I wonder how it will play out. I’m shaking all over, and I can’t

even stop, because I know this is really it. Nothing can ever be the same now, not after what we’ve

become.

Scenarios traipse through my head. I imagine a formal announcement—nothing silly like I’ve been

playing with, but something real. Or Veronica might ask a pointed question.

But none of my imaginings feel true.

No, life is never so structured or rigid, and it won’t go like that. Some moment will come, maybe

after dinner when we’re drinking wine, real relaxed. Max will do something daring, like that night

on the beach. He might even kiss me in front of everyone. That’s how bold my sweet Maxwell is,

and while it terrifies me, I’m okay with it, too.

I wring my hands, and pace in his dark bedroom, my gaze roaming in every direction. This room has

so much of Max in it—the pictures I see of his hometown and his family. The well-worn books that

he loves so much, stacked in orderly columns on his nightstand. Those suits and neat-pressed khaki

pants hanging in his closet, crisp and perfect. I need to touch him, and the only way I can touch him

right now is to run my hand over his clothes, so I wander to his closet.

My fingers trail across ties, and pants and suit jackets. I smell him, too, the faint cologne, the

wonderfully fresh scent of my Maxwell. My hand lingers a moment over one suit in particular, and I

remember our very first date, how he asked me to a client’s party for Memorial Day. Only, back then

I didn’t realize that his client was gay.

I also had no idea that he was interested in me, that he wanted something more than friendship. I

was clueless to another crucial fact, as well. That he was gay.

I remember how he passed the invitation off as a casual thing, a work party that was going to be

boring.

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