Chapter Eight
Jake
My black pants are tailored to fit me perfectly, and I know my dark purple shirt will look even better if I leave the top few buttons undone, my gray chest hair on display for anyone daring to look. Of course, at the grand opening of a photo gallery in West Hollywood, I assume damn near everyone will dare, and I don’t think too hard about the one person who will take it further than that. Instead, I add my nicest leather jacket—more than I need tonight, but exactly what I want—and as I run a hand over my short beard, I admire how well I’ve combined decades of confidence with a couple of weeks of recklessness.
I want to be wanted, and I know I am.
There’s a part of me that needs to be more precise about it than that, because it feels important to acknowledge that Darren wants mephysically, his bedroom monologue and our incredible first kiss proving that much. But no matter how long I stare atmyself in the mirror, I can’t pretend that’s where it ends for either of us. He sees me as far more nuanced than anyone described in terms of a single superficial desire, and for as much as he’s correct about me, he must know it’s true of him, too. He’d called me smart and funny and good, but we’re evenly matched on every level.
Maybe the better point to make is that neither of us wants each otherromantically,and I nod at the relief that comes with leaving my heart undisturbed.
Downstairs, I put my shoes on and grab my keys and wallet, my phone already in my jacket pocket. The drive to the grand opening is as chaotic as I expect it to be on a Friday night, but any tension I feel is the good kind, and I lean into it now. I won't deny that I’m nervous too, but I know honesty will get me everywhere, and I only get goosebumps when I think about how well Darren will reward me for it later. Seconds of daydreaming leave me with the need to attempt advanced calculus until I can keep my arousal at bay, but then I’m parking on the street and the tension returns to drag me out of the car.
While I’m certainly here to support Adrian, I had no interest in arriving early enough to get caught up talking to him without something of a crowd, so there’s a notable buzz from the gallery when I’m still a couple of stores away. I’m more focused on that than anything else around me, so I’m almost at the door before I notice the familiar smile—more timid tonight than at Trailhead—approaching from the opposite direction.
“Hi, Riley,” I say with a smile of my own. “It’sgood to see you here.”
I think I mean that it’s good to see them here without their significant other, whom I’ve never met and don’t like, but I don’t dwell on it either way. Nights at Trailhead are always a little better when Riley’s around, and I’m sure it’ll be just as nice to have them around tonight.
“Good to see you, too. I don’t really do this sort of thing, so I’m glad I don’t have to walk in there alone.”
It’s not a sentiment I share when I’ve been mostly alone for a very long time, but I nod as we step inside. “Serving a crowd from behind the bar is entirely different from mingling among those same strangers.”
Riley doesn’t have time to respond before we’re met by Beau, his cheeks pink and his brown eyes shining with pride, as handsome as ever when none of his face is hidden by a cowboy hat. He ushers us forward to where a small table has been set up with the beer and wine Darren had mentioned over dinner, and Riley claims a bottle of water before I accept a small cup of red. We’re barely a sip in when Beau is gesturing around the room.
“There are three small spots set up with food, so you can stop by any or all of those. Adrian and Mason are makin’ the rounds, and both of them can answer any professional questions you have, but we didn’t really invite you here for that. I mean, youcanbuy stuff. I think he’s so fuckin’ talented. But you’re here because we love you and just wanted you to celebrate with us. Neither of us expects you to do anything but relax and enjoy yourselves.”
“Fucking hell, Beau, they’re not gonna enjoy themselves if youdon’t let them swallow. Trust me, I’m an expert on that topic.”
All three of us turn to find Darren’s shit-eating grin, and Beau plants a kiss right on it before responding. “We all know, and we’re so, so proud.”
Darren’s got a beer in his hand, and he raises it for a toast. “To Adrian, who I assume has better things to do tonight than hang out with us.”
We all drink to that, and there are probably a few more jokes Darren would love to crack, but Beau has more to say, and I think it would be difficult to find anyone who doesn’t want to listen to him.
“If you do walk around to look at his pictures, you’ll see a handwritten note from Adrian near the bottom of each one,” Beau starts, his focus mostly on Riley, though Darren and I get a quick grin aimed our way. “For a lot of people, the emotions Adrian tried to invoke will come easily, and he loves that a moment he’s captured can have a powerful effect on anyone. But he also thought others might be interested in knowing howhefeels about his pictures, before or after anyone’s taken the time to figure out their own feelings about what they see. He wrote a little about them, and he hopes they help.”
Beau’s explanation carries an air of formality that makes me wonder whether Adrian made him rehearse it in the car on the way here, but I stop myself from being bitter about it when Riley moves a little closer to Beau. They aren’t looking at him, their gaze locked on the nearest wall as they take a deep breath, and I hold mine.
“Yeah, I think that could mean a lot to people. The effort—” They reach for Beau’s hand and hold it for a second that doesn’t last long enough. “It matters, and I hope he knows that.”
I wasn’t privy to whatever conversation between Beau and Riley, or Riley and Adrian, or Adrian and Beau might’ve precipitated this one, but I understand the gist of it and appreciate what Adrian’s done for at least one of his guests. And while I don’t know where to go from here, Darren does.
“Where’s the erotic section? I want to start with those.”
“And if Adrian’s notes are good enough, maybe you’ll finish there, too,” Riley says.
The unexpectedness of the quip sends Beau into a coughing fit, Darren patting his back until Adrian arrives to investigate the commotion. The gallery is starting to fill, but there’s still room for all of us to greet him without acrobatics. Darren goes for the immediate hug, Riley leans in to give Adrian a gentle kiss on the cheek, and I smile in a way that doesn’t feel forced.
“Congratulations on your big night,” I tell him after a sip of wine. “I’m looking forward to seeing everything you’ve got here.”
“Thanks, Jake.”
There’s a high-pitched whistle from several feet away, and we all turn to watch Mason—made taller by the crate he’s standing on and the platform shoes he’s chosen to wear—wave his arms in the air as though the sound itself wasn’t enough to get our attention. To call him flamboyant would be reductive on a few levels, I think, but his shirt has the word spelled out in sequins, so perhaps I can be forgiven the slight.
“Welcome, everybody, and thank you so much for being here to celebrate Adrian Ortega and his absolutely stunning photography. My name is Mason Burnett. I have a little art gallery two blocks away, and I’m incredibly excited to have another talented fucker so close to me. Everything displayed on the walls tonight is available for immediate purchase, or you can place custom orders for other sizes—and don’t we all wish we could get custom sizes sometimes?” He pauses for the laughter we all deliver, and I chance a look at Darren just because. “Please help yourselves to the delightful little food and drinks and keep your filthy hands off everything but me. Adrian and I are both here to answer any questions you may have, and all complaints can be directed to the dumpster out back. Thank you again for spending your evening with us. Adrian loves you dearly, and I’m here for a really good time.”
Adrian waves at the crowd but bites his lip when he looks at us a moment later, his comfort level in a crowd like this much closer to Riley’s than Darren’s. He’s just about to reach for the hair that’s fallen over his forehead, but Beau pushes it back for him, and while it’s not the first time I’ve watched him do it, the gesture hits me differently tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve had permission to touch someone so easily, and I blame those years for why my fingers brush against the small of Darren’s back, just to bring him closer to the group of us and nothing more.