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“Luna’s fanfic,” Charlie answers me. “She says people online are giving her shit for some minor grammar mistakes, and she needs someone to edit it.” “You agreed?” “You ask a lot of questions, Jack,” Charlie says. His heeled boots clap against the hallway floor. Oscar looks back with a smile. “That’s what I said.” I’m more amused than offended. “It’s literally my job to ask questions.” “Touché,” Charlie breathes.
“What does ‘because I’m me’ mean?” I ask further. He shrugs with one shoulder. “I’m a genius who doesn’t give a shit.” His yellow-green eyes flash to me. “I’ll edit her tentacle smut without batting an eye, and I don’t think the same thing can be said for her older brother.”
Oscar adjusts his earpiece. “Told you to grab a toothbrush before we left, Long Beach.” “I thought you were joking.” “Some days, I wish I were.” It’s beginning to be clear that diving into Charlie’s life means I’ve just put myself in the passenger seat to Oscar Oliveira’s.
“Do you ask all your co-workers for a kiss?” he shoots back. I smile, trying not to disintegrate in my seat from this conversation. “Only the cute ones,” I say, popping a chip in my mouth. As smooth as that was, I regret it. Oliveira, stop flirting with the straight boy. Holy fucking shit, I’m hopeless.
“Yeah, yeah,” Donnelly replies. “I’m almost back in PA.” His South Philly lilt comes out strong. “Just made a mandatory pitstop at Wawa. Where you at?” “Plane bathroom. Sitting on the rose gold shitter.” He laughs lowly. “Charlie whisk you off to Neverland again?” “Second star to the right.” “Let me guess, let me guess. Dubai.” “Way off, bro,” I say. “Paris.”
“Paul…” I scrape my hand from my eyes to my mouth, and my chest collapses. I don’t want to diminish the magnitude of what he did for Farrow, who’s practically the reason Donnelly is living and breathing—though Farrow will never say this to anyone. I hear him sniff, choked too. “Don’t call me that, man. The name’s Donnelly.” His voice is trying to lighten.
“I’ve gotta go, Oscar. I’m on-duty soon, and I need to check in with Thatcher.” “Call me tomorrow?” “Sure thing. Hey, have a crepe for me. Miss those fuckers.” Only Donnelly would call a crepe a fucker.
Lmao
Which is why I said, come live with me, again. She said, you live down the hall from the most obnoxious Cobalt boy. I’ll pass. I thought she meant Charlie, but then she told me, Beckett. I love that she hates him because he’s been trying to hit on my sister since Scotland.
Benji is a gay porn star. Jack watched gay porn as a teenager.
But really, this doesn’t change anything but my attraction to him. Ramping up to the hundredth degree. He’s still straight. A straight boy that watches gay porn. Or used to watch it. I wonder if he still does. Wow, I sure know how to fall for them.
Oscar has a black bandana, already rolled, and begins to tie it around his forehead. “If you need to use the bathroom, now’s your chance.” His eyes dip for half a second. To my crotch. I glance down. Oh, fuck, Jesus, I have a boner. I’m rock-hard, the outline of my cock pressing against my dark jeans.
“What is that you told me? I don’t need an emotional baby blanket. Same goes for me, Oscar. Treat me how you’d treat any of your other co-worker non-friends.” He nods slowly. “Nice woodie,” he says casually. “It’s even bigger without the pants,” I say, just as casually, and then I turn around, hoping he’s burning up just as much as I am.
Plus, there’s a restriction about fucking the fans of SFO, written clearly in Kitsuwon’s 400-page rulebook. The rule: do not.
Her brows draw together. “Who are you?” “My name’s Jack,” he says into a short nod, his smile gone. “Who are you?” That was cold for welcome-mat, red-carpet-entrance Jack Highland. I’m staring more at him than her. He sounds jealous. I’d bet…five bucks on it.
“Oh, I’ll be out of his hair in, like, a couple of seconds tops.” To me, she asks, “Think we could meet up later tonight?” Jack chokes down water. Now I’d bet a hundred bucks on it. Before I can answer, Jack smoothly interjects, “We’re busy, actually. We have a shoot tonight.” He gestures to his camera and tries to fake a smile. My attraction hikes up when his fake smile comes out as a heated glare.
“No offense, Long Beach, but I don’t think you know what my type is.” His lips rise in a smile synonymous with a slow stroke of a cock. “Are you sure it’s not me?” He’s searching my gaze.
And while I untie my bandana, I tell Jack, “I’d definitely like to see this mean side phenomenon.” Flirting again. Twenty points deducted from Slytherin. The Hale family would be so proud of my geeky ass thoughts.
I love this apartment for that reason alone. I know what it means to Charlie, and I’m probably the only person outside his family that he’s let use it. He’s told me multiple times, Anytime you want to stay here, Oscar, it’s yours. We don’t have a buddy-guard relationship, but there is a level of respect and kindness that exists between us.
Off my anger, Charlie says, “I’m doing it for you, you know. The show, the one about my life.” Jack shifts his weight, lips parted in confusion. My brows knot, head cocked. “You did the show for me?” I sound skeptical because I fucking am. He looks heavenward. “Well…one of the reasons I did it was for you. The more selfless reason, you could say.”
“What are you talking about?” “I know you hate the Oslie rumors as much as me,” Charlie says. “I know you barely have time to date because you’re following me around the world—” “It’s my job, Charlie. I made that choice.”
“Then I made the right decision with this show. Aunt Lily always says she can predict love, but she has nothing on me.” With another drag of his cigarette, his eyes ping between Jack and me.
Ahhhhhhh
“You’re trying to fucking set me up?” I ask angrily, and I refrain from adding with a straight guy. Charlie shrugs. “Whatever happens, happens. Maybe you two could just be friends. All I know is you’re lonely, and Jack looks lonely.” Jack laughs, a bright smile cresting his features. He’s smiling?
“So this show isn’t a real thing?” The light diminishes in his smile, reminding me how important being the creator of a show is to Jack. “It’s very real,” Charlie says, buttoning his shirt. “I need you to record me. Like I said, I have two reasons for doing this. Ending the Oslie rumors and starting a new one between you two is just an added benefit.”
I wait for Jack to add in, I’m straight, Charlie, with one of his bright, genuine smiles. But when he stays quiet, shock slowly ices my veins. I’m frozen. Wondering why Jack isn’t piling onto my declaration.
“I’m alright with it,” I say. Charlie exhales a short breath, then tilts his head to me. “If I crossed a line today…” “You cross them every day, Charlie,” I say with no anger.
“L’enfer est vide et tous les diables sont ici.” Hell is empty and all the devils are here. I recognize the Shakespeare quote. The Tempest.
The clothes were personal. Friendship. I almost laugh. Yeah, my daydreams definitely don’t put Oscar Oliveira in friendship territory. I’m not straight. I’ve known that for the past two weeks. Since the flight to Paris.
feel like I’m breaking up with the guy,” I admit to Farrow, tipping the beer to my lips. “And all we’ve done is flirt like kindergarteners.” “Man, what kindergarteners do you know that understand blow-job euphemisms?” he asks in a rising wiseass smile. “You’re more like middle schoolers.”
And three floors below, Akara, Banks, Donnelly, and Quinn moved in together.
“Horses are walked,” Donnelly calls, coming through the sliding doors and unclipping leashes on the two Newfoundland puppies. “Thanks!” Luna shouts from the pool. Orion is her hyper dog, and he’s chasing his tail in a circle.
Lol
notice Farrow looking bummed at the sliding glass door. Donnelly isn’t who he wanted to see. I laugh into a grin. “Shut the fuck up,” he says into his swig of beer. “Weren’t you just sending cry-face emojis to Jack?” I’m still grinning. “Says the cry-face emoji next to me. Don’t worry, Redford, the Husband will be back. He didn’t drown in the toilet. He knows how to swim out of shit.”
How Maximoff and Charlie seemed more like actual fist-bumping friends at the lake house last week. They sat on the dock talking for about an hour. All of us on SFO theorized about what: “Religion,” Banks guessed. “Sports,” Thatcher said. Akara nodded. “Sports.” “Dingle-berries,” Donnelly said. Everyone laughed. “Plato, probably,” Farrow threw out. “Ditto, add in Confucius,” I said. “Who’s Confucius?” Quinn asked.
“Speaking of the Husband,” I say as Maximoff enters with a volleyball and his sixth-month-old propped on his waist. Ripley has a happy-go-lucky smile in his papa’s arms, sun hat shading his fair Irish skin. We all celebrated Ripley’s adoption at the lake house last week, and I’ve never seen the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalt parents cry so much at once.
“Da-da,” Ripley giggles, trying to swim to Farrow who plays peek-a-boo, using his inked hand to shield his face. Maximoff has their son loosely in his hold, but the baby can already float too well.
“I got it,” Sulli calls out, competitive because the volleyball is soaring towards six-foot-seven Banks. He spikes the ball as she slams into his chest. “Oh, fuck—sorry, sorry.” “It’s alright.” He combs back his wet hair. Her eyes fall down Moretti’s body, and the volleyball sails back on their side. Somehow poor, poor Sullivan Meadows ends up elbowing Akara in the abs. He buckles, and she apologies profusely.
“Who?” I explain and he shakes his head, “Not my business.” “I don’t know how you do it, bro.” It’s not my business either, but it’s in my face and I see it. So give me the popcorn.
Lol true
Did something happen? I bake under embarrassment and the sun. “Yeah.” I pick myself off the patio. “I made a mistake and asked to kiss a straight guy.” The Moretti brothers, plus my little brother, and Akara stare dumbfounded and shocked.
“Look, you can invite Jack,” I tell everyone. “I don’t mind, but just give me a warning beforehand. Because I’m leaving if you do.” Akara is quick to say, “We don’t have to invite him, Oscar.” I nod once.
The new one is LeChatRouge0502.” “How do you spell it?” I spell out le chat rouge and describe the capitalization. “Why 0502? Don’t you usually go for 1118 in passwords?” 11/18 is my birthday. November 18th. May 2nd is Oscar’s birthday.
A Secret about Sullivan Meadows: at 13, a swim coach told her that she needed to shave around her bikini line better. It was one of the only things she feared telling her protective dad, who she tells everything to.
Sulli bends down, rubbing behind the dog’s ears, while the calico cat prances off. “Orion, you know fucking better,” Sulli says, and then tells me, “Luna says her dog is trying to commune with his star people and that’s why he tries to leave.” I laugh. “Yeah, what’s Carpenter’s excuse?” “He’s a little shit-stirrer.” Sulli smiles.
The meeting. I realize I’m hard-core stalling, and my chest knots. “Yeah.” I already know this is going to end badly. Because I didn’t bring Oscar’s clothes with me.
The hell
He waves a hand at me. “Nothing changes for you, bro,” he says angrily. “You’re just happily riding this fucked-up train where I’m being set-up with the guy who rejected me. I mean—what in the ever-loving hell?”
Oscar hops off the table. “Look, you’re a good guy, Highland. I’m willing to go ahead and put myself in an uncomfortable situation for your goals, but I just need you to know I’m not going to be playing into your flirting—or whatever you want to fucking call it—anymore.” His stride is strong as he approaches the door, the one I’m leaning against. “This is strictly professional between us.” He stops inches from me. “And I want my goddamn clothes back.”
“Jack.” His eyes redden, almost glass with emotion and frustration that I’m causing. He tries to reach around me to the doorknob. I sidestep and block him, and Oscar stops and shakes his head, looking as torn up as I feel. “Jack. Did you hear what I said? I can’t do this anymor—” “Stop!” My two hands are on my head. “I can’t stop!” His voice is anguished. “I need out!” “I like you!” I yell from my gut, from my heart. “I like you, Oscar!”
I’m combusting into a million little pieces, but I push forward from the door. “You’re right, I’m not upset by the set-up. Because I like you.” I speak from the core of my being that I never reached until recently. Until I was twenty-seven and fell for him. Maybe I’ve been falling for even longer. I just couldn’t piece it all together.
And Oscar is hardly breathing at all. “You said you’re straight.” “I did say that,” I inhale, exhale. “But I don’t really know….I don’t know what I am other than really, really attracted to you.” My eyes well up with emotion that stings. “I can’t fight or change what I feel.” I add, “I think about you all the time—I think about what it’d be like to kiss you. I’ve imagined kissing you, and more—way further.”
“It’s my fault for not explaining this sooner. So many times, I could’ve told you I was confused, and I didn’t.” He rubs his mouth, looking me over like he’s seeing me clearer. “No, you didn’t owe me that, Highland. You have a right to sort through things on your own and on your own time.” I nod slowly, more to myself. “I’m actually still trying to sort through some shit.”
“You want to help me?” “Help you…?” I’m drowning here. “I just—I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. I don’t know if I’m gay or bi or pansexual or something else or nothing at all, and then on top of the labels, I’ve never been physically intimate with a guy before.”
Charlie. That little bastard hooked me up with Highland, and somehow, it worked.
