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“Shakespearean in that hopefully I’ll get stabbed to death,”
Henry looks at him like he’s trying to choose between a million choice words,
you have a lot of moles, he texts, along with a snap of the spread. is that a result of the inbreeding?
Don’t let the papers print lies about me after I’ve garroted myself with my tie.
“Yes, obviously,” Alex says. He glances at Cornbread and cringes. “Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. Cornbread knows my sins, Henry. Cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”
Alex tosses his head back and laughs, and Henry watches, still grinning. June and Nora had a point. He does, against all odds, really like this person.
“Please tell me nobody is going to dry hump me,” Henry says.
“Christ, you are as thick as it gets,” he says, and he grabs Alex’s face in both hands and kisses him.
But beneath it all, there’s the Prince of England kissing him under a linden tree in the garden, moonlight in his hair, and Alex’s insides feel positively molten, and he wants to throw himself down the presidential stairs.
Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.
He’s absolutely sure that guys who kissed a Prince of England and liked it don’t get elected to represent Texas.
He’s not thinking about Henry in the shower or at night, alone and wide awake in his bed. Except for when he is. Which is always.
She slants a look at him. “Is this a diabolical scheme of seduction?” she asks. “If so, yes.”
“Fuck you,” Henry says, his voice breaking, and he gets a handful of Alex’s shirt collar, and Alex knows he’s going to love this stubborn shithead forever.
He tells his too-fast brain: Don’t miss it this time. He’s too important.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m not gonna let that happen. Listen, I’m telling you right now, I will physically fight your grandmother myself if I have to, okay? And, like, she’s old. I know I can take her.”
Go outside, stay safe, be gay. Have a Shiner on me.
