100 Days (8 page)

“I don’t want to make this mistake,” Jake finally forces out, eyes trained on his glass as he wills his thoughts to quiet. He’s never been that great at telling lies right to a person’s face.

“Is this guy bothering you?”

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Toby is at Jake’s other side, and now glances down at him with kind, sleepy eyes and a lopsided smirk. He stands straight and self-assured.

“Not at all,” Jake answers, as if all is right with the world and he wasn’t just getting his ass handed to him along with a side of truth. “Thank you for inviting us, by the way. It’s a great party.”

“It’s the least we could do after Andrew took you to the pavement down­stairs,” Toby says, waving him off with a slight wince and a scrunched nose.

“Sorry again about that,” Andrew says. “There’s fashionably late, there’s obnox­iously late, and then there’s us.”

“It’s fine, I promise. I don’t bruise
that
easily,” Jake quips—another lie.

“Well, if I’m not interrupting, the band’s off their break, so I just wanted to see about stealing away my fiancé for a dance,” Toby says, and Jake nods.

“Of course, of course.”

Andrew stands, holds up a finger to Toby, and leans closer to Jake. In a voice low enough that only Jake can hear, Andrew says, “Things like this are never
really
complicated, you know. It’s people that complicate them. So… maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe it’s not. But think about it.”

With one last meaningful glance in Aiden’s direction, Andrew takes the hand that Toby offers to him and leaves Jake with his thoughts.

Jake watches the string quartet file back onto the small stage set up in front of the hMAG penthouse’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Wondering if Andrew is right, he downs a healthy mouthful of his fresh vodka-cranberry.

Maybe giving in to this thing between us, whatever it is, would be good for us,
he muses, running the tip of his index finger around the rim of his glass. Aiden wants it as well, that much he knows, and aside from the fact that it terrifies him just a little bit, maybe it would prove beneficial for them to just give in to it and get it out of their systems.

It won’t be out of your system, though,
chides a little voice in the back of his head.
You’ll only end up wanting more, because you’ve always been—

“Shut up,” Jake mutters, knocking back the rest of his drink in one gulp as the band starts the first song of its second set to a round of applause.

“You owe me a dance, mister,” Aiden says into his ear. His warm breath smells of rum and his hand is light on Jake’s wrist. “Can’t have you propping up the bar all night long.”

“Next song, maybe,” Jake says, trying to put it off long enough for the sudden rush of liquid courage to fade away.

“You love this song; don’t even try to deny it,” Aiden says, cutting Jake off before he can open his mouth to refute the fact. “And I know you have a super-secret thing for The Wanted, so just for tonight, skip the eye-rolling and come
dance
with me.”

Aiden’s eyes are hopeful in that puppy dog way that Jake finds nearly im­pos­sible to refuse, and his willpower slips from his tenuous grasp quicker than sand through his fingers. The beat kicks in as he hops down from his stool and lets Aiden lead him onto the dance floor where the rest of the guests are already gathering, dancing in couples and groups. He takes a steadying breath when Aiden’s hands settle on his hips, swaying them in time with his own, and Jake raises his arms and rests his hands on Aiden’s shoulders. Yes, this is fine, he can deal with this. This is a safe distance, and Aiden is smiling and happy, and the music is fantastic. Everything is fantastic.

And then Aiden leans in, and every muscle in Jake’s body tenses. “That guy by the end of the bar, the one in the corduroy shirt? He’s been checking you out all night,” he murmurs. “Pretty hot, a good dancer…”

Slowly, in time with the song, Jake turns them so that he can glance over Aiden’s shoulder at the man in question. In the brightly spotlit bar, Jake can see that Aiden is right; the guy is watching him, though he doesn’t have the temerity to hold Jake’s gaze longer than a couple of seconds. He’s classically handsome, if a little strong in the jaw for Jake’s taste, with thick, jet-black hair that looks as if it was painstakingly sculpted into organized chaos.

“You and I don’t often find the same people attractive,” he muses, turn­ing back to Aiden and not quite consciously running his thumb down the column of Aiden’s neck.

“Not often, no. Maybe we should capitalize, invite him back to the RV with us,” Aiden says, wiggling his eyebrows and holding Jake’s gaze in a way that, if he didn’t know better, would make him think that Aiden is serious.

“Nah. Not really my type.”

“Your type is
breathing,
Jake.”

“Play nice,” Jake says, batting his shoulder, and Aiden just smiles at him and wraps an arm around his waist, forcing them closer together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He can feel the heat from Aiden’s body pouring off him in waves, even through the layers of their clothes and the space between them, and it’s close to intoxicating. Aiden reaches behind his own neck to take Jake’s right hand, his thumb pressing over Jake’s lifeline, fingers wrapped around the back, and Jake only just holds back a yelp of surprise as Aiden dips him.

Aiden rights them, spins Jake out and then back in so quickly that his feet can barely keep up, and it’s only when the song grows quiet that it dimly registers that Aiden’s chest is pressed to Jake’s back, their joined hands crossed over his waist. Jake turns to face him, presses a hand just over his heart, and they circle one another slowly. Aiden’s eyes grow darker by the second, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and all it would take is for Jake to lean in and close that last gap. Has this always been here, this nameless something that hovers in the air between them, waiting to take hold? They could be within its grip in seconds.

Aiden’s fingertips ghost the sides of Jake’s neck in the same second that Jake catches Andrew watching them. It’s all too much: too much pressure, too much expectation, too much that he stands to fuck up com­pletely. He closes his eyes, exhales sharply through his nose and takes Aiden’s hands away.

Things like this are never
really
complicated, you know. It’s people that complicate them.

With Andrew’s words ringing in his ears like a cheap taunt, Jake does the only thing he knows how to do. He turns tail and walks away, all the way to the restroom, where he locks himself into a stall with fumbling hands.

His entire body is in revolt. The adrenalin that started its typhoon through his bloodstream the moment Aiden touched him is chanting Aiden’s name, imprinting it on his every cell, and he can’t think, can only hear his ears roaring to a double-time beat.

Jake closes the lid of the toilet and sinks onto it with a shaky sigh, balls his hands into fists in his hair and squeezes his eyes shut until they stop burning quite so fiercely. He feels like the worst human being in history.

What the fuck am I doing? I’ve never been some ridiculous slave to my
feel­ings—
I’m Jake fucking Valentine. I fuck all the boys I’d never in a million years trust to keep my heart safe, and that way I’m not forced into keeping theirs safe, either. It’s easy and fun and simple.
Three essential attributes he would never apply to this thing with Aiden, this intense thing that makes him feel wrong and sordid and, somewhere in the locked file cabinet in the deepest recesses of his heart, also… kind of right.

But Jake has just gotten Aiden back after a barren year of separation. He can’t risk it, he just can’t.

No, he needs to get himself together. Go back out to the party. Smile and play the gracious guest of two people who quite literally ran into him and paid for their folly with an enjoyable evening and free drinks. Tell Aiden that he had one too many of those free drinks and had to use the bathroom. Put the game face back on and hope to god it’s convincing enough, when all he wants to do is tip over sideways and lie on the ground until his heart stops spinning.

“Deep breath, Jake,” he whispers. He stands, unlocks the stall door and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t find Aiden standing on the other side. He rolls his shoulders, fixes his hair in the tall mirror over the sinks, and with a sanguinity he doesn’t truly feel, leaves the restroom to face the music.

1,
217 miles

Day Seventeen: Pennsylvania

It’s surprising just how much distance can exist between two people in a confined space,
Aiden writes, his notebook propped on his knee while he waits for Jake to get back from the Longwood Gardens gift shop.

Jake and I almost kissed at the engagement party. It’s a thing that happened. And ever since, it feels as if Jake has been doing all he can think of to act like everything is normal between us, when everything is actually as far from normal as it can possibly be. Quite honestly, it feels like salt in the wound. Jake walked away—
ran
away would probably be a more accurate way of describing it—and made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want me like I want him, and that’s fine. It’s more than fine; it’s great, and absolutely for the best. I wasn’t expecting anything more, anyway. He’s Jake, after all, and I’m… me.

I was expecting some awkwardness, some avoidance, some dancing around the issue. That’s pretty much par for the course with him. What I wasn’t expecting was for him to go into complete overdrive and start acting like some maniac on acid. Yesterday was the craziest day, and by the time we got back, every single part of my body ached.

We spent a few hours walking around Philadelphia, starting at the Random Tea & Curiosity Shop on Fourth and then stopping to see the Liberty Bell and Dream Garden. We went
out to West Philly to visit the Please Touch Museum, and when we rode the carousel he was two horses away from me.

I found him early this morning, sipping coffee and scrolling through emails on his phone, all traces of his night on the couch already tucked away. He smiled at me like everything was fine, and sure, it’s all just peachy. Honestly, though… I’m just pissed. I let my imagination run away with me yet again, and it almost put our entire friendship on the line. It’s just a stupid crush, and I need to get over it for both our sakes. If I did it at fourteen, I can do it at twenty-one.

Yesterday was just… a farce, but today has been okay. We sat on the couch and watched
Philadelphia,
our PA movie, and it didn’t make me feel any better—in fact, all the talk of AIDS and homophobia just made me even more pissed off—but at least I could talk it all out with Jake. He drove us out here afterward, Long­wood Gardens, and we delved into a complete deconstruction of the movie, the performances, the subject matter… every issue it brings up that we’ve talked about so many times before, though neither of us really cared. We just went over it all again anyway,
and it felt… blessedly normal.

Right now, we’re on the way back to another Happy-Mart parking lot, much to Jake’s—

The passenger door is unceremoniously yanked open, and Aiden almost falls off the couch in his haste to make it appear that he was doing anything other than writing in his journal. He isn’t embarrassed; he just doesn’t want it to come up.

Thankfully, Jake seems not to notice. He dumps his things on the passen­ger seat and collapses into the chair behind the cab, giving Aiden a tired smile just as Aiden slips his journal back out of sight into his bag. He wastes no time sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine, and as he pulls out of the parking lot, he can feel that the edge has worn off. The silence has morphed back into something comfortable rather than awkward, and by the time they pass through Chester on I-95N twenty minutes later with the radio playing a melancholy Springsteen ballad and the sun dipping below the horizon in their wake, Aiden feels almost okay again.

Until his phone trills in the cup holder, and he sees the name flashing on the display:
Dad.

He has every intention of ignoring the call, reasoning that he’s driving and will just call his dad back later, even though he knows that he won’t. And then Jake asks innocuously, “Aren’t you gonna get that?”

With a sigh, Aiden grabs his earpiece from the dashboard and swipes his thumb across the screen. “Hello?”

“Aiden, hi. I was expecting your voicemail,” his dad says; his cheerful tone already has Aiden feeling prickly. “I just wanted to let you know that I won’t have to work this weekend after all. The case settled like we were hoping, so we’ll have a couple days of real father-son time. I thought I could show you around DC, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great, Dad,” Aiden says, teeth gritted, heart sinking. He’s been hoping to get away with an evening at most. “Though you remember I have Jake with me, right? So it won’t just be father-son time.”

“No, I know. Jake’s always welcome, you know that. And actually, I wanted to ask you about sleeping arrangements, because Fiona’s already got the two guest rooms all set up for you, or you can both stay in one if you’re fi—”

“Actually, Dad, I think we’re staying in the RV,” Aiden interrupts. He tries not to feel the immediate regret at his harsh tone too keenly, adding, “I’m sorry Fiona went to all that trouble.”

“Well, you know your stepmom; it was no trouble at all. And the driveway’s plenty big enough—”

“Dad, I’m driving, so I should probably…”

“Right, of course, safety first. I’m—I’m excited to see you, Aiden.”

“You, too.”

“Okay, so I’ll see you on Saturday. Love you, son.”

Aiden pauses. The words almost spill from his mouth automatically, but he bites them back. “Bye, Dad.”

Silence descends again and lasts the twenty minutes it takes to get back to the Happy-Mart parking lot. No sooner has Aiden cut the engine than he’s out of the cab. He takes a gulping breath of the fresh evening air and leans against the sun-warmed metal of the RV, to wait until the churning in his gut subsides. Everywhere he turns there is tension, thick as the fog that rolls in off the ocean on cold mornings back in Maine, and it’s threatening to overwhelm him if he doesn’t just
do
something, already. He sorely needs to decompress, he just doesn’t know how; that’s what gets to him more than anything.