Page 18

Without the Halloween ball hanging over their heads, the slow, sunny start of autumn was full of possibilities. Neither of them had any obligations, so for the next few weeks, they spent almost every day together. Miraculously, Laurel hadn’t gotten tired of him yet; in fact, it seemed like the opposite was true. Laurel couldn’t seem to get enough of him, and Casey felt the same.

Laurel hadn’t been kidding about showing Casey his favorite places. There was a secluded stretch of beach near the condo, perfect for picnicking, and they spent several afternoons there, feet crusted with sand and skin greasy with sunscreen, Laurel’s chest and shoulders getting adorably more freckled. Casey brought pimento cheese and Ritz crackers while Laurel, seemingly unable to not be extravagant, brought prosciutto and brie and premade sushi rolls, and hand-fed Casey pieces of each. One morning, they chartered a boat and toured the tangled skein of tributaries that wove through the coastal marshes, sunlight sparkling on the water like pirate’s gold, the air smelling of saltwater and greenery, pelicans and herons watching as the boat glided past. Casey taught Laurel the names of plants, and his favorite facts about Spanish moss, how it wasn’t moss at all and how it provided a habitat for several types of bats, snakes, and spiders. They spent a weekend in Charleston, walked cobbled streets in the buttery yellow light of late afternoon and sat drinking coffee and people-watching: the wealthy elites who actually lived downtown, the frumpy, overheated tour groups, and the wobbly, roving herds of girls out for bachelorette parties. Laurel’s running commentary was bright and good-natured; Casey’s was significantly more judgy.

On other days, it was enough just to stay inside, Laurel’s head in Casey’s lap and Casey’s fingers tracing lazily through his hair. Laurel made Casey watch all of the musicals and other classic movies of his childhood, and even though Casey found them hopelessly cheesy and would never understand why the characters felt the need to burst into song, he enjoyed seeing the way Laurel’s face lit up and the way he mouthed the lyrics almost unconsciously, buoyed along on the current of some overwhelming emotion. In return, Casey made him watch the ‘80s action movies Grandma Terri had loved and the fantasy and science fiction movies that had been his and Jamie’s bread and butter. All except for The Neverending Story, that was . Laurel liked horses too much for Casey to ever show him that one.

Melody had tagged along for one movie night, and so had Chip, who was nowhere near as douchey as his name suggested. Casey still wasn’t totally sure how to act around them, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Chip and Melody were friendly, but Casey wondered if they actually liked him. He wanted them to, which was annoying. He didn’t often concern himself with other people’s opinions of him, not unless he could get something out of it. But now, he was less worried about what he could get out of it, and more scared of fucking it up.

Laurel’s friends weren’t the only thing Casey worried about. Eventually, he would have to figure out what he was doing with his life. Get a job, at least. Sometimes he worried that he wouldn’t be able to. He watched Laurel sleep and ran the pad of his thumb over the freckles on his shoulder and wondered how they could possibly work out, how they would navigate finances and living together and all that other nebulous, intimidating couple-y stuff. He worried about finding the right place to settle down. Laurel had a love-hate relationship with Bonard, but his friends were here, and meanwhile, Casey wanted to get out of the South entirely. He worried that the novelty would wear off, that they had too little in common, that he wouldn’t be able to give Laurel the life he was used to.

Mostly, he worried about Denise.

She wouldn’t leave Laurel alone, calling and texting at the worst times. Whenever Laurel pulled out his phone and saw her name on the screen, his shoulders slumped and his eyes got flat, a look of defeat crossing his face. Casey hated to see him that way, especially now, when they were about to do something Laurel had been begging him to try for days.

“Come on, put that away. I already didn’t want to do this, and I’m definitely not bringing Denise along for the ride.” He grabbed for the phone, then cursed as he saw the string of novel-length texts on Laurel’s screen. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Laurel sighed. “She’s written a whole-ass manifesto.”

Despite himself, Casey was curious. “Well, what does it say?”

“Oh my God. The usual.” Laurel’s hair was wind-tousled, his cheeks pink from the sea breeze. He offered Casey a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “After everything she’s done for me, I can’t even bother to answer a call, blah blah blah, people are talking, at least address the rumors, blah blah, I’m selfish, immature, irresponsible, acting out for attention, I have no regard for how my actions impact other people, blah.” His thumb played over the screen. “Oh, here’s a new one. I sabotaged the Halloween Ball by stealing her party planner. It’s a personal insult that I’ve chosen to associate with you. Don’t even think of trying to come to the party.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the sky. “Should I just tell her we’re fucking? I should just tell her, right?”

“Not right now,” Casey said, bemused. “Not if you don’t want to ruin your whole day.”

Laurel made a face. “I guess you’re right.”

“Besides,” Casey put a hand on his lower back, massaging away some of the tension he felt there. “I’m glad you stole me. Even if I might fall off a horse.” Laurel was wearing the most captivatingly tight pair of riding pants, and Casey let his hand creep lower, giving his ass an affectionate little tap. He was rewarded by genuine laughter, and the clouds hanging over the moment seemed to lift.

“Oh my God. You won’t fall off. I’ll make sure Mr. Petrowski gives you the gentlest old mare. Come on.” Laurel took his hand, pulling him forward, toward the stables at the edge of the gravel parking lot.

During some conversation or other in the last few weeks, Casey had made the mistake of telling Laurel that he had never ridden a horse, and Laurel had latched onto the idea with single-minded focus. His former teacher, he’d explained, owned a stable that offered rides along the beach. It was completely safe for beginners and Casey would absolutely love it and become a horse convert for life and Laurel wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

And now it was actually happening. Casey’s stomach was tight with unease as Mr. Petrowski and Laurel exchanged enthusiastic greetings, but he shook hands and smiled, playing along. The drama teacher was a tall, birdlike man with a sparse head of hair and a full moustache, good-looking in a nerdy way and probably only about fifteen years their senior. Casey remembered meeting him in a coffee shop, what felt like years ago. Pumping him for information about Laurel, then getting roped into a carriage ride. How the tension between him and Laurel had been red-hot and oppressive, how every time he’d glanced across the cab at him, he’d thought involuntarily of the taste of his lips.

He glanced at Laurel now, with the knowledge that he could taste him anytime he wanted, and a warm, lazy fondness bloomed in his chest. Laurel’s face was full of childlike delight, the stress of Denise’s earlier messages seemingly forgotten. As they toured the stables, he greeted the horses by name, reaching through the bars at times to pet a snout or scratch a glossy flank, apparently unafraid of their giant, finger-snapping teeth. Casey kept his distance, brushing hay repeatedly off of his jacket (it was everywhere, suspended in sun beams and filtering down from the rafters).

It wasn’t that he didn’t like horses. They were just big, and seemed like nervous, flighty creatures, and Casey didn’t enjoy things that were unpredictable. He especially didn’t enjoy putting his entire physical person onto something big, flighty, and unpredictable, something that had a mind of its own and might decide to chomp on his leg or buck him off into the ocean.

Mr. Petrowski was rattling off a basic safety lesson about how to use the reins, but the words slipped through Casey’s mind like water through a sieve. He wondered if horses could sense fear, like dogs. The one that had been picked out for him seemed calm enough, if a little unimpressed. Which he probably deserved. She was silver-gray, and pretty, and gave him a bored side-eye as he attempted to climb up onto her back. His palms were sweaty, so much so that he couldn’t get a good grip on the knob-like thing at the front of the saddle (Mr. Petrowski had maybe called it a pummel? ), and he failed four times at pulling himself up before he was finally able to get his foot into the stirrup and swing his other leg over the horse, and then he was swaying, dizzy and off-balance and aware all of a sudden of being uncomfortably tall , the ground very far away.

Laurel was smiling up at him, apparently still willing to be in the same room—or stable, or whatever—as Casey after that embarrassing performance. He gave him a thumbs-up. “You did it! What do you think?”

“It’s really high up.”

“You’ll get your sea legs,” Mr. Petrowski said, patting the side of the horse. “Mae here will take good care of you. She’s the one we have all the little kids ride.”

Oh, great, that made him feel so much better. Laurel’s horse was chestnut-colored, and had some badass name like Ignatius or Incendio, and Casey was caught between envy and lust, watching the graceful athleticism of Laurel’s body as he climbed up onto its back, his every motion fluid and effortless. He was built for this, more confident in the saddle then he seemed on land. God, he was even cute in the stupid bowling-ball helmet with the chin strap, and the riding pants caressed every single long, muscular line in his thighs and calves. Casey felt a strange wistfulness, watching the relaxed ease of Laurel’s movements, the way he talked to the horse and made clicking sounds with his tongue, directing it to turn and head out of the stables. There was such a chasm of difference between the two of them, and seeing Laurel here, in his element, just rubbed it in.

It was a short walk down a grassy, sloping dune to get to the beach, and Mae seemed to know it by heart, which Casey was grateful for, because he really didn’t know what to do with the reins and was just letting them dangle helplessly from his hands. Laurel led the way, sure and easy. The tide was out, tracks of dried seafoam crisscrossing like lace across the sand. It was a mild day, not too hot, the sky overhead white and overcast and the water calm, stretching sleepily out to the horizon.

Laurel pulled back, waiting for Mae to catch up, and then the two horses were walking side-by-side, leaving deep, lunar hoof prints behind them in the sand. It felt even more unsteady than walking on gravel had, and Casey tensed up, trying not to shift around in the saddle too much. His lower back was tingling, muscles he never had to use twitching in his thighs.

“You doing okay?” Laurel asked. “You kind of have to lean into it. Let yourself move with the horse. It’s all in the hips, really.” His eyes were sparkling, his cheeks flushed, and he looked so joyful that it was impossible to be annoyed, even with the unsolicited advice.

“I’m perfectly good with my hips,” Casey deadpanned. “You know this.”

Laurel laughed. “Then you should be a natural.”

“ You’re a natural,” Casey admitted. They had stopped; Mae seemed to have realized that no one was in control and was taking advantage of it, snuffling at a patch of dandelion greens growing along the edge of the sand. “How long have you been riding horses? Since you were a kid?”

“Yeah.” Laurel scratched his horse between the ears, and it whickered good-naturedly. Something passed across his face, too quick to read. “I had one, but my mom got rid of it.”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but your mom kind of sucks.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t kidding. I’ll tell her about us. If you want me to.”

Casey looked at him, not sure what to say. Laurel was so gorgeous, windswept and flushed, stars in his eyes, and of course it was easy for him to believe everything would be okay, because he lived in a world of heartfelt declarations and happy-ever-afters and bursting into song. He lived in a world where money was no object and there was always a safety net to fall into. Casey kind of hated himself for thinking it, because he knew now that not everything in Laurel’s life was easy, or particularly rose-colored. But the thought persisted, bitter and nagging and unfair. He cleared his throat.

“Did you ever picture yourself with a guy who can’t even ride a horse?” He tried to sound lighthearted.

“You’re doing fine,” Laurel said. “And I didn’t picture myself with anyone, really. I couldn’t get that far. But if I had,” he grinned, “it probably would have been some handsome, smooth-talking bad boy who challenged me and got me out of my comfort zone. Who made me feel brave and worthwhile and pissed off my mom.”

“I—” Casey’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he felt his face getting hot. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being called a bad boy. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Laurel reached across the space between them, squeezing his hand. “Don’t worry so much, babe. I’m all in. I don’t want anyone else.”

Casey’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to give in, to let himself fall, but it was terrifying. But maybe he had already been falling for a while, because there was nowhere he’d rather be than sitting in this uncomfortable saddle on this horse who clearly didn’t respect him, basking in the light of Laurel’s sweet optimism. I want to believe you, he’d said, in the hotel. He wanted to believe him still, wanted to believe this patch of sunshine in his life would last, stretch out. “We’re so different,” he managed at last. “I’ve never traveled. I didn’t go to college. My idea of fine dining is, like, Applebees. I—“ I’ve got all sorts of things wrong with me. Probably ones I don’t even know about yet.

Laurel shrugged. “I’m glad we’re different. Fuck, I couldn’t stand dating some obnoxious Peter Pan trust fund kid.”

“Laurel.” He was so much more than that. So much more than Casey had originally thought of him.

“Somehow you seem to put up with me, though.” He winked. His horse was getting restless, snorting and prancing on the sand, and he tugged on the reins. “Should we keep going? I don’t think this guy sits still very well.”

“I mean,” Casey said, unable to look him in the eye. “Mae has found a snack, and I don’t want to bug her.” She was still yanking up mouthfuls of dandelion greens, apparently determined to get every last bit.

“You sure? Because if you’re going to stay here…” Laurel chewed his lip, excitement building in his eyes. Casey saw his hands grow tense on the reins, forearms practically vibrating. Like a kid about to open a present, he thought. Or a dog about to get a treat. The horse was just as excited, seeming to sense Laurel’s mood, its feet beating a tattoo in the sand. Casey thought he finally understood the meaning of the phrase champing at the bit . “Do you mind if I run him for a little while? It’s been so long, and I really want to go fast.”

“Just be careful.” It was barely out of Casey’s mouth before Laurel was off. They started off at a trot, but soon the horse was rippling across the beach like a ribbon in the wind, sand flying up from its hooves, wild and powerful and free. Adrenaline flooded Casey’s chest as he watched them, the seamless way they moved together, the way Laurel leaned into every turn as the horse streaked across the sand. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the speed, the enthralling, wild nature of it, or because of what Laurel had just said. Or maybe it was watching Laurel do something that made him happy, the pure elation shining on his face, the weight lifted from his shoulders. The way he threw himself into it without caution, without a second thought, lost to the bright, open sky and the waves and the wind.

I’m all in.

Was this what it felt like? Was this what all the people in Laurel’s movies sang about? The way his heart clenched when he looked at him, the way he never wanted to stop looking? The way every cell of Casey’s body seemed to lean toward Laurel, and the way he couldn’t get enough of him, wanted to bask in the light of his smile and listen to his obscure jokes and learn every little untold detail that made him who he was?

Mae snorted and made a kind of whuffling sound, apparently satisfied that she had eradicated the dandelion plant. She raised her head, and Casey scratched her gingerly between the ears. Her neck was as strong as a tree trunk, and there was something about her that inspired confidence, like she could keep a secret. “Shit, Mae,” he muttered. “What do I do? I think I’m in love with him.”

*

Laurel was talking a mile a minute in the car; he couldn’t help himself. He felt like he’d been struck by lightning, or like he’d taken one of Melody’s illicit Adderall pills, every particle of his body vibrating with energy. It had been so long since he had been able to ride a galloping horse, to get that vicarious runner’s high and scour all the worries—all thoughts entirely—out of his brain. He really hoped he wasn’t annoying Casey. It had been a big ask to get him on a horse in the first place, and now he was just prattling at him endlessly, not only about horses but about everything and anything, as they made their way back down the coast toward Laurel’s condo.

“Do you think we should go to one of his shows? I don’t know. It sounds fun, but I feel like it would be so awkward, tucking dollars into my drama teacher’s g-string. You know?” Laurel was turning a matchbook over and over in his hands, a gift from Mr. Petrowski, who had told them the next time they were in Charleston, they should stop by the Leopard Gecko Lounge and see him perform. (“I start out in a giant mech suit, then strip down to a little cocktail number,” he’d said.)

“I would go,” Casey said. “I want to see the mech suit.”

“Well, good. Then it wasn’t a complete bust.” Laurel looked at him guiltily. “I know you didn’t really like the horseback riding.”

“That’s not true. I liked watching you ride a horse.” Casey put a hand on Laurel’s thigh, squeezing gently. “And I think Mae and I have an understanding.”

“So you would try it again?” Hope blossomed in Laurel’s chest.

“Laurel, if you keep wearing these pants, I’ll try anything you ask me to.”

*

Back in the condo, Casey was peeling said pants off of Laurel, his mouth on his neck, the corner of the kitchen island digging into Laurel’s hip. They had, once again, failed to make it to the bedroom, but that was fine with Laurel, better, even. He wanted Casey here, now, wanted him with raw immediacy. His heart was in his throat as he said, “We can skip the condom if you’re okay with it. I’m clean.”

Casey pulled back, studying him, untold depths in his dark eyes. He traced his knuckles across Laurel’s cheekbone. “I am too. I just—it felt too intimate, before. Not to use one. But I guess I’m your boyfriend now, so…” he shrugged.

The bottom fell out of Laurel’s stomach, and he slammed his mouth into Casey’s, heart soaring, head in the clouds.

They fumbled their way out of the kitchen and down the hall, nearly knocking several pictures off the wall. Laurel’s hands were all over Casey, and the word boyfriend was pounding in his brain, and they toppled onto the bed, Casey pulling Laurel on top of him, nails digging into his ass, and then whatever was left of Laurel’s already-beleaguered brain cells evaporated, because Casey whispered in his ear, smooth as honey, “I kind of want you to do me, this time.”

“Oh, God.” Heat lanced through his groin and exploded across his face, followed quickly by self-consciousness. “Are you sure? It’s been a while.”

Casey brushed a soft kiss across his forehead. “I’m sure.” And then, more ironically, “I can’t be the one doing all the work every time. And my thighs are sore from horseback riding.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Laurel undid Casey’s belt, sliding his pants down his legs. He painted his lower belly with kisses, his hips, his thighs, and finally his hardening dick, taking him into his mouth. It was tempting to just stay there, lost in the smell of his skin and the haze of Casey’s soft sighs and the patterns his fingertips were tracing on Laurel’s scalp. But Casey had made a request, and Laurel was nothing if not obliging.

It was awkward at first, but the awkwardness soon burned off, like morning fog on a hot day, and then it was just the privilege of getting to touch him this way. Laurel’s lubricated fingers found the cleft of Casey’s ass, and Casey’s eyelids fluttered and he whispered against Laurel’s throat, words of encouragement and instruction—what had that been, again, about not wanting to do all the work? Because he certainly didn’t mind giving direction—and Laurel got lost in exploring him, in the way his breath hitched and the sheen of sweat on his brow and collarbone and the dazed look of desire in his beautiful eyes. He wasn’t sure how long it went on, just that eventually Casey cursed and put a hand on his wrist, his voice ragged as he said, “Enough. Please. I want you.”

And again, Laurel was happy to oblige, leaning down to kiss him as Casey guided his cock between his legs, and then it was just the tight, pulsing heat of him, almost too much, sending electric shocks down Laurel’s thighs and making his thoughts scatter. Casey was gazing up at him like he was a starry sky, and Laurel did his best, but every scrape of the sheets against his knees, every creak of the mattress, every time his eyes caught on Casey’s parted lips or his heaving chest or the way the planes of their bodies seemed made to fit together, sent him closer and closer to the edge, and soon he was coming, sooner than he’d like, and he reached a frantic hand between their bodies and jerked Casey off against his stomach, taking them both away together.

“Sorry,” he said, moments later, as they lay side by side, their breathing growing slow. “I wanted that to last longer.”

Casey traced a line down his thigh. “You just need more practice.”

“Oh yeah?” Laurel looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And someone to show you how it’s done.”

“Oh really?” A thrill traveled through him, and he rolled over so they were face-to-face, pressing a soft kiss to Casey’s lips. “Are your poor, aching little legs feeling better so soon?”

“Not yet.” Casey wrapped one of said legs around him, pulling Laurel’s hips down against his. Really, his legs were anything but little. They were long and lean and gorgeous, and Laurel felt his mouth go dry. “But they will be, in a few hours.”