“Now who’s quoting Lady Gaga?” Maddox mumbles.
I ignore him. “Maybe Eric is confused or bi-curious, or maybe he’s just an ass. But say he is confused. Say he has been for a long time. We all practically outed him back there and then walked out on him. Real supportive.”
Julian stops dead in his tracks. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. Oh, shit is right,” I say. “I don’t like what Eric did, and I will probably hate him forever for making me doubt myself, but I’d never wish what happened back there on him. Not ever. I don’t care if he’s the one who technically started it. No one deserves that. I can’t be the one to be there for him, but you can. Go support your brother, asshat.”
“You don’t mind?” Julian asks.
“Thanks for backing me, I appreciate it, but this isn’t a game of taking sides. Besides, I have to torture my sister for setting up this ridiculous dinner in the first place to try to scare my boyfriend off.” I turn to Maddox. “Did she succeed?”
“Fuck no,” Maddox says. He steps forward and brings his mouth to mine in a soft kiss.
“Okay, that’s weirder to see than I thought it would be,” Stacy says. “Not because you’re two guys, but because my best friend is kissing my brother.” She shudders.
“Boyfriend, huh?” Maddox asks me.
“Unless the label freaks you out. I know you’re not a fan of those.”
“I like the boyfriend label.” He kisses me again.
“Have a good night, guys,” Julian says, and Maddox and I pull apart. “Stace, we going out one weekend soon? Party it up old-school style.”
Stacy’s face lights up. “With wine coolers, cheap chasers, and horrible dance music? I’m in.”
“I want in too,” Maddox says.
“I’m out,” I say.
“You’re no fun,” Julian says.
“He never has been,” Stacy says.
“Catch ya next family gathering,” Julian says.
“If there is a next one,” I say as he backtracks to the restaurant.
We continue to walk, the mood a little lighter than it was. “You should’ve said something sooner,” Stacy says.
“Sure. Mom, Dad, your best friends’ son is a bigot, but I suspect it’s because he likes guys. Thought you’d like to know.”
Stacy stops walking again. It’s going to take all night to get back to my apartment at this rate. “Damon. No one should be forced into enduring his behavior. I don’t care how close our parents are or how confused he is.”
Frustration bubbles out of me. “He has issues he needs to deal with. They’re his issues. Not mine.”
“But when they affect your ability to have a relationship—”
“Does it look like it’s affecting us?” I wrap my arm around Maddox.
“It did in the beginning,” she states.
“How much did you tell her?” I whisper in his ear.
“Stace. Drop it, okay?” Maddox says. “We’re great. Damon had more issues than just Eric—like my inability to commit to anyone. He thought I was just looking for a hookup. And yet, tonight, I openly admitted to being in a relationship. I’d say we’re more than good. So much so, I’m tempted to walk you home to your own apartment.”
She screws up her face. “TMI.”
“All I said was apartment,” he argues.
“But I know what you’re implying. Can I at least come back for dinner? I’m starving, and Maddox’s cooking is awesome.”
I wrap my other arm around my sister. “Come on then.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MADDOX
The love I have for Stacy dims with every passing minute. We’ve eaten dinner, we’ve laughed, we’ve mocked, and it’s been great. Adding Damon into our dynamic, or rather, adding me into theirs, is easy. Damon tends to play mediator between Stacy and me, and now it’s fun for us to watch him get riled up.
But it’s getting late, and all I want to do is go to bed and show Damon how serious I am about being his boyfriend.
Stacy pours herself another glass of wine, and Damon and I share a glance. Our desperation for her to leave is mirrored in each other’s stare.
“God, you two couldn’t be more obvious if you tried,” Stacy complains. “Last glass, I promise. Then I’ll catch a cab and go home. Alone. Again.”
“You’re single by choice,” I say. “Don’t try to pull sympathy from us.”
“It’s not my fault this city is full of morons. They’re all either Wall Street wannabes who think their shit don’t stink, struggling artists who work in the food industry to afford rent, or divorced guys with more baggage than the turnstiles at JFK.” Her face screws up as those last words fall from her mouth. “Where are the guys who use their hands to work? Big and strong.”
“Jared’s in construction,” I mutter.
That’s all it takes. Stacy downs her glass of wine. “Thanks for dinner. Love you both.”
“We can walk you home,” Damon says.
She waves him off. “It’s two blocks. I’ll catch a cab.”
And easy as that, I love her again. I kiss her cheek and walk her to Damon’s door.