The look on her face is a stark contrast to the way people saw me weeks ago before everything went to hell. The crazy thing is, what I worried about, the whole not-straight thing, is less of the focus than the lie about the addiction. After my appointment last week with Dr. Kent, I fully expected things to change and get better overnight. I mean, they went to shit overnight, didn’t they? But things didn’t get better. If anything, they’re getting worse, even with Blackbridge’s help. Maybe the initial outrage was the first wave, and it’s only gaining momentum as more people share what happened. I just don’t know if I can handle it getting much worse even though I suspect it will before it gets better.
Suddenly, I feel exposed, too open to my surroundings. My eyes scan the people milling around. There are a couple that are looking at me and chatting, and it makes me feel like I’m right back in elementary school, getting made fun of for wearing clothes bought from the Salvation Army. That was of course before a producer saw me and my mom at a community event and declared me the next best thing in child acting.
I heard people are going to go crazy over your look. Mom heard dollar signs.
Still scanning the crowd, growing increasingly anxious, I lose focus when Princess snarls. She runs across the park, and I have to spend a few minutes lowering the drone to the ground before I can chase after her.
Princess biting someone would land me in civil court, and I’ve got enough of that kind of shit to deal with. I stop mid jog when I spot him, and I have to curl my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.
“You’re a holy terror,” Brooks snaps as Princess latches on to the hem of his slacks. “Seriously? These are Saint Laurent.”
Brooks juggles the things in his arms before reaching into those very expensive slacks of his. Princess drops the pant leg the second he produces a dog bone. She yips at him, the bark sounding demanding but losing that edge of violence it had when she first approached him.
He tosses the bone a good ten feet away, smiling as he watches her run after the thing.
Then he looks in my direction, his smile spreading across his face, and I’m just… enthralled.
It’s like the man is being worshipped by nature.
The sun shines brighter.
The birdsongs are louder.
The butterflies gravitate to him like he’s the prettiest flower in the entire park.
All of this is going on and the man doesn’t break eye contact with me as he approaches.
His eyes are sexier than I’ve ever seen them, sparkling blue and mischievous.
“Hey,” he says as he steps in close, brushing his lips across my cheek.
I could force the issue, turn my head and plant one right on his lips since we’re in public, but it feels like a violation, especially after what I did this morning.
“Hi,” I manage. It comes out more like a squeak than an actual word.
He gives me a slow grin, his eyes dropping to my mouth for the briefest of seconds before he looks around the park.
“Help me spread the blanket out?” he asks.
“Blanket?”
“For our picnic.”
Jesus Christ, this man was put on the earth to torture me.
I check over my shoulder to make sure Princess isn’t wreaking havoc on the community before tucking my drone’s controller under my arm so I can help the man.
“A rainbow? Really, Brooks?”
He shrugs. “We’re embracing our sexuality.”
Our?
Is he saying something to me that he’s practically denied more than once but I’ve suspected since day one?
“You’re gay?” I ask because I don’t think I’ll ever have a clearer open door than this one right now.
He straightens from spreading out the blanket, and I have to bite back a smile when he winks at me. “No, but my boyfriend is.”
I snort a laugh.
“You have an amazing smile,” he says, his eyes once again dropping to my lips.
“You don’t have to butter me up. I’m a sure thing.”
He shakes his head as if I’m being ridiculous, but there’s a lot of truth in it. If the man would’ve reached for me earlier in my living room, I’d have given him whatever he wanted.
I busy myself, reaching for the bag he has brought along because I can’t spend too much time analyzing what that even means.
“Look at all of this.” I pull handfuls of what has to be at least twenty different things out of the bag. “Nuts, fruit, cheese, meats. Sweet things, salty things. Couldn’t make up your mind?”
“It’s a variety sample pack from that grocery store I forced you to go to the other day.”
“You went out of your way to get all of this?”
“It’s on the way to the park from my office building.”