Fake Friends - Saxon James Page 0,14
for a moment, and I allow myself the briefest hope that maybe we can be okay. Maybe I can make up for what I did and we can move on.
I have no idea what I want us to move on to when I know I can’t stay in Sunbury long term. Not unless I either want to be disowned or settle down with a woman. And I’ve already discovered I can’t go through with that ploy.
Circus jerks back out of my arms. “I think we’re done.”
“Really? That’s … it?” Why am I disappointed when I should be relieved?
“Yep. I can do the editing stuff solo. Thanks for your help.”
He’s already out of the water and pulling down the tripod by the time I reach him.
“You okay?”
“Perfect. I have my pictures, and as soon as the money is in my account, I’ll send over your share.”
“But …”
“But what? I pretended like you aren’t an asshole for a day, and now I accept your apology. You can move on.” He throws the tripod over his shoulder as he starts to walk away. “And remember to do that far away from Sunbury.”
This. Is. Bad.
I flick through photo after photo of perfection.
And I hate to say it, but Rowan makes me look good. The tats, the unruly hair, the confidence in how he holds himself.
He’s come a long way since high school.
Back then he was guarded and scared, and the only place he looked like he owned his skin was on the football field. Still, he always caught my eye. Always drew out that curious side of me that was attracted to what I didn’t know.
The first time I went to his house after school, I remember overhearing his dad asking who the little pretty boy was. And I knew by his tone what he was really asking.
First: Is that kid gay?
Second: What the fuck is he doing with my son?
I was never a favorite around his place, especially when his grandparents were there, so we spent as much time at my house, or wandering Crown Trails, as we could.
And as I pause over the photo of Rowan kissing my nose, an irrational surge of anger passes through me.
I was there, for years, in the secret, stolen moments of his life. I was the only one who knew his secret, and the only one who didn’t push for him to figure himself out.
All I did was wait.
Show him it was okay.
And that night, when he finally kissed me and we gave in to a year of sexual tension, I kissed him like we meant forever.
I had no idea forever would last all of five minutes.
It would be so easy to fall into the rabbit hole of wondering what life would have been like if he’d never left, but I refuse to let myself.
I refuse to think about anything but the fact he’s about to leave again, and then life can go back to how it used to be.
He’s still closeted, and I doubt that will ever change.
Way too much drama for me.
Instead, I’ll take my plants and my little piece of the internet and just keep doing what I love.
I search the couch for my phone, suddenly realizing I haven’t checked my notifications all day.
Rookie error, and reason number ninety-seven for why I need to keep Rowan at arm’s length.
I open the app and scramble to sit upright.
Is this legit?
People are going batshit over the photo I snapped earlier.
And they all want to know one thing.
Who’s the guy?
I’ve made it no secret that I’m pansexual, but I’ve never shared anything before that had someone else in it, not even friends.
And apparently, that was a good move on my behalf.
The more comments and replies I scroll through, the happier my mood gets. It feels like plugging in and recharging my battery, and even as I read through responses from hours ago, more are coming in.
I open my emails and find one already waiting from my manager. Of course he’s seen the photo and is next-level excited about it. And of course they want the Royal Swimwear shots, stat. I reply and let him know I’ll have some ready by morning.
Almost immediately, my phone starts to ring.
“You need to post one now,” he says, without so much as a hello.
“None of them are edited.”
“So post a candid, I don’t care. Terri from Royals wants his brand on your page ASAP.”
What I can’t tell him is that mostly all of the candid shots have Rowan’s face in