I keep eating, eager to get my mind onto literally any other topic.
"Are you looking forward to the festival?" Court asks, like he could read my mind.
"Yeah. I am. I'm especially excited that Scooter and Cyrus will be back."
Court smiles. "That'll be fun. How about the four of us go out for dinner on Saturday night?"
My chest seizes. "I was thinking the same thing, but…"
"But what?" He drives his fork into his chili a couple of times, almost like he knows what—or should I say,who—I'm going to bring up.
"Zane has met them a few times, and Scooter and Cy both like him. It'd be nice if we could all hang out without a nuclear war breaking out."
Court's face sours like he just inhaled a Toxic Waste candy. I don't say anything and give him a minute.
"Fine," he eventually says. "I've enjoyed a good, Zane-free run."
"And can you please try extra hard? For me?"
"It'salwaysfor you."
I sling my arm around his shoulder and press his body into mine. "Thanks, Court."
43
Courtland
It's the day of the festival, and I am zenning the shit out of this morning.
First thing I did when I woke up was a guided ten-minute meditation about not letting external circumstances affect you.
I substituted my usual coffee for a green tea, which yes, still has caffeine in it, but it feels like the calmer option.
I even lit a candle in my room as I got dressed, not in the hopes of burning the house down and thereby getting out of going to the festival where I'm going to have to endure hanging out with Zane all day, but because I truly do want to make an effort with the guy.
Like an annoying mosquito in the summer, he hasn't pissed off. He still does his 'fun stuff' with Buzz every couple of weeks, and my other close friends seem to like him as well. If he really is here to stay, I probably should make a proper effort with him. Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot…several times.
"You ready?" Buzz asks, standing at my bedroom door.
I swivel around and smile. He looks freaking adorable. Not because he's wearing anything extraordinary—just a lined denim jacket with his favorite purple hoodie layered underneath, heavy-duty khakis, and lace-up work boots—it's justhim.
I'm falling even more in love with him the longer I'm here. Guess daily blow jobs and a trauma-inducing family situation are bound to bring two people closer, but it's more than that. It's all the years I've suppressed my true feelings for him bubbling to the surface.
Even though what we're doing isn't a real marriage, in my head, I'm allowing myself to pretend it is. That we do really live together, that we are sharing our lives forever. Might not bepsychologically healthy, but I'll deal with the aftermath of that in about three-and-a-half months.
For now, I'm happy living in the fantasy world I'm creating.
"I am," I say, taking one last look at myself in the mirror. I went for simple yet stylish. A fine-knit turtleneck layered under a charcoal wool overcoat, slim-fit navy slacks, and black leather Chelsea boots. "Oh, before we head out."
I make my way over to him, taking out a small box from my security pocket. "It's not super romantic or anything, but here, happy Valentine's Day."
His eyes widen. "I asked you last week if we were getting each other anything, and you went on a ten-minute rant linking Valentine's Day to everything that's wrong with late-stage capitalism."
I grin because I'm really proud of that rant. Even though it's only February, it's a contender to make it into my top five end-of-year rant countdown. "Like I said, it's nothing romantic."
He takes the box from me, all pouty like, but I know he secretly loves it. Buzz is a total sap for this type of stuff.
Like, if you've ever asked yourself, Who actually watches Lifetime or the Hallmark channels? Buzz is your answer. He lives for all that lovey-dovey stuff.
