5. Young, Hot And Queer

5

YOUNG, HOT AND QUEER

Flora stepped away to continue plating our dinner, leaving me trembling from head to toe on the kitchen counter.

I hadn't replied to what she'd admitted, but she didn't seem to expect it. Simply went about setting an intimate scene for the three of us. She lit candles on the table, dimmed the lights, and placed our utensils with such fondness it tightened my throat.

"What do you think, babe?" she asked, hands on her hips. "Does this work for a New Year's Eve- Eve dinner?"

I chewed on my bottom lip. "Flor, can we talk…"

Beau strolled into the kitchen at that exact moment, trapping all the air in my chest. His post-shower hair was still wet and curling at the nape. He paused to finish rolling his sleeves to his elbows, and I noted his flushed cheeks. He smelled like hot steam and the dark woods, alluring and dangerous in equal measure.

Our eyes connected from across the room and his lips curved up, revealing a lazy grin. "I'll be damned. You sure do look like Flora followed through on her promise."

"What promise?" I croaked out.

He closed the distance between us and stroked my cheek with the back of his knuckle. "To ply you with hot chocolate and whiskey. Bourbon makes you blush."

His confident hands landed on my waist, gripping me tight before lifting me from the stool then placing me on the floor.

My fingers flew to my face, feeling the traitorous heat there. "Wait, it does?"

Beau pulled out a chair at the table and helped me into it. "Why do you think you're so adorable when you're drunk?"

I managed to sit semi-normally, a major feat given how distracted I was by the tattooed paramedic standing behind me. "Oh, I don't know. I assumed that four to five drinks only improved upon my clever wit and impeccable comedic timing."

He reclined in the chair next to me, raising his own glass of amber liquor. "That's always been true, Paige. But that whiskey blush of yours is awfully pretty."

"I've always thought so," Flora added.

That pretty blush was currently spreading across every square inch of my body. So much so that I longed to tug at my collar, to place an ice cube along my throat and soothe the fire. Flora and Beau exchanged the most fleeting of smiles—there one second, gone the next—and the sight of it did strange things to my nervous system. I was both more confused and more relieved. The absence of their easy affection was like the sudden loss of the sun.

I ached for it, even as it burned me.

I cleared my throat, lifted my glass. "I want to say thank you. Not only for laying on the sweetest compliments, and bandaging up my ankle, and cooking my favorite food. But for letting me crash your romantic New Year's Eve plans. It really…it means a lot to me. The two of you always have."

We clinked our glasses together, and suddenly I had two sets of eyes, hot and eager on my face. For a moment, I contemplated begging them again to tell me what was really going on. But I hesitated, remembering their swift dismissal every other time.

And let my own cowardice take over, wanting to maintain this tentative truce, no matter how brief.

"It's not crashing if we want you here," Flora said.

Beau tipped his head my way. "And we do want you here. Very, very much."

We sipped together, the only sound the clink of ice cubes on glass. Their twin gazes never left mine though, making it difficult to swallow. We had a gorgeous meal laid out in front of us, yet I was the one being devoured. The intensity grew until I buckled beneath their attention, setting my whiskey down and feigning fascination with the chicken on my plate.

Beau cleared his throat. "All of this looks amazing as usual, Flor."

The first bite of biscuit all but melted in my mouth, and I moaned my agreement. "We don't deserve you."

"Oh, you absolutely do," she said. "Plus, New Year's Eve is my favorite holiday. I'll always go all out, even if the party is three friends snowbound in a cabin together. I might have packed sashes and sparklers and hats for tomorrow night." A playful shrug. "And a couple of disco balls to hang."

"You packed all of that for only the two of you?" I asked.

She licked butter from the tip of her thumb. "It's a holiday just for wild and unbridled celebration. So we're going to do that, sparklers and all."

"Are we celebrating anything specific?" I asked. "Like, perhaps…your upcoming nuptials?"

Dual shadows darkened their faces—but only for a moment. Flora dropped her chin in her hand and sent me the loveliest smile. "We're celebrating being alive . And also being young and hot and queer. Need I say more?"

"No, ma'am," I said with a laugh. "I'm always happy to be my young, hot, queer self."

"This is the holiday of radical change and transformation," she continued. "Saying goodbye to an old year. Welcoming in something new and enchanting. It's intoxicating, all that possibility. Don't you think?"

There was a sharp pang in my chest, the memories of my year in California rising to the surface. Once Beau and Flora started dating, I'd fled to San Francisco with my bruised and wounded heart in tow. It was easy enough to explain away. With my new wedding planning business, I needed to be in a busy market. Besides, Dorothy was there—my best friend from college and the person who would understand why I'd run from their relationship in the first place.

And in the beginning, I'd been captivated by that very same notion. The heady sway of new possibilities. Maybe I can forget them. Maybe I can let them go.

In the end, it hadn't been that simple.

In the end, all I did was trade my damaged heart for emotional betrayal. Then stumble back home to Boulder and discover Beau and Flora had gotten engaged.

"It is intoxicating," I finally said. "Scary too, all that potential for change. Sometimes it's easier to stay the course. Safer. Though that would make for a very boring holiday. Less glitter, more apathy."

Beau glanced up from his plate, warmth in his green eyes. "You're one to talk. Starting your business all on your own. Moving to California to have an adventure. Then coming back to Boulder and having even more clients? You're like the mascot for radical change."

I was already shaking my head. "I lost a lot of momentum, leaving when I did. I'm lucky for those clients but I burned some bridges I shouldn't have. And I didn't exactly come home for a victory lap. It was more like slinking back home with my head down. I was so embarrassed. After everything that happened with Em and Dorothy when I was in San Francisco…"

Beau's fingers tightened on his glass. Flora's nostrils flared.

"Chasing my dreams with reckless abandon doesn't feel as…as accessible as it used to be," I finished, my throat like a vise.

Flora reached for my hand, caressing my knuckles with her thumb. Beau stood from his chair and grabbed the bottle of bourbon, topping off Flora's glass and then mine. He angled his body forward and poured, close enough that his shoulder pressed against my own.

"What they did was inexcusable in every single way," he said, his Southern accent rough around the edges. "And they clearly had no idea what they were losing when they left you."

I shivered at the rasp in his voice. Then his hand closed around the back of my neck, giving me a squeeze. A gesture I could have written off as friendly if it weren't for the possessiveness in his grip. Flora's thumb faltered on the back of my knuckles.

Faltered, then became a teasing stroke along the side of my wrist. My entire body wanted to melt beneath their combined touch and shared concern. I fought the urge to squirm as a sudden fantasy swept into my thoughts. Food and drinks crashing to the floor as I'm hauled up onto the table and forced to lay back, arms pinned and legs spread. Consumed and enjoyed by their hot mouths and talented fingers, my back arching in pleasure again and again.

In reality, their hands left me at the same time, but with a reluctance that made my chest ache.

"I'm serious, Paige," Beau continued, sinking back into his chair. "You have nothin' to be embarrassed about. Not a damn thing."

"They should be the ones who feel embarrassed. Sounds like they had the opportunity to do the right thing a dozen different times, but in the end, they took the cowardly way out," Flora added. "You deserve so much better than that."

I shot them a grateful look. "I know I do, I just hate how much of a stereotype they made me feel. I'm the wedding planner whose girlfriend left her for her best friend . It sounds so pathetic. It made me feel pathetic."

I paused, tracing the rim of my glass. "I wanted this career because I believe in the radical power of queer love and its many shapes. Romantic love, platonic love, the love of our community and found families. I wanted to be part of something so at odds with our society's rigid rules, spurious as they are. And I still do, obviously. But Em leaving me for Dorothy shook me up in a way I can't entirely explain. It's like I'm…like I'm skittish when before I was only ever hopeful. Does that make sense?"

Flora sat back, fiddling with her utensils. "I was infatuated with my first girlfriend. We were in college, and every emotion and feeling felt dialed all the way up. I was twenty years old and ready to marry her then and there. So when she broke up with me, right before graduation, I thought my life was over. I was absolutely inconsolable. I found my way through it, of course. Found my way to other people who treated my heart with more care and kindness. But I know exactly what you mean, Paige. It's devastating."

Beau was nodding, twisting his whiskey in a slow circle. "I had this boyfriend before I met either of you. I was head over heels for the guy and real stupid about it. Had all these dreams of our life together. Wanted him to move in, pretty quickly, but he was always dodging the question. Looking back on it, he was keeping me at arm's length for a reason, but it only made me try harder to keep his attention."

His gaze slid to the side, then locked on mine. "He was cheating on me and had been from the beginning. I found them together, in his apartment. It fucked me up for a long, long time and made it harder to trust, that's for sure."

A spasm of unease bloomed behind my sternum. Not only for my friends' heartbreaks, but because of the truth buried beneath my words. My relationship with Em did make me feel skittish—but so had my thwarted longing for the gorgeous couple sitting in front of me. Em leaving me for Dorothy had cracked my heart, but it broke clear in half the day that Beau and Flora shared their engagement.

"They leave a mark," I said, "all these past relationships, all these past friendships. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. When I try to picture either of you being hurt like that…" I shuddered. "Well, I guess I understand why talking about Em makes you so angry. I'd do anything to go back in time and, I don't know, make them treat you better? Never leave you in the first place?"

Flora gave me a dreamy smile, dropping her chin in her hand. "But then we wouldn't be here together. And I wouldn't change that for the world. I learned a lot from that first experience—about standing up for myself, about my own maturity and all the ways I had room to grow. Ultimately, I discovered that our love is infinite. It doesn't dry up and stop with the first person to break our heart."

"I learned about being truly wanted," Beau said. "I was always chasing his love, chasing his attention. It should have sent up a million red flags, but I only doubled down and tried harder. After, I realized I wanted to be with someone who wanted me as much as I wanted them. No more begging for crumbs."

I bit the end of my thumb, attempting to restrain the many truths crowding the back of my throat. Something like I learned that throwing myself into a relationship did jack shit to erase my unrequited feelings for the both of you. Finally, I said, "I'm not quite sure what Em and Dorothy taught me yet. Got any ideas?"

Flora's smile turned wry. "That's up to you, babe. But if it helps, Beau and I learned that we're miserable when you're not around us."

I scoffed, suddenly light-headed. "Miserable? No way. You were blissed-out and newly engaged the first time I saw you again."

Beau stood, piling our now empty plates onto his hand. His cocky half-grin felt much too dangerous. "Well, yeah. We were ecstatic that weekend. But Flor's right. It was a long year and we missed you like hell. Even contemplated going out to San Francisco for a surprise visit once or twice, but we talked ourselves out of it every time."

Butterflies multiplied in my stomach—it was Beau's casual flirting and Flora's foot, nudged against mine.

"Why didn't you?" I asked.

He shrugged his broad shoulders but avoided my eyes. Flora stood too, sweeping up the remaining plates, leaving me alone at the table. I frowned, sensing another disturbance between them, and it plunged me right back into the swirling waves of my confusion.

"I would have…would have loved to see you if you had," I said tentatively. "So why did you talk yourselves out of it?"

They shared a longer look this time, something brooding and desperate hanging in the air. Flora's eyes rose to mine and my heart jammed to a stop. "You really want to know?"

"Sure I do," I said, attempting a nonchalance I did not feel.

A muscle in Beau's jaw bunched. "We were worried seeing you with Em would make us feel too fucking jealous. And given how we've felt about what she did to you, I'd say we were right."

Beau turned and began washing the dishes while Flora handled the leftovers. Neither gave any indication of the incredible weight of what they'd admitted to me. Nor did they react to my wide eyes and stunned silence.

This day had been one mixed signal after another—an engagement in some kind of peril, their whispered confessions and charged secrets. Every stray caress and lingering glance beckoning me to commit an act no less a betrayal than what Em and Dorothy had done to me.

But if wanting them was wrong, why did every single second I spent in their presence feel so unbelievably right?