32. Kurt

To my surprise, Johnny isn't back yet when I get home from Sam and Jules's. That doesn't do anything to settle my nerves. I'm feeling faint, and I've got a headache coming on.

I want to ask Johnny if he'd consider doing this thing—relationship—for real, but I feel like a kid asking his crush to go to prom and not knowing if they'll say yes.

Except … what we have is real. Isn't it?

If he's going to turn me down, I don't want it to be in my living room, where I'll have to relive the rejection over and over and over again. The beach is right across the way—we just have to put on shoes, go down to the light and cross the highway, and we're there. That's a safer place to do it.

Who's the optimist now?

I keep pacing in the hall, waiting, and when he finally walks in the door, it's all I can do not to jump on him.

"Did you have a good dinner?" I ask.

He nods and kisses me. "Yeah, thanks. Got a lot to think about."

"Want to go for a walk on the beach?"

"Yeah," he says. "That sounds nice."

His cowboy boots aren't great for walking on sand, but I bought him some blue rubber shower shoes for the hospital, and he's taken to keeping those in the front hallway so they're convenient for walks like this.

My husband's wearing dark blue Wrangler jeans, a tight heather gray T-shirt, and a black zip hoodie, and I want to climb him like a tree. He's let his hair grow out so it's a bit long and wavy, and the front flops down over his brow. I want to brush it out of his face. He has no business looking so effortlessly sexy.

I put on my own flip-flops, and we walk down to the state beach.

The ocean is silver and gold where the last of the sunlight glints off its surface, and since there's been some rain recently, clouds on the horizon range from vibrant deep orange to bright pink. Does that mean more storms? I can't tell what to expect, and that seems like a metaphor for everything in my life right now.

We stop for a moment, watching the waves lick up on the shore. There's a breeze, and the water is choppy.

I clear my throat, and Johnny turns to me, his eyes neutral. "So, I'm considering something."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I'm kind of thinking of quitting the Senate race. Maybe see how the debate goes, but if my numbers don't improve after that, drop out."

His face falls. "If that's what you want, then you should do it."

"Hey," I say, stepping forward and taking his hand. "I didn't think it would upset you."

"It don't upset me none."

"Then why do you look like that? Like I kicked you."

He's silent for a moment, lips pressed together. Then he says, "Do you have any use for me if you're not running? Didn't we stay together because you needed your image to be … not volatile?"

My jaw drops. Is that what he's been thinking, still? That this is some kind of publicity stunt? Or that it's transactional, what we can do for each other?

I think of his list of expenses that he intends to pay me back for. He's started cashing his paychecks and putting money in an envelope for the clothes and the therapy deductibles, but I haven't touched it.

I shake my head. "That's not what this is for me. I've been feeling like," I gesture between us, "like we're in a relationship." His shoulders go ramrod straight. "And I really like you." More than like. But I can't say that, not with the way he's reacting so far. I stumble onward. "So I was wondering if you, I don't know, wanted to try giving a real relationship a shot. Being my boyfriend in addition to being my husband."

A sad look passes over Johnny's face, and he shakes his head. My stomach lurches. I'd tried to prepare myself for this, but on some level, I'd believed that he liked me—in that way—too.

But maybe this has been one-sided, nothing but fan worship. Where I've tricked myself into thinking it's real.

His next words surprise me, though. "You don't want me."

I narrow my eyes and fold my arms over my chest. "What? I just told you I do."

He drops his chin to his chest. "I come with more baggage than an airline."

"We all have baggage. And I'm pretty sure I know what I'm getting into with you. We haven't known each other long, and I know this is a weird situation. I like you, and I thought you liked me, too, but I guess you don't. So I'm sorry, now I've gone and made this weird. Fuck!"

He puts both arms on my shoulders and faces me head on. "Wait, darlin'. This has nothing to do with me liking you. I like you more than you'll ever know."

"Okay. Then you just don't want to be in a relationship?"

"That's not what I said. I do. But you deserve so much better than me."

"Oh, stop that bullshit," I snap. "I get to decide who's good enough for me and who isn't. If that's even a thing. I want you, Johnny. I want you to be mine."

"Guess that's hard for me to believe. I've had it in my head that we were quittin' when you were done with the Senate stuff. Like you said in the car when we came here from Vegas."

I run a hand down my face and look up at some seagulls circling overhead. "Well, believe me, right now, that I want you, and I want to try it. Try being boyfriends."

"I want you more than anything," he whispers. "You see me, the real me. Not just the character I used to play."

"Then give us a chance." I hate that I'm begging. I'm pretty sure I've never begged for anything in my life. But I want him, and I'm not afraid to look weak in front of him. "Will you go out with me? Be my boyfriend? Try this for real?"

"Yes," he says so quietly I almost miss it, but when I leap into his arms, he catches me and kisses me soundly. "Yes, this is real," he repeats. "I want to be real with you. Boyfriends. Exclusive boyfriends." He smirks. "And husbands."

A shiver runs through my body at his words and the way his hands feel cupping my ass. My legs are wrapped around his waist, and I'm holding on to his shoulders so he doesn't have to support my full weight. Even though I know he's plenty strong enough to do so easily.

I don't care that we're in public in a very popular area of Los Angeles where a photographer could pass by at any time.

Whatever. I'm kissing my husband. Who is now my boyfriend. It's a free country, and, I realize, this is exactly what I'm fighting for as a politician. I'm fighting for the right to love who I want to love. Yes, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with Johnny, even if he's not in love with me. I can try. I can see if this can develop into love.

He brushes his lips over my mouth one more time before gently lowering me to my feet, and we grin goofily at each other. "Boyfriends?" he asks.

"Yeah. Boyfriends. You good with that?"

"Giddy," he admits. "Been a long time since I've felt giddy. What in tarnation?"

"I think that's dopamine or something. Knowing someone likes you a lot and wants to try being real with you can make you feel good."

"It certainly is making me feel better."

I squeeze his hand. "I know a way I could make you feel even better," I say pointedly, looking at the growing bulge in his tight jeans. His dick is almost always visible, it's so big, but right now there's a pole going down his leg, as graphic as a Tom of Finland drawing. In fact, Johnny's right out of one of those vintage pictures, with his classic hypermasculine looks and cowboy persona.

He leans down and nips at my neck, then wraps a hand around my waist. "Thought we were going on a walk."

"Ugh. We are. Fine. But when we get back? We're getting naked."

Johnny grins and kisses me. "Okay, precious. Lead the way."

I walk with my boyfriend on the beach, the cool sand giving way under our feet as the water licks the shore. And when we get home, Johnny makes me see way more stars than were visible in the sky tonight.

I have a boyfriend—a real one—for the first time in my adult life. I couldn't be happier.