11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

SIT IN MY LAP, FIRECRACKER

The next morning, Brenda/Carole told us she wanted to get footage showing the domestic side of our fake relationship. Beau was already at school when we arrived, and as I made my way toward the front porch, I drank in the sight of the Rivera family home. The last time I was there, it was cloaked in darkness. Under the sun's watchful eye, idyllic didn't even begin to describe it. A two-story colonial with a perfectly manicured front lawn. Walls so white they reflected the sun's rays. Perhaps, best of all, an endless assortment of wind chimes hanging from the porch. While they twinkled out their autumn song, I caught sight of Rivers kneeling over his flower bed.

"Morning, Firecracker," he said as I approached. The crew trailed behind me, capturing the moment.

I was going to have to kiss Rivers today. Brenda/Carole shared the news with me just before we arrived, and I hadn't been given a chance to process the fact. She'd said Rivers was already on board, but with Brenda/Carole, who the hell knew? She could have just been lying so she could get a shot of Rivers' genuine shock when I eventually slammed my lips on his.

He stood, approaching cautiously, like a racoon readying himself for a midnight snack. Pulling me in for a hug, he brought his lips to the side of my face, whispering, "Don't worry, I've got you. Must've brushed my teeth at least twenty times this morning. Just follow my lead." Sweet relief. He pulled back, but his hand remained latched on my wrist. "Thanks for coming. I was worried you might be sick of me after yesterday."

"How could I ever be sick of you?" I scanned him up and down, clicking my tongue. "Honestly, with a body like that, you could do just about anything and I'd come running back." I turned toward Brenda/Carole, wincing. "Yeah, that was terrible. Do you mind if we do that again?"

"Stop breaking the scene," she shouted. "That was perfect. We're not doing a reshoot. Just keep going and we'll fix it in post-production."

"I hate this," I complained, mostly to myself.

Rivers cupped my cheek, his big brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "I love it," he said, his eyes locked on mine. "Seeing you all nervous. Losing yourself at the sight of me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Don't have to," he said, pointing at the camera. "It's all on film." His hand fell lower, wrapping around mine with ease. He brought my hand to his lips and gave it a kiss, like I was a Southern belle he was hoping to court. He led me up the porch and then into his house.

Last time I was in the Rivers household, the only light had been from his fireplace. In the cold light of day, it was even more beautiful. The walls were a stunning shade of periwinkle, and framed photographs of Beau and Rivers lined the walls. There were places, however, where squares of discolored paint showed signs of the home's aging. Forgotten photographs pulled from their rightful resting places.

Rivers must have noticed, because he squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “I hope you don’t mind. I took down the ones of Sabrina. She was a private person, and I know she would have been mortified to know she was on television.”

I gave him a nod, not saying anything back, because I was still mic’d. As my eyes flickered from picture to picture, I took in the story of their lives. Rivers holding an infant-sized Beau Rivera. Rivers and Beau with cone-shaped party hats strapped their heads, and globs of cake frosting on the tips of their noses. There was even an adorable image of current-era Rivers and Beau dressed up for Halloween. In it, Rivers was wearing what appeared to be a burlap sack with holes cut out for his arms and neck. He'd painted his face green, and there were pointy prosthetic tips at the top of his ears. To his right, Beau was dressed exactly the same. Big Yoda and baby Yoda, each as precious as the other.

I took a seat on the sofa, kicking off my shoes and setting them neatly on the floor. Pulling my legs up, I tucked them at my side, wedging my heels under my butt. When Rivers returned, he was carrying two steaming cups of tea. He took a seat, setting his cup on the coffee table. Leaning back, he rested his head on the back of the sofa and turned his face in my direction. Rivers sat wordlessly, just gazing at me like a painting hanging from his wall.

"What?" I said.

"It's nothing," he said, though that was clearly a lie.

"You're staring. It's creepy, Riv."

"Creepy or sweet?"

"Creepy," I said, taking a sip of my tea, studying him intently. "Maybe sweet, too. I'm not sure yet."

"I'll just have to keep staring until you figure it out, then." He stretched arm toward me, leaving our hands only inches apart. I set my tea on the coffee table and swiveled in his direction. One of us needed to make a move. We couldn't just sit there staring dreamily into each other's eyes all morning. Taking a chance, I reached for him, sliding my hand into his.

"Want to play a game?" he suggested, lacing our fingers together.

"A game? Listen, Riv; I will suffer many things. Call of Duty is not one of them."

"Dork," he said with a chuckle. "No, I was thinking of twenty questions."

"Why would I want to play twenty questions?"

"It could help us get to know each other. Nothing is off the table. Anything you've ever wanted to know, I'll answer."

"What makes you think I've ever wanted to know anything about you?"

He leaned in, and for a moment I thought this might be it. The moment our lips met for the first time. A chill ran down my spine, and goosebumps prickled on my arms. He was only inches from my mouth when he shifted his path, bringing his lips to my ear. He rested there for a while, just breathing against the side of my face. Though he said nothing, his quiet collection of unspoken words made my knees shake. They made my hands tremble, and my dick throb between my thighs. His hand stroked the top of my leg, making the briefest of contact with me ever-growing bulge.

"Call it a wild guess, baby." When he pulled away, he had an innocent expression, as if he hadn't just almost pulled an orgasm from me by breath alone. "So," he said cheerfully. "Want to play?"

"Fine—ye-yeah, Riv, that's… that's fine." I said, trying to steady my racing heart. "You want me to go first?"

"You're no good when you're put on the spot. You need someone to guide you. Someone to look out for you."

"And you want to be that guy?"

"You don't know the half of it. Question one," he said. "Are you glad you came home?"

I stared down at our intertwined fingers and smiled. "I am now."

"Me too. I didn't know how you'd react to seeing me. I've wanted to make things right for a long time, Firecracker. Thank you for allowing me to."

"Thank you for wanting to make it right."

"Question two: ninth grade science class. You remember?"

"Anything specific, or just in general? Kind of hard to forget an entire class."

"Jerk," he said with a laugh. "The project we did together. Lighting up the bulb with that potato."

"I still have the scars." I pulled the neck of my shirt down, revealing two small oblong splotches of seared skin. When I looked up, he was staring at the exposed flesh as if it was singing him a siren song, luring him to his lusty grave. He reached for the decades-old scars, his fingers scarcely making contact before pulling away.

"You don't know how nervous I was when I showed up to your house with that potato. I stayed up most of the night before, just trying to work myself up to it."

"Can't say that's surprising. Spending the day with the town queer wasn't going to do much for your popularity."

"That's not why I was nervous." He turned away from me and stared out the window. Outside, there was a snow cone truck making its rounds. I wasn't sure why; it was the middle of autumn, and school was still in session. Unless that truck carried tequila flavored cherry snow cones, I wasn't sure who their target audience was. "Question four," he said as the truck's music twinkled in the background. "What you said the other day at the fair. Did you mean it?"

"I've been stoned for at least seventy percent of this trip. I'm going to need you to elaborate."

"When you said you thought I was cute," he said. My cheeks fucking burned . Had someone cracked an egg on top of them, I was sure I could have it fried in seconds. "Did you?"

"I thought you were a prick," I said sweetly. "If that helps."

His fingers danced lightly against the side of my neck, his nail scraping against my scars. "See? This is what I was talking about when I said you needed someone to guide you. You've already told me you used to think about my prick, remember? At the fair that first day." His eyes flooded with an expression I couldn't quite read. Excitement? Disgust? Dare I even hope… arousal? I couldn't be sure. "Want to hear a secret?"

"Not really," I said, hoping my bated breath didn't give me away.

"I thought you were pretty cute, yourself. Still do. May have even thought about your prick a time or two." I gaped at him, but he didn't let that stop him. "Last night, as a matter of fact." He leaned in even closer. "Twice."

"Oh, my God," I whispered. I needed my heart to slow down. It was beating so fast, I worried it might just burst out from my chest.

"I had the biggest crush on you in school, Phillip. The way I'd look up and catch you staring at me—the way you still stare at me—you don't know what it does to me. What it always has." He closed his eyes, a gentle smile quirked on his face. "Thank you." My breaths were harsh. Jagged and inconsistent little huffs. "For coming home. For giving me a second chance." His eyes shot open, and the intensity in them made my entire body tremble. "You never answered. Did you… do you?" It felt like someone had shoved me out of a plane with no parachute. The look in his eyes seemed sincere, but I still wasn't sure how much of this was just for show. "Phillip," he said with so much affection in his voice, it made my chest ache. "It's just me and you. It's okay, I promise."

I took a deep breath, and then I took a leap of faith. "Yeah, Riv. I thought you were cute." I smiled at him, cautious but hopeful. "You're beautiful, Rivers."

He reached for me, his thumb brushing against my faulty-potato-induced war wound. "Question number," he chuckled to himself, gently shaking his head. "Question whatever through twenty," he said, leaning in until our foreheads touched. "Can I kiss you?"

I didn't answer, but the smile on my face must have been all the approval he needed.

"Come here," he said, patting his thigh.

"What?"

"Sit in my lap, Firecracker."

"Why do you want me to sit in your lap?"

"How else am I supposed to kiss you?"

I made no attempt to move, but he didn't let that stop him. Sliding one hand around my back, and the other beneath my thighs, he hoisted me off the sofa and positioned me on his lap. His hands explored me freely, like an archeologist excavating areas that had gone untouched for years. When he lifted the sleeve of my shirt, his warm lips slid across my ice-cold skin, his stubble leaving trails of scraped flesh in its wake. When he wedged his hand between my shirt and the skin of my back, his nails scratched smoothly, eliciting a moan. And when he opened his mouth against my neck, his tongue making the briefest of on-camera cameos, I couldn't have willed my erection away if I'd tried. All I could do was arch my back away and pray he didn't notice.

"Kiss me," he said, so low Brenda/Carole had to ask him to say it again. "Phillip," he said, louder this time. "Kiss me?"

Our eyes met, and it was like I was seeing him for the very first time. Like the emotional debts of our childhood had been forgiven, and all that remained was a stunning, perfect, beautifully clean slate. A story that could be rewritten however we saw fit. At that moment, sitting in Rivers' lap, listening to him make the neediest of sounds, I wasn't sure how I wanted that story to unfold. All I knew was Rivers was staring at me like his life depended on this kiss.

I leaned in, saying nothing as he cupped my face. Barely breathing as he pulled me to him. My was dick hard as steel when he tilted my head so the camera couldn't see our mouths. And then, I was more confused than I'd ever been when he stalled, our lips centimeters apart. Heartbroken at the sound of a feigned kiss with no actual connection.

I opened my eyes, dazed at the sight of him. He was just pretending. A stage kiss. And didn't that just sting? Didn't it strike up a feeling of rejection so strong, I didn't know how I'd be able to look him in the eyes again?

He opened his eyes, batting his lashes with a secretive smile, like we'd just gotten away with the perfect crime. Perhaps, we had. Perhaps, that's all this day was. An act. A moment meant to woo and wow the viewers, delivering an endless supply of emotional fulfillment to everyone but myself. I hardened my face as I tried to get back into character.

"We're definitely going to be doing that more often," he said, lightheartedly.

I can't. Not again.

"Yeah," I said, hoping my voice didn't give me away. "You can kiss me whenever you want, Riv."

"Yeah?"

I nodded before burying my face in the crook of his shoulder and tried to will away the stinging sensation of rejection. "I'm yours."