揃ecause, Meyer,?I groan. Because it抯 embarrassing and I feel insane and hate putting my insecurities on blast almost as much as I hate having them.
揑抦 genuinely confused, Fee. I need you to help me out here.?
I just shake my head silently, trying to summon the words. Why is this still so hard? This real part of life. Why do I feel like I抦 always doing an impression of someone else? Someone funny who doesn抰 care about the disapproval. Someone sexy and confident. Someone who communicates, who goes after what she wants.
揇o you really have no idea how fucking beautiful you are? Or how much I care about you, how much you mean to me?to us??Meyer says.
揗y, I do know that you care about me. I mean, you wouldn抰 have agreed to this if you didn抰。 I do know that but?I抦 realizing what抯 at risk, here. If this blows up in our faces. I抦 realizing how scary it is. And God, okay, fine. I抣l just say it,?I suck in a breath. 揊or the first time, I抦 also really thinking of all the dumb shit I say and do on stage. I feel like I obliterated most of the sex appeal I may have had at some point,?I admit it, my hand flapping up before it slaps against the side of my thigh. I抳e admitted it and I抦 angry at it. Angry at the honesty of it.
His response is to laugh. My face dives into a glare. 揑抦 sorry, I抦 not laughing at you. Well, maybe a little, I am,?he says. I fold my arms and lift an eyebrow before he moves, backs me against my door and cages me in. I feel my eyes widen, hands clamping down to my sides. He smothers the laugh and sharpens his attention to my face. 揥hen you抮e on stage, talking about fecal matter or awkward sex or even that bit about the time you developed a crush on your barista?which makes my blood actually boil, by the way梔o you know what I see??He doesn抰 wait for me to respond, his smile going tortured. 揑 see the way the lights make your eyes sparkle, the way you grin so big I feel it in my sternum. Your hair, Jesus, you have the most incredible hair. I couldn抰 give a shit less about hair until I started looking at yours. It抯 shiny and smooth, the prettiest color I抳e ever seen. I love it when you do it that one way all wavy. You抣l wear it in a ponytail and I imagine wrapping it around my wrist, letting it slip through my palm.?He lets out a shaky breath and I feel it on my lips. His eyes dip to them. 揑 see the way your ass looks in whatever it is that you wear that kills me. Do you realize that every time you bend over on stage you stick it in whatever direction I am? It抯 agony, I don抰 care if you're yards away from me. It抯 like a homing beacon, and it抯 every single time, Farley Jones. And I try to be a decent guy, I swear I really do, but I抦 not a fucking saint,?he shakes his head ruefully. 揑 imagine you bare and bent over for me at least every single day. You could be up there talking about the various states of your underwear and all I get hung up on is picturing you in your underwear. You抣l do some wacky voice and when you get extra animated, sometimes your hand will slip into a sign, and I抣l think 憃h my god that was just for me.?Even though it抯 only one word and it抯 unintentional, because no one else notices, I latch onto it and hoard it to myself. And later, I take those moments out and examine them. I obsess over them. I think about how you make a joke sometimes and it makes me want to write an entire movie or show based on it because it抯 so god damn intelligent and funny and yet it also has this extraordinary heart because it抯 you.?
My palms press into my door as my chest rises and falls, my heart twisting and pulling in my throat. I look at his mouth as he wets his lips.
His head tilts and he snags my eyes with his again. 揝o, if you抮e worried about me thinking about you in those terms, if you don抰 think I find you painfully sexy, the kind of sexy that haunts and colors my every thought, you抮e misinformed. You might be funny, but not even you are funny enough to distract me from all that, Fee.?
And then he bends and leaves a peck on my open, dumbfounded mouth, before he pushes off the door and turns away, leaving me to go on speechless.
He stops again before he turns the corner, and says over his shoulder, 揂bout that other stuff, Fee. I抦 scared too. I抦 so damn terrified that it抯 taken me years and this deal to work up the courage to risk it.?He turns all the way, then, and meets my eyes. 揃ut I figure if it means that much to us both, then we just can抰 let something bad happen. We take care of each other like we have from day one, and we抣l be okay,?he nods, like he抯 affirming this to himself, too. 揚lus, we agreed in the beginning, and no matter what, that stands.?
And he walks away. Just like that. He抯 said it out loud and it抯 there, an ever present speech bubble hovering above us. And instead of letting it catapult me into thinking what if you抮e no good for him, though, and he抯 just the only one who doesn抰 realize it yet? Because that is the thought that rises, like my mind is some kind of backwards eight ball that抯 just been shaken up桰 decide to toss it aside for what抯 real. I decide to trust my friend and his words, to let them wrap me up and hold me.
22
6 MONTHS AGO
FARLEY
I抦 finally setting in for the night, top knot secured in a scrunchie, face cleared of all makeup along with signs of life, slathered in all my 搒limes?（as Hazel calls them） when Meyer抯 face pops up on my phone screen.
揧ello,?I greet, flopping loose-limbed onto the couch and scrolling for a new Survivor season.
揊ee. Do you have any more of those s抦ores bars things??he asks urgently, like they抮e an essential life saving tool he needs, his tone making me sit up straighter.
揘o, why? I just gave you a tray of them two days ago! What抯 wrong??
揧our house is on my way back, and I抦 going to eat the god damn hat floating around in my car if I don抰 eat something soon. I gotta eat!?he declares vehemently.
揙kay, sir, dial it back. I抣l remind you that I have tried to give you the recipe for those bars, many times. It抯 just one I found on the internet, not some generational memento passed down from my hillbilly camp-loving ancestors or something. It抯 s抦ores, not exactly baked Alaska.?
揑 just need to eat something. And I抣l remind you, again, they didn抰 turn out the same!?he whines. Actually whines.
揓esus, My. I抦 about to start Survivor. These people get a bag of rice and are stoked. I think you抮e being dramatic.?I hold the phone away from my face so I can smother an evil laugh.
揑抣l be there in ten minutes.?And then he hangs up.
In five, he Cosmo Kramer抯 through my door like a man possessed, his glare narrowing in on me before he stomps toward me in the kitchen.
揥hy are you all dressed up??I accuse. 揥here did you just come from??
揂 dinner thing.?
揂 dinner for what??
揊or the finale of Funnybones.?
揂 dinner celebrating you and your show?! Why didn抰 you tell me?!?
揊ee, I抦 dying here. What do you have as far as snacks??he rips open the refrigerator. 揂ha. Yyyes, fuck me up with some mozzarella,?he exclaims, grabbing the bag like a prize. 揂nd it really wasn抰 a big deal.?
It was a big enough deal for him to get dressed up. A blue jacket blazer thing over a crisp white button down, with matching indigo dress pants that hug his truly spectacular ass.
揥hat抮e you making??he asks around a mouthful.
揑抦 making your stupid s抦ores things,?I grumble. They抮e a pain at every step and are incredibly messy, though I love how much he loves them. So much that I抳e long-conned him and made him dependent on me for them, only ever giving him the recipe sans one ingredient or two. I claim to not know which recipe I used originally, but I know. I blended a few of them.