Page 108 of This I Promise You
His voice catches in his throat for a second, and the fact that I can affect him like that sends a thrill up my spine. He regains his composure.
“It’s a country concert, who is going to grab your butt?”
“Someone,” I dig. It could happen, right? “It’s not like there are no country gays. I mean…” I throw my hands out and then point at myself.
“Ugh.” He lets his head fall back dramatically. “Fine. Whatever!”
“Thank you!” I scream and jump, before I remember I’m in the middle of a gym with a bunch of straight bros.
Paul shakes his head and huffs, but I can see an underlying grin. He wouldn’t have let me go alone. Even if he wants to act like he would have.
“Alright then. Break’s over. Back to work.” He claps his hands to hype me up, then tightens his grip to steady me when I begin.
“You know I’m not coming to the gym every day, right?” I remind him. He knows, I’ve made certain of that, but I like to tell him, because he always does this adorable eye roll.
He does it, just as expected, then blows out a quick breath before relaxing. This really isn’t that bad. Yeah, I sort of hate it, not going to lie, but he’s here. He cares and wants me here, and why? Because he wants to keep me around, he wants me healthy so that we can spend more time together. How can I hate being here knowing that?
I can’t.
But I’m still going to complain.
Paul
A Little Bit Country
Time truly is a warped sense of being. When you pay attention to it you have all the time in the world.Butwhen you’re distracted by life? Time escapes in silence, running away without ever looking back and taking everything, save for your plans for tomorrow, your memories of today, yesterday.
The last week and a half went by in a blur. Easton, school, gym, work, therapy, and I’ve been dying to get another new tattoo. Maybe one with Easton, but given how much he winced when I told him more about getting my rose tat in Kansas City I’m not sure if he’d be down for it.
The weather’s getting warmer, and Easton and I lose ourselves in each other every chance we can get. Every night is date night when our homework allows. We usually decide to go out and do something fun, stay in and watchSense8or an indie gay film, or we make love. That’s my favorite part, despite the mild panic attack I had the other day right in the middle of sex. Therapy has been great, really great, but that doesn’t mean the trauma isn’t there anymore. Easton was perfect through it though. He’s learned tips from Huxley on how to help me through my panic attacks and I couldn’t love him more. Everything with him is perfect.
He’s had a couple off days, too. Days he’s been “less than” he normally is. “Less than” because they aren’t bad, per se. He’s just tired and weak. Aidan was right about him needing to take time to recoup on such days. He gets a lot of headaches and his vision really is affected the most. It’s all been pretty mild symptoms compared to spring break. He gets irritable during these moments, but I think he’s just scared. Fucking hell I am too, but I try to be strong and patient for him like he is with me.
I’ve been writing a lot. My classes force me to, but I’ve nearly filled an entire notebook with poems and spoken-word pieces I wanna perform. Work has been great, really great! I love my job at the bar and the people who work there. They’ve even started letting me bartend and the money is amazing. I haven’t been able to get back up on stage except for one other time. I don’t know, I kinda wanna do more with it. I just don’t know what yet. Easton inspires me to want to be better.
And I must really love this jackass ’cause he somehow got me to agree to let him drag me to thiscountry barfor acountry concert. And on a Monday! What is it with this city always doing shit on Mondays?
I show my ID at the door and I kinda feel bad because Easton is the one who’d want to drink, not me. Though I’m sure I can sneak him something.
“I already hate this place,” I growl.
“Hey!” He elbows me. “What was our one rule?”
“I know, I know. Don’t bitch,” I say. Why did I agree to this again?
But I smile and grab his hand and he pulls me through the crowd, even though this might not be the best place for it. Fuck if I care. I’ll knock a bitch out if anyone says anything slick about me and my man. We are going to enjoy this night even if I didn’t want to come.
“Come on, let’s get some drinks and find a table,” Easton suggests.
“So many people,” I say as he continues to pull me through the crowd of bodies. Gah, and the smell of alcohol. It’s everywhere. Fucking vom.
We find a table—a big empty high-top overlooking the dance floor and stage—and I go to the bar to order a water and a hard cider. I really don’t want him getting drunk, but I also don’t have a right to say shit to him about it. He knows his own body, not me. Well, I do know his body…just in other ways.
The first band is set up, but the show doesn’t start for another half hour or so. Some dickwad’s country twang is blaring through the speakers. Easton’s singing along softly as a few couples swing around on the dance floor. I can feel myself scowling, but somehow all this bullshit makes Easton feel at home. I melt a little. I can see the way he’s relaxed here and it makes me wonder when was the last time he really relaxed. Like, I’m all city, but there will always be a piece of Easton’s heart that’s country. If I want to spend my life with him—and I definitely fucking do—then I’m going to have to get used to this, I guess. Kane Brown isn’t so bad.
I lean closer to Easton and tap the brim of his cowboy hat. “You do look sort of cute in that.” He laughs a little and I really want to kiss him. “Think you’re the only guy here in ripped jeans though.”
“Probably, and you stick out like a sore thumb.”
