Page 72 of Heart Over Heels

TWENTY-ONE

Darby

This was nice.

Mercerwas nice. Kind. Unassuming.

And having a lovely gay awakening, apparently, thanks to little old me.

I’d been in the business long enough—and been myself long enough—to know the role I often played. I had the right parts to entice anyone or repulse them. It was a mixed bag. More often than not, I was a one-night-only special, a sample-sized bite of ass. A whim. A passing fancy. Try it and see if you like it.

Those encounters were awkward and fumbling, heavy with a shame I kept trying to soothe away. At first, I had the patience for it, assuring them it was okay to want me. But after a while, it wore me down, and it got harder to believe the words myself.

But this was different. It was pizza and beer, a second round of s’mores, and a movie calledStardust.

I hadn’t seen it before, and I was surprised it was Mercer’s pick. At the club, we’d started a movie day tradition after Maslow left. Oz was marathoning his way through the Marvel catalogue, Zephyr had a soft spot for Disney flicks, the twins were on theirumpteenth rewatch ofTombstone,and Elliot swore by anything Tim Burton ever touched. I rarely got a say.

Mercer struck me as a man’s man. Rugged and no-nonsense. I’d bet good money he’d seen everyFast and Furioustwice. ButStardustwas cute. A little whimsical. And so obviously curated that I had to call him on it.

“Hmm…” I tilted my head at the screen. “Captain Shakespeare seems a little fruity.”

Mercer barked a laugh. “You know, I’m pretty sure watching this was the first time I ever saw a man in drag.”

“Did you think it was hot?” I teased.

“I thought it was cool.” He gestured toward the television as the good captain pranced through his quarters in a corset and red feather boa. “It’s De Niro, yanno? He was inGoodfellas.And seeing him like… I mean, pirates are badass on their own. But the fact that he’s powerful, successful, and?—”

“Fruity?” I supplied, grinning.

He waved me off. “And his men love him. I thought that was cool.”

“Well, I think he’s hot.” I shrugged and settled deeper into the crook of Mercer’s arm. “Probably more theGoodfellasversion, though. OrTheGodfather Part II.”

Mercer leaned back to look at me wide eyed. “You’ve seenThe Godfather?”

I arched a brow. “Idohave a cock, you know. I like guy stuff too.”

He paused and considered until his expression grew hopeful. “Do you like… sports?”

Groaning, I threw my head back. “Okay, I have a cock, but if you make me watch football, it’ll shrink up inside me like a scared turtle.” I smirked. “That might be funny, though. Maybe even worth the risk. Are any teams playing?”

I lunged across his lap to grab the remote perched on the sofa’s armrest.

Mercer laughed and yanked it out of reach as I sprawled across him. “No!” he insisted between chuckles. “No one’s playing!”

We scrapped for a minute, arms flailing and bodies colliding, both of us pretending like it mattered. It didn’t. What mattered was the way we fit together and the fact that I could make an ex-Marine laugh so hard he nearly rolled off the couch.

Mercer won the tussle, but he didn’t gloat. Instead, he folded me into him, and we ended up comfortably tangled. He went quiet, holding me, and then his palm found the curve of my waist and began to stroke along it in a slow, soothing way.

“Let’s finish the movie,” he murmured.

I stayed exactly where I was, huddled in the baggy fabric of his clothes. They smelled like detergent and softener. Store brand, I’d bet. Basic stuff. But I was starting to love basic stuff.

We watched the screen for a second, but the silence didn’t last. It never did with me. My mind was always hopping tracks.

“Speaking of playing,” I said brightly. “I’m planning a party.”

Mercer’s head turned. “Oh?”