Chapter 24
“I’M THE fifth wheel now,” Nyssa complained, having to yell slightly to be heard above the music as we sat in the back room at the Napier. “I liked Simon better when he was desperate and dateless.”
I threw a beer coaster at her, and she screamed as it hit her in the forehead. “For your information,” I told her, “I was never desperate and dateless. You have to actually want a date in order to be desperate and dateless.”
“You wanted it,” Fran accused me. “You just didn’t know it then.”
“Bullshit,” I countered brilliantly.
“She’s right,” Roger said maddeningly.
“Of course you’d agree with her.”
“I have to. She wrote it into our vows.” He received a punch in the arm from his gracious wife for that one. “Ow. Anyway, we can tell you wanted it because of how quickly you’ve settled into coupled bliss.”
“I’m not sunk in coupled bliss,” I lied.
The three of them cackled and jeered in an unintelligible cacophony.
“What are you, then?” Nyssa asked.
“I am now… quite content.” I grinned.
Roger made heaving noises.
The beer coaster I had thrown at Nyssa now boomeranged off the end of my nose, and I rubbed it with an injured air. While the others continued to laugh at me, I swung slightly in my chair to see where Declan had gotten to. As I suspected, he was holed up at the bar with fans surrounding him. He had his polite public face on even though he was trying to juggle five drinks and a large packet of barbecue chips.
“Do you think he needs a hand?” Fran asked, looking too comfortable to get up.
I lazily waved my hand. “Nah, he’s with his adoring public. We’d only cramp his style.”
It was something I had to get used to; being the invisible half of a semipublic couple. I know, play the violins, right? It wasn’t like I cared; I didn’t want any publicity myself, but I didn’t enjoy being shoved unceremoniously aside whenever some unknown person would target Declan and fawn over him until they got his autograph or made some comment about his career he’d heard a thousand times before. In a way, it was gratifying that Declan was having his fears assuaged that the public were generally accepting of him. I was just glad he tended to keep off the Internet; I was learning to stay away from certain forums myself.
“Sorry about that,” Declan said, sliding back into his seat. The beers sloshed slightly onto the table and soaked the packet of chips. Fran picked it up distastefully before wiping the wrapper down and opening them up for everyone.
“The beer’s probably warm by now, mate,” Roger chided him.
“Stick it outside for three minutes, it’ll be fine,” Declan shot back.
“I’ll take it whatever way it comes,” I said, reaching for my pot.
“Isn’t that what they’re saying about you in the press?” Roger asked innocently.
We all stared at him, and he took a nervous gulp of his beer.
Declan shook his head and grinned at me.
Things were pretty good at the moment. Even though Nyssa and I were working full steam at the moment, and we had to fit our family and friends into our schedule in short bursts, thankfully I now had Declan to hand me a coffee in the mornings and feed Maggie when I didn’t get home in time. Unfortunately it also meant I had very little time for him either. But hopefully it would get back on track within a couple of weeks as the festival was starting tomorrow night and previous experience had taught me it would pass all too quickly after the buildup.
“Have you heard from your parents yet?” Fran asked.
“You know my parents have never believed in the concept of RSVP,” I reminded her.
I had sent Mum and Dad an invitation to the opening night. I called during the week and found out that Dad was apparently upset with the way I had “stormed off” from the party and how I had apparently slighted him as well. I had tried to explain to her how I had been upset myself and gave her the details of our conversation. Mum wasn’t that sympathetic.
“He asked you a question,” she said.
“It was a dumb question.”
“How are people meant to know things if they never ask?”
She had me there. But she wouldn’t have understood if I had tried to tell her that after a lifetime of getting snide accusations posed as innocent questions, sometimes it was hard to tell when somebody meant it in good faith (although perhaps worded badly).
Maybe I should have told her that, after all how are people meant to know? But I was tired and not ready for a deep and meaningful conversation when I was currently surviving on four hours of sleep a night. And not for a nice, fun reason like being distracted by Dec.
So I sent them the invite instead, hoping that it would show them there were no hard feelings and they would take it in the good faith it was intended. And like I told Roger, my parents never responded to RSVPs.
“You could just call them,” Fran said.
Declan held his hands up in the recognised international symbol for Why yes, that would be the most obvious thing to do, but that’s not the way my dickhead boyfriend does things. Fran caught it and smiled.
“Ball’s in their court,” I said shortly.
“‘Ball’s in their court,’” Roger mimicked. “Where have I heard that before?”
I ignored him by munching on a chip.
“Poor baby,” Declan said sweetly, “are we all ganging up on you?”
“Fuck off,” I told him.
“Mr. Congeniality strikes back.” Nyssa giggled. “Speaking of which, boss, isn’t it time for us to get back to work?”
Unfortunately, it was.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your boy,” Fran told me.
“He can take care of himself,” I said. Out of force of habit, I found myself leaning in for a kiss, and then I remembered where I was and pulled away. Declan grabbed me by the zipper of my jacket and pulled me back in for a peck on my lips.
“Idiot,” he whispered.
Nobody had seemed to notice; our usual corner was kind of darkish. I shook my head slightly and said, “Call you when I’m on my way home.”
Roger and Fran watched me sombrely as they said their good-byes in unison like the creepy kids from The Shining. It freaked me out how couples did that, and I hoped Dec and I would never do the same.
Nyssa and I unwillingly left the warmth of the pub and walked out onto Napier Street, heading for my car. I had fallen into the habit of driving to work ever since the media barrage had started, and even though that had now fallen off, my reliance upon the car and sheer laziness had won out. Plus, I just didn’t feel as anonymous on public transport that I used to.
“What was all that about?” Nyssa asked, pulling her gloves on as we walked through the brisk night air.
“What?”
“You know what.” Nyssa stuck her gloved hands into her pockets; it was that cold.
“It’s nothing.”
“I’ve never known you to be so funny about being out in public with someone before.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve never gone out with someone who came with their own press officer before either.”
“Well, Declan seemed pretty okay about it.”
It was getting quieter the further we got away from the pub, and I dropped my tone accordingly. “Declan doesn’t quite get the enormity of it. It’s just too new for him.”
“What’s too new? Stop being so vague.”
“Being out. It’s different for him than it is for the rest of us.”
We had reached my car; Nyssa walked over to the passenger side and draped her arms over the roof while she waited for me to open the doors. “What, he got some special pass?”
“Kind of.” I settled into my seat, put the keys in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. “He’s a celebrity, Nyss. People treat him differently. They’re in awe of him. He might get some lighthearted ribbing but he doesn’t get the other shit.”
“Didn’t he turn up at the office with the effects of some lighthearted ribbing on his face?” Nyssa pointed out.
She had me on that one. It was too hard to explain to those who didn’t have to live it.
“It seems to me Declan’s handling it well, and you’re the one who’s acting like you want to lock yourself back in the closet.”
I turned the ignition and threw the car into gear. “Shut up with your perception and your insightful judgements. We have a festival to run.”
I TRIED not to wake Declan as I crawled into bed in the early hours of the morning. He stirred anyway and groaned as he rolled over to turn on the banker’s lamp.
“Go back to sleep,” I told him.
“Why didn’t you want to kiss me?” he asked.
Direct and to the point. “Dec, I’m exhausted.”
“Is that your reason?”
“I’ll kiss you now, if you want.”
He closed his eyes, and I hoped he would fall asleep again. But his eyes sprang open, now clear and piercingly alert. “Don’t try the cute act, even though you do it so well.”
“I’m cute?” I turned on the bashful smile for him.
“I said can it,” he growled.
“Fine.” It was a tiring act, anyway.
“So what was it all about then?”
He remained propped up against his pillows while I lay beside him. “You just have to be more careful, that’s all. You’re still… adjusting. There are rules to public conduct.”
“Oh.” Declan clicked his fingers sarcastically. “I didn’t know, because I wasn’t given the queer handbook when I came out. Is there a number I can call to get one sent to me?”
“It’s like cats and hunting. It’s intuitive.”
“So you’re saying I’m a lousy cat?”
I tried not to smile on this woeful analogy I had started. “Yeah, you’re missing some kind of generational chromosome.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Simon, it’s like I have an invisible sign over my head announcing my sexuality to everybody. I don’t feel like I have to hide it anymore. Why the fuck can’t I kiss my boyfriend good-bye, like any other guy would with his girlfriend?”
“Because it’s not safe! You have to choose your moments.”
“You didn’t feel safe in the Napier?”
I sighed. “Not when I’m walking out into the dark street immediately afterward with only Nyssa to protect me. You know, Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle may be one of her favourite movies, but I really don’t think she can fight like Drew Barrymore if it came down to it.”
“That may be the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“No, the gayest thing you’ve probably heard me say is ooh Declan yes yes.”
Declan tried not to laugh. “Stop the cute act!”
I gave him my cutest smile. “But it comes so naturally.”
He traced his hand down my side, stopping at the hem of my boxers. “Okay, I get it. There’s a time and a place.”
“I hate thinking this way, you know.”
Concern crossed his eyes. “Have you ever been…?”
“No. But you always know someone who did. It happens. Jesus, Dec, it’s already happened to you. I guess it scares me more than I like to think it does.”
He kissed me. “Hey, it was different with me.”
“Yeah, it was someone you knew.”
“I don’t think it was so much to do with me being gay, though. It was more to do with him thinking I had betrayed Jess.”
“Doesn’t matter. You don’t think I worry about when you first go back on the field next year?”
“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re forgetting I’ll have eighteen other guys to back me up if anything happens.”
“I guess that’s something.”
“You know, I could always call them in to walk you to your car next time I’m stupid enough to kiss you in a crowded pub.”
“Goodnight, Declan,” I said grumpily.
But I think I fell asleep with a smile on my face anyway.
“ABE and Lisa are meeting us there, right?”
“Yep. They’re catching a taxi in. Same with Roger and Fran.”
I walked into the bedroom, fresh from brushing my teeth. Declan was looking resplendent in a deep red shirt and black pants.
“Do I look respectable enough as the partner of the festival director?” Declan asked.
“All that and a bag of chips,” I said approvingly. “That red will show up well on the cameras. Especially Alice Provotna’s.”
“Shit, should I change?”
“Nope.”
“I see you’re wearing your usual uniform,” he said dryly.
I was all in black, although I was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt over my shirt.
“There’s a colour on the back,” I told him.
Declan peered around me and shook his head at the print of Patty Hearst. “You making some kind of statement?”
“Yes. Chicks with guns are hot.”
“Nice.”
“But not as hot as you.”
“Don’t get frisky. You can’t be late.”
“Fucking spoilsport.” I whacked him on the chest, and he rubbed at it with an injured air. “You know you don’t have to come so early, you’re going to be bored shitless by all the last minute stuff Nyssa and I have to do.”
“What kind of supportive partner would I be if I didn’t arrive with you?” he asked mockingly. “Besides, you threatened me.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “Come on, then.”
The taxi driver was thrilled to have Declan Tyler™ in his cab, so he talked with him the whole way into the city, and I sat staring out the window letting the talk of statistics and injuries turn into a background drone.
“He seemed nice,” Declan said as we jumped out near Flinders Street Station. “He also said he didn’t care if I was ‘one of those homosexuals’.”
“He did?” I asked.
“I knew you weren’t paying attention, because you didn’t jump in all offended.”
“I must have been distracted by the cheesestick.”
Declan snorted.
“What did you say?”
“I thanked him?”
“What?”
“What else was I going to say?”
“‘I hope you’re not expecting a tip.’”
Declan grabbed me by the arm as I was about to step in front of a tram.
“I could have made it.”
“Dickhead, I couldn’t have made that, and I’m a professional athlete.”
We bickered good-naturedly to the steps in front of Federation Square, where the Australian Centre for the Moving Image had graciously allowed us to hold our opening night in one of their underground galleries. Nyssa was waiting for us, sitting on the stairs that led to the lobby. “I could hear you two from a mile away.”
“Simon’s nervous,” Declan told her.
“He always is on opening nights.”
“No, I’m not,” I protested.
“He’s grumpy—” Declan continued, and then he grinned. “Grumpier. That’s how you can tell.”
“Has the wine arrived?” I asked Nyssa.
“You’re going to start already?” she asked.
“I’m doing a checklist,” I protested. “Although I think we should all take a glass now just to settle in.”
Declan snorted again.
“The caterers?” I asked Nyssa, ignoring him.
“Setting up.”
“Projectionist?”
“On his way.”
“I am here also.”
At this stern, new voice we all turned around to see Alice Provotna standing behind us, her camera bag hanging over her shoulder and her mouth set in a dour line as imposing as the clichéd beret upon her head.
“Hey, Alice,” I said.
“Declan,” she said, giving me the frostiest of nods before focusing upon the true object of her attention. “You will have time later on for a one-on-one interview?”
Nyssa and I quickly looked away so we wouldn’t burst into laughter.
“Uh, sure,” Declan said. He turned to me. “Did you say something about wine?”
LISA grabbed me in a bear hug and at the same time Abe knocked fists with me in what was a great show of multitasking.
“Are we too early?” Lisa asked.
“No,” I said as the light mounted on Alice’s camera hit me in the face. Lisa and Abe regarded the woman invading our personal space with polite curiosity.
“We’re not going to end up in some dodgy behind-the-scenes thing, are we?” Abe asked.
“Are you insulting my work?” Alice asked, her voice rising into the semihysterical tone self-proclaimed geniuses take when they feel their art is being questioned.
“No, no, not at all,” Abe replied hurriedly.
“Good,” she said, and stalked off.
“Wow, she’s… interesting,” Abe murmured, looking somewhat stamped-upon.
“Abe,” said a young man, approaching him. “Frank Jason, The Age. Can I get a photo of you with Declan?”
Abe nodded, and they disappeared further into the crowd.
Still hanging off me, Lisa gave a short laugh. “Welcome to the life of the football player’s ignored girlfr… partner.”
Her short slip of the tongue made us both laugh.
“Sorry,” Lisa said.
“Not at all,” I replied. “So this is pretty much what it’s like, huh?”
“Oh, they’ll probably grab us at some point to make sure they get a photo of us together. I’m surprised they haven’t made you and Declan pose yet, you’re pretty much the media darlings of the moment.”
“Against our wills.”
Lisa nodded. “Yeah, but you’re always going to have a certain cachet.”
“You mean the freak factor.”
She whacked me across the head.
“Ow!”
“You deserved that,” she chided me.
We became aware of Alice’s presence again.
“You didn’t get that on film?” I asked, with a sinking feeling.
“Of course,” Alice replied tersely.
I groaned, thinking how my family would probably love to rewind again and again a scene of me being hit across the head. “Of course you did.”
Satisfied, Alice melted away again.
“Seriously, she’s like Nosferatu.” I shuddered.
Lisa laughed, and I was happy to see Roger push his way through the crowd. I hugged him happily, and he asked if I was drunk already.
“Only with happiness.”
“Then you should be fine that Fran’s behind me with your parents.”
“They came?” I asked.
Roger nodded. “Oh, shit, you’re not going to cry, are you?”
Dry-eyed, I whacked him. “Are you drunk? Although I am slightly touched.”
“You’re telling me,” Lisa and Roger muttered in unison. They laughed at their own wit, and I left them to it.
Fran was still struggling through the densely packed auditorium, hanging onto a glass of wine for dear life. She protested as I took it off her and had a healthy swig, but I needed it to fortify myself.
“Mum, Dad, you came.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Mum asked.
“Well, I didn’t know, because you didn’t RSVP,” I reminded her.
She leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. “Nobody does in this day and age, dear.”
“Funny, everybody else here did,” I murmured as I offered Dad my hand to shake.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Big crowd,” Dad said approvingly.
“Yeah,” was my stunningly brilliant reply. “Well, it’s bigger than last year’s at least. That’s always a good thing.”
“Let’s go and get a drink, honey,” Mum told Dad, and they headed off in search of the free bar.
“Are you still starting with that doco on the cannibal who became a famous painter?” Fran asked.
“Dinner with Frankie? Yeah, why?”
“I’m just making sure to get seats near your parents so I can see their reaction.”
“Take pictures, just in case I miss it.”
We went in search of our various partners. And, of course, more alcohol.
DECLAN and I had to suffer through what seemed like a thousand photographs being taken of us and Nyssa and I stammered through the opening-night speeches we had to make before the crowd finally shuffled into the theatre to begin watching the premiere screenings. Thankful the intros between the short films would be handled by the guest speakers, Nyssa and I decided to go back out into the lobby and toast to our success. We were soon joined by our friends, and we found a dark corner to hide in, although the ever-present Bluetooth earpieces Nyssa and I wore made their presences known whenever one of the assistants called with an emergency.
“One night down,” I announced grandly. “Twelve more to go!”
We clinked our glasses together and then owlishly blinked in confusion as we realised one of the newspaper photographers had ambushed us.
“That reminds me,” Declan muttered as I tried to regain a sense of my surroundings. “Your little friend cornered me earlier. I just didn’t get to tell you before.”
“Who?”
“Jasper Brunswick.”
“That bastard!” I hissed. “I didn’t see him, I just thought I was lucky and he hadn’t oozed in.”
“No, he’s here. He cornered Abe and me and wanted to get a quote from me.”
“That guy?” Abe asked. “Oh, yeah, he was great.”
“You didn’t say anything, did you?” I asked Declan.
“Not a word.”
“You’re so clever,” I gushed.
“And if you drink anymore, I’m going to have to carry you to the cab.”
“You’ll do that?”
“Fuck, no! Switch to Coke!”
I began to protest, and Abe regaled us with a story of how Declan had to carry him from Crown Casino to the St Kilda tram line in order to get him back to Lisa’s house after a lost game last season.
My Bluetooth squawked in my ear. “Simon?”
I fumbled with the piece to answer it. “Yeah, Bron?”
“We’re into the last ten minutes, so intermission’s coming up.”
I thanked her and alerted the catering staff to start pouring drinks. The crowd surged out of the theatre, and we were drowned in the white noise of their hubbub. Mum and Dad approached me, and I could tell from their expressions that they had had enough of avant-garde cinema for the year.
“Your dad’s tired, love,” Mum lied sweetly. “We’re going to call it a night. We’re old, you know.”
“Thanks for coming,” I told them, and I actually was thankful. Mum gave me a quick kiss, and I shook Dad’s hand; I turned to watch them leave and saw Declan grab them by the door. They conversed comfortably together; in fact, Declan looked more like their son than I did through the ease he showed with them. Declan laughed, shook my father’s hand, and caught sight of me.
“You’re such a good son-in-law,” I said as he joined me.
“I have to make up for you,” he lobbed back.
We turned to head back to the table our crowd had adopted and ran straight into Jasper Brunswick. There was no escape, although I looked all around for one.
“We have to stop bumping into each other, Declan,” Jasper purred.
“Oh, you have to be shitting me,” I said.
Jasper acknowledged my presence by rolling his eyes. “Simon.”
I felt Declan take my elbow, a warning to keep myself in check.
“Enjoying the films, Jasper?” Declan asked politely.
“It seems that the quality diminishes each year,” Jasper replied. “No wonder you’re becoming more desperate for sponsorship, Simon.”
Declan’s grip on my elbow increased, and I made some noncommittal noise as I grabbed another glass of wine off the passing plate of a waiter.
“I know you two feel that you have reason to blame me for some of the press you got,” Jasper continued. “Especially you, Simon. I haven’t forgotten how rude you were to me on the phone, but luckily I never hold a grudge.”
I wondered why, with the strength of his fingers, Declan didn’t accidentally crush the footballs whenever he caught one on the field. I was going to have bruises in the morning.
Jasper decided to appeal directly to Declan as I was being unrelenting. “I had nothing to do with your outing. I don’t out people. Do you know how long I knew about you before I wrote about it?”
Declan’s mouth was firmly set, and he remained silent.
“I seem to remember you saying that he’s fair game now, though,” I couldn’t resist reminding him.
“All I want is an interview,” Jasper admitted.
“I’ve already done interviews,” Declan said firmly. “There’s such a thing as overexposure.”
“You’re nowhere near overexposure,” Jasper reassured him, and I tried to analyse his last sentence for any possible intended dirtiness.
“Precisely because I’m not doing interviews at the moment.” Declan nodded.
“You two owe me.”
“We owe you nothing,” I said.
“You don’t want the local gay press to get negative, do you?”
“Is that a threat?” I asked.
Jasper laughed. “So the footballer has the brains out of the two of you? Yes, Simon, it’s a threat.”
“Okay, Jon, that’s it,” I spat. “Outside!”
At the sound of his real name, Jasper grimaced. “Yeah, right, like I’m going to fight you.”
I didn’t really want to fight either. Mainly because the both of us would have looked absurd.
“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” Declan said, starting to pull me away before I could do any more damage.
“No, you won’t! He just insulted you!” I argued as he pushed me into a booth and slid in beside me so I couldn’t escape.
“Actually, he insulted you,” Declan reminded me.
“You can’t do an interview with him!”
“Maybe he’s right. Local press would be happy, and it would keep them on side. We need their support.”
“I think we’re doing pretty well.”
Declan sighed. “Yeah, at the moment. We need to think long-term.”
“This isn’t a football season. You can’t think that far ahead.”
“We should.” He shrugged.
I started ripping a coaster apart and piled the pieces in the ashtray before me. “I don’t like him thinking he’s won.”
“Jesus, Simon, stop acting like a brat. It’s not about winning.”
I glared at him. “You just called me a brat.”
“Yeah. Because you’re acting like one.”
I couldn’t say anything else, because I thought I would explode and say something far worse. Despite being flushed with alcohol, I was still somewhat sensible.
Declan reached for my hand. “Sulking isn’t going to make you look like less of a brat.”
I pulled my hand out of his. He sighed.
“You know what?” I asked.
“What?”
“There are two of us in this relationship. That means I also get a say in decisions that affect us. At the moment you’re taking it upon yourself to make them all.”
His tone was measured. “Because you’re so goddamned pigheaded sometimes. Jasper Brunswick may be a tool, and I like him about as little as you do, but there are pros and cons to everything.”
I went back to the silent method of avoiding a fight.
This pissed Declan off more. “Okay, I’m going to get a beer.”
I nodded.
Declan sat for a few more moments, the silence between us thick and uncomfortable. He then got up without a word and headed to the bar. The bell sounded for intermission, and people started heading back into the theatre. Declan, with a beer in his hand, turned to look at me, but I remained seated. I saw his shoulders sag slightly, and he followed everybody else.
I patched through to an assistant. “Bron? They’re all in now. You can start the second program.”
The lobby was deserted, and now I felt weird and alone it had all the atmosphere of the hotel in The Shining. I seemed to be comparing my life to that movie a lot lately.
But for the moment I still couldn’t move.
I’M NOT sure how long exactly I sat there, but I eventually got myself together enough for an idea to form. I headed over to the ticket box. A collection of postcards of Australian films were for sale on the counter, and although there was nobody around to take my money, I selected a card and left the two dollars next to the locked till.
It was a picture of international hit Babe, with the titular pig standing in the farmyard and its annoying but somewhat-charming refrain of la la la coming out of its mouth. On the back I scrawled, I know I can be a stubborn pig, but hopefully I’m as cute as this one, and like him, worth keeping around. Keep this to remind yourself of that.
Smiling at my own self-perceived cuteness, I flagged down a waitress and asked her if she could take it in to Declan. He would be easy to find; I had assigned him a seat in the handicapped row so he could stretch out his impossibly long legs.
She grinned at the picture on the card, but promised not to read it. I headed back to the booth, a sudden wave of fatigue overcoming me. The premiere and the final nights were always the worst, but the good thing was knowing it would all be over in two weeks.
I rested my head against the plush lining of the booth and closed my eyes. I could hear the muted sounds of cinema coming from the theatre doors as they opened and reduce as they closed again.
“Should I pull up a trough for you?” a voice asked.
I opened my eyes again and smiled up at Declan. “I’m sorry.”
He slid in beside me. “Yeah, me too.”
“Oink,” I murmured.
He laughed. “Have I been a control freak lately?”
“Not a control freak, no.”
“But something like it?”
“Hey, you know what? Let’s not bring it up. Let’s just be perfect together from now on and the envy of all our friends.”
“Sounds good.” He dug into his pocket and brought out the postcard. “I’m going to laminate this though, so that it lasts throughout eternity.”
I tried to snatch it away from him, but of course, he was too quick. I relented. “That card’s going to come back to haunt me.”
“I hope so.” Declan laughed and pinned me up against the wall of the booth. “Oh wait,” he said evilly, “Is this a safe place for me to kiss you?”
“We’re at an avant-garde film festival,” I reminded him. “The only safer place would be Oxford Street during Mardi Gras.”
He laughed, and his eyes were electric despite the muted atmosphere of the booth. I wrapped my arms around him and crushed him against me as we kissed.
The booth flooded with light as we heard a camera flash sound. Bewildered, we turned to see Jasper Brunswick standing over us.
“Thanks for the exclusive!” he crowed, and he ran off before we could disentangle ourselves from each other.
“That shit,” I breathed.
Declan butted his head against my shoulder. “I guess that solves that problem.”
I wanted to be angry, but amusement hit me instead. How could I be mad when my arms were full with Declan, and I was where I wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world?
“So this is what our life is,” I mused.
“Pretty good, huh?” Declan asked.
I really couldn’t disagree.