Groomzilla (10 page)

“I actually do,” Owen deadpanned. Because weirdly enough, he did. “I’ll get it taken care of before the fitting Friday.”

Daniel sat up, elbows on the floor. “I’m going to pop a boner at that fitting, I hope you know.” He tried to look stern. “Maybe you could be less attractive by then?”

Owen got up slowly, tucking himself back into his pants as he went. “I’ll wear a sack and a bag over my face.” He extended his hand to Daniel, who reached up to grasp it.

“Not even that could hide how hot you are.” Daniel’s eyes twinkled.

“Then I guess I might have to blow you in the dressing room.”

A FEW
days later, Owen sat in the back of the limo, focused on the journey from Midtown to Hoboken to pick up Daniel. Naomi had begged off the trip, citing a tendency for carsickness, so it was just him and Victor for now.

They didn’t speak.

Victor scrolled through his phone, his shiny shoes tapping on the floor. He’d shown up late, having kept Owen and the driver waiting, wearing a pair of ironed jeans and a mostly unbuttoned shirt, a smirk on his lips.

Owen didn’t want to know.

“Rafe and Ander are meeting us up there,” he said, breaking the quiet of the car that had only the hum of the air conditioner between them. “Got a late start apparently.”

“All right. I’m sure Daniel and I can use the time wisely. Logistics and such,” Owen said, his voice casual.

“Syndie told me the makeover went well.”

“Yes.” Owen willed himself not to shift in the seat, gaze fixed on the passing brick row houses and the busy early-morning bustle of the bedroom community of hipsters. Runners with strollers, people with yoga mats. It looked like a pleasant place to live. He tried to imagine Daniel—in his proper suits and serious brain—jogging or strolling down to brunch.

“And you spoke to him about sticking to the background? Low profile and all that?”

Owen turned his head, bristling at Victor’s tone. “I gave him a wardrobe that highlighted his best features. I let Lucias at him with a pair of scissors. Frankly, Victor, with the upgrades, I think you’ll want him as front and center as possible.”

Victor’s gaze narrowed. “Interesting television is seldom about the short and bookish. Ander is our centerpiece—the man is one Cosmo and a broken nail away from a breakdown. He’s the focus. Do we remember the name of the show, Owen?”

Owen bit the inside of his mouth until a copper taste slicked his tongue.

He leaned forward when he felt his words would be calm and measured. “Much as I respect your vision as a producer, Victor, I’d kindly ask you keep your homophobic bullshit to yourself.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck if he’s gay. I don’t give a fuck that you’re gay. I care that my shows draw people in. They want to tune in to see what train wreck appears next.” He paused and then laughed out loud. “It’s reality fucking television—no one is tuning in for a positive representation of humanity.”

The truth was bitter to Owen, and he had nothing to counter with. Not a word of protest came to his lips. This was his life.

He sat back, looking out the window again, Victor’s laughter ringing in his ears.

They stopped outside a worn brownstone on one of the side streets. Daniel stood on the steps, a small leather overnight bag and his ever-present satchel at his feet. Owen recognized the khakis and pale blue polo as two pieces he’d sent over, the leather bomber jacket something he hadn’t picked out but making the outfit just the same.

“God, he looks eleven,” Victor huffed as Owen opened the door.

“Be nice or shut up.” Owen gave him a warning glance and got out.

Daniel spotted him, giving a wave before gathering his bags. He had an enormously large coffee and a paper bag clutched in one hand. His wry smile made Owen’s heartbeat quicken.

“Hey, good morning. Ready for some location scouting at a camp for rich people?” Daniel called as Owen hurried to relieve him of some of his burdens.

He grabbed the overnight bag, allowing Daniel to rejigger the way he was carrying everything else.

“You got that?” Owen chuckled as Daniel did a little flail.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t have time for breakfast, so, uh, I picked something up. Oh, I got enough for everyone.” Daniel looked up and his smile exploded. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Owen looked at his lips, and only the fact that Victor was most likely watching kept him from kissing Daniel like he wanted to.

“Ander and Rafe are meeting us up there” was all he could think to say.

“I heard. Ander alert: he’s pissed and he’s going to pick a victim to find endless fault with—two guesses who that will be.” He pointed at himself with the coffee cup. “And everyone else will be frozen out.”

“Thank you for that update.” Owen thought,
I could stand here forever talking to him
, and instead said, “We should get going. Victor’s waiting.”

Daniel made a face, sort of a sneer with a scrunched-up nose.

Owen wanted to kiss him ten times more. “It’ll be fine. He mentioned your outfit!”

As the limo pulled away from the curb, Victor announced he was exhausted from a long night—wink, wink—and would be taking a nap for the rest of the ride. Earphones on, he laid himself out on the rear-facing seat, using his overnight bag as a pillow, and closed his eyes.

“His loss. I have mini carrot muffins,” Daniel stage-whispered. He produced two napkins from the bag, coffee cup snug between his knees. “You can have his.”

“I ate already,” Owen lied, “but thank you.”

“Mini. Carrot. Muffins—maybe I didn’t sell them the right way. Organic bakery around the corner from my place, everything is made with actual love and possibly magic, I don’t know because it’s all so, so good. Your mouth wants this, believe me. I mean, my mouth is watering.” He produced a tiny orange-tinged muffin with little shavings of carrot on top and the faint smell of honey. When he licked his lips, Owen snickered.

“That’s okay, you can have mine.”

Daniel’s eyebrows danced.

“You can have my muffin. In your mouth.”

Daniel fake gasped, dabbing his forehead with the napkin.

“Your mouth is watering for it. My muffin, that is,” Owen deadpanned as Daniel reached down to adjust himself.

“How heavy a sleeper is Victor?” Daniel murmured.

They laughed quietly as the limo headed due north.

“SO TELL
me things about yourself,” Daniel said, laying his head back on the seat to look at Owen. “I mean, it’s only right since you know my orgasm face.”

He did a version of it that was part sexy and part adorable, which charmed Owen into relaxing his guard—though he kept an eye on Victor to make sure he was still sleeping.

“Uh, what do you want to know?”

“Lucias said you were a teen model, so true story, I googled your ass and oh, your ass was a lot of places!” Daniel touched his tongue to his top lip. “I think in one of the spreads you were selling… the ocean. I have no idea actually. But you were damned sexy on that rock.”

Owen’s cheeks heated. He stroked a finger over his moustache to give himself a second. “Cologne, actually. A men’s line in the Netherlands, I believe. I was sixteen? Seventeen?”

Daniel’s eyes went simultaneous dark and wide. “Sixteen?”

“Thereabouts.”

“You looked twenty-five, at least!”

“Of course. No adult wants to buy cologne and bodywash from a pimply teenager.” He winked.

“How long did you model?”

“About six years. I went to university for about a year when I was, uh, done, but it wasn’t my thing. So a friend—Naomi’s brother, actually—offered me a job on his documentary crew. We, uh, traveled all over Europe, the US, and South America for four years, making short films for BBC.” Owen had practiced that answer in his head so many times, he imagined the pauses and expression on his face as he told it. The film thing usually caught people’s interest, drawing them away from the part where he was “done.”

Daniel looked delighted, sipping from his giant coffee. “Wow,” he said, putting the cup back into his lap. “That’s quite a life you’ve had. And now you’re a television producer. Damn.”

“Victor was an old family friend. He was looking for a partner in a business, I had money to invest. The rest is history.” The casual recitation of the blurb on their website flowed off his tongue.

“Oh. Yeah, I was wondering.” He gestured to Victor and then back to Owen. “Does not entirely compute.”

“Family friend,” Owen repeated, because this was the part of the story that couldn’t be covered in a website blurb, not with Daniel’s steady gaze locked on him.

“Hmmm,” Daniel said.

THEY TALKED
movies and books and travel until Daniel nodded off. Owen rescued his coffee cup, tidied up the empty bag, and put everything in the small refuse holder in the side of the door. The burn of an empty stomach combined with the car ride had him reaching for the antacids in his pants pocket a second later.

No one knew why he was partners with Victor. There was the official story. Then the expanded-upon lie they told people like Naomi, because she would never have understood why two men who supposedly had family-like ties would spit and strike at each other whenever the masks dropped.

If this were a marriage, they’d have been divorced a long time ago.

The antacids worked well enough for Owen to steal a catnap. The sound of wheels on gravel jerked him awake as the limo pulled to a stop. He glanced out the window to see the expansive beauty of upstate New York and the very tony and very exclusive Westlake Estate.

From the driveway of the main building, he could see the lawn slope toward the picturesque lake and docks, where the ceremony would take place. A lush forest towered over neatly kept grounds and outer buildings; somewhere in all this beauty sat an enormous “barn” where events were held, as well as numerous cottages for the wedding party.

When he’d made arrangements with the owner, Lois, he might have requested her to put Daniel in the Bluebird, the tiny cabin far away from the rest.

“We’re here?” a sleepy voice asked. Beside him, Daniel stretched, his gaze falling warmly on Owen. “God, I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine; I fell asleep as well.” Owen’s hand moved before his brain registered whether it was appropriate. He ran his hand down Daniel’s arm, lingering as he wrapped his fingers loosely around his wrist. The sleepy smile Daniel rewarded him with lulled Owen into a false sense of security.

If he just leaned forward….

A clearing of a throat and Owen’s attention snapped back to reality.

“Gentlemen,” Victor said smarmily. “Shall we?”

LOIS, A
trim woman in her fifties, met them on the driveway. Wearing duck boots, brown wool pants, and a heavy fisherman’s sweater, she welcomed them with hearty handshakes and introductions.

“The grooms aren’t here yet,” Lois said, sliding her hands into her pockets. “Would you like to wait for them? I can show you to your cabins.”

“That would be lovely,” Victor charmed, already “on” in the presence of the woman. “Maybe a bit of a tour of the grounds—I’m fascinated by what you’ve done with the place. This is your childhood home, yes?”

Lois’s ruddy complexion pinked up even more. “Yes! I spent summers here as a child.” Owen could see her ramping up to speak about a subject dear to her. “I can show you the original outbuildings. They’re on the way to the cabin I reserved for you.”

Victor offered his arm, a twinkle in his eye. “That sounds lovely.”

Owen kicked a bit of gravel to get her attention.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. Green, you’re in Bluebird, which is….” She used her free hand to point at a tiny path snaking between some trees. “Through there. And Mr. Grainger, you’re in Sleepy Pines Seven, which is about twenty yards from the Bluebird.”

“Thank you,” Owen said graciously. He picked up his backpack and messenger bag, which had been resting at his feet. “Shall we meet back here in, say, thirty minutes?”

“Make it an hour,” Victor interjected. He squeezed Lois’s arm. “Give everyone time to settle in.” The smug look on his face turned Owen’s stomach.

“Perfect.”

“Sorry. Can I get some caffeine out here? I don’t want to be gauche and ask for a soda machine, but…,” Daniel piped up.

“Your cabin has a fully stocked fridge. Mr. Grainger gave me a list.” Lois seemed eager to get rid of them, and Owen didn’t want to disappoint her.

“Wow, thanks.” Daniel half said it to Lois and half to Owen. He hoisted his satchel over his shoulder. “Let’s go walk up a hill!”

Lois led Victor toward the lake, in the opposite direction. Owen and Daniel headed for the Bluebird. Owen cast a few glances over his shoulder before he was sure Victor was out of sight. Then he reached for Daniel’s hand.

“Soda in my fridge, my own little cabin, hand-holding?” Daniel wove their fingers together. “I feel like I’m being seduced by an eighth-grader at summer camp.”

“What the hell kind of camp did you go to?” Owen laughed and pulled Daniel around a grove of young trees and a flower bush.

“Honey, I went to an all-boys boarding school for eight years.” Daniel’s voice dropped to a husky purr. “What do you think went on?”

“I was a teenage male model—I’m fairly certain you have no stories that might shock me,” he teased.

“Damn.”

The Bluebird sat over the last little rise, a tiny cottage that looked like a fairy-tale abode hit with a ray gun. Owen had fallen in love with the picture on the website: one room, huge brick fireplace, a king-size bed, and big windows. And far away from the other cabins.

“Oh my God, that’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Daniel laughed, squeezing Owen’s hand. “It looks like it fell off a charm bracelet.”

The door was open, so they stepped in, the smell of wood polish and fresh flowers hitting them like a pleasant invitation. The curtains were back, the windows flooding the room in sunlight, and a blue-and-red floral quilt covered the huge bed. Welcoming and perfect and….

Daniel grabbed Owen by the shirt, then pulled him inside, slamming the door behind them with his foot.