“I think it’ll be glorious,” Prince says, his indignation falling away to that dreamy look Bobby finds both endearing and annoying. “’S like living with your best friend for the rest of time, isn’t it? What could be better?”
Neither Bobby nor Demeroven seems to have a good response. Prince begins to wax poetic about Miss Langston’s various attributes as they turn down the long avenue that willeventually arrive at Prince’s townhouse. Bobby can’t bring himself to look at Demeroven.
He hasn’t hated tonight. Taking care of the group together has almost been... fun, in its way. And Demeroven makes a good teammate. Are he and Demeroven friends? Would they really have enough of a foundation to build something more? And does that matter, really, if Demeroven’s unwilling to even consider it?
Chapter Fourteen
James
Prince eventually trails off, falling into a light doze across from them. James looks to Mason, to share in the humor that is Prince mumbling while he sleeps, but finds Mason dozing too. Which leaves James alone in the very loud silence of the coach, with nothing but his feelings.
And that certainly won’t do, given that this whole night has turned his staunch decision on its head. Instead of spending the evening squabbling or trying to one-up each other, they’ve simply... worked together in a détente that’s frighteningly comfortable. Mason’s calm, easy attitude all night has put him off-kilter. He hasn’t pushed, hasn’t prodded, hasn’t tried to entice James into anything.
Instead, Mason—irresponsible, reckless Mason—has spent the whole evening making sure everyone had food and water. Making sure Prince was always having a good time. Cajoling Cunningham (quite a feat in itself) into changing pubs the moment the groom-to-be was less than amused.
He cares about his friends. He cares about his family. And he’s quite responsible when it suits him. Which makes the narrative James has been clinging to, one of immorality and danger and disregard, feel all the flimsier. This person he’s concocted in his head, so brash and prideful and confident—maybe he’s not real. Maybe he never has been.
Perhaps James is the brash one. Perhaps Mason is as lonely as James himself feels, and that’s what’s driven him into trysts and casual flings. Perhaps it’s not ego, but a want for intimacy.
Which is exactly what he asked of James at Ascot. A formal, steady, understanding arrangement, which would include the intimacy, of course, but would probably also include a lot of... this. Working as a team. Sitting together and sharing jokes. Camaraderie. Safe and secure.
And why wouldn’t Mason feel comfortable asking for that, with a group of friends like Prince and Cunningham around him? Mason fits in with these boisterous, unguarded men. They’re all making their own arrangements, going after their own happiness, in whatever way they can.
But no matter how entertaining they’ve been, or how eagerly they brought him along for this celebration, James knowshedoesn’t truly fit in here, not really. He’s not, he can’t be, like them—like Mason. Hell, he can’t even get his shoulders to fully come down now that they’re safely in a coach. He’s spent the whole night watching the corners, peering down alleys. He can’t help but worry someone is there, just beyond sight, watching, listening. Someone out to ruin them all. He’d give more than Prince’s father paid for the whole night to feel as relaxed as Mason seemed tonight.
“Do you think it would be like that?”
James startles, looking over at Mason. “What?”
“Like being married to your best friend?”
James knots his fingers together in his lap. He wishes he knew what todowith all this newfound perspective, other than sit there anxiously as Mason shifts in his seat, his hair falling into his eyes so prettily.
James can’t imagine marriage to be anything less than a painful lie—an extension of the life he’s already living, hiding allthe various parts of who he is, but from someone with whom he’s supposed to share a bed.
Physical intimacy aside, he’s not sure he’s actually had a best friend before. Reginald’s been like an uncle to him, but it’s never been—it’s not what Prince is talking about, he doesn’t think. He wouldn’t know what to do, how to be one. He’s terrible at most things that have to do with other people, after all.
“I don’t think I could find someone who would fully understand me, and accept me, without hurting them in the process,” he says.
At Mason’s surprised look, James realizes he’s already said too much. He fights the urge to shrink back against the seat and simply lets the discomfort sit.
“Don’t think much of yourself, do you?” Mason asks archly.
James blinks back at him, feeling a bit too raw to come at that head-on. “What, and you do? Sleeping with Raverson?”
That was uncalled for, even for him. But Mason just shrugs, which is infuriating.
“I don’t define my self-worth by who I take to bed,” Mason says.
James feels his eyebrows go up. He doesn’t believe that. Mason’s intelligent; surely he understands that paramours reflect on each other, well or poorly. Mason tips his head back to stare up at the ceiling, avoiding James’ eyes.
“All right, fine, maybe we’re both worthless, then.”
James squirms in his seat. Nothing about Mason fits tonight, and it makes James uncomfortable. He doesn’t like to be wrong about things, let alone to be thiscompletelywrong about someone.
“And you?” James asks, going straight to deflection. “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
“I don’t know,” Mason says slowly, peeling his gaze from theceiling to look over at Prince. “I certainly don’t think I’d be as excited as Prince is, at any rate.”
