Gray pulled his lips away, and in the moonlight, Jameson saw tears in the corners of his eyes. “And I just want you to know,” he continued, “I’m not going to run any more jobs, either. I’m done playing hotshot and taking stupid risks.” His voice finally cracked, and when Jameson realized that Gray was crying, he started crying, too. “I might not be good enough for you, Jameson, but I love you. And I swear to god, I’m going to earn your love, too.”
Jameson’s heart pounded with pleasure, and he lost his words for a moment. They started kissing and stumbling slowly toward the water. Jameson wanted to put his hands on every part of Gray’s body, to lick and taste every inch of his boyfriend’s skin. He wanted to show him that he was there, that he was staying.
“You are good enough for me, Gray. You’re perfect for me. And it’s not just up to you to take care of me. We’re going to take care of each other, okay?” He started kissing Gray on his cheeks, trying to kiss away his tears. “I love you so much, Gray. And I love your family, too. I would never want to keep you away from them.” Saying the words felt like casting a spell or like naming something that had always been there. “I love you, Gray.”
Gray pressed his mouth close to Jameson’s. “I love you,” he breathed back, his voice steadying again. “And I don’t just want to come back to visit my family alone,” he said. “I want you to be with me. Always.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Jameson said. He pulled his lips back, wiped his tears, and took in a deep breath. Whatever wall had risen up between the two of them at the gas station finally crumbled. They loved each other, and nothing was stronger than that.
Then, as Jameson watched, Gray hopped on one foot, then started tugging his socks off.
“Gray, what are you doing? That water must be freezing.”
“It’s not like I’m going swimming,” he said, then laughed and shook his head quickly, shaking away the last tears. “But you can’t come to the beach without stepping in the ocean. Now come on, kick off your shoes and roll up your sweatpants. I got some towels in the bag so you can dry off after.”
Jameson looked down and resigned himself to having very cold feet. “Does this all mean that a boat is actually on the table? Because six months of sailing sounds just about perfect.”
“Let’s see how your press conference goes first. And I’m not going to lie—it wouldn’t hurt if I worked a couple quick gigs for my uncle and put a little change in my pocket.”
The sand was cold and soft under Jameson’s feet, and he wiggled and stretched his toes before taking Gray’s hand again and stepping forward. “Gray, you mentioned that before. Do you understand how much money I have? I’m not saying you should go on vacation for the rest of your life, but you definitely don’t need to save up.”
They stopped at the edge of the water, the rushing sound of the waves loud in the night air. “That’s really generous,” Gray said. “And thank you. But I don’t want to assume anything, you know? We just started calling ourselves boyfriends the other night, and we haven’t even really talked about what that means.”
A big wave came forward and splashed ice-cold water at their feet. Gray and Jameson both jumped, and the chill shot up Jameson’s leg. Before he could even stop hopping back and forth, Gray grabbed him by the side, then pulled them each a few steps forward, splashing into the cold.
“Oh my fucking god!” Jameson yelped. The water was like little knives pricking his feet, and without thinking, he jumped in the air, throwing himself around Gray’s shoulders and midsection.
“Ohhhhh fuck!” Gray grunted. He wobbled back and forth, splashing in the shallow water as he tried to steady Jameson. They wavered to one side, then stumbled to the other, and Jameson screamed a hysterical laugh while the water splashed his butt.
With two firm stomps, Gray finally steadied himself. Jameson was curled up in his arms, and with one leg dangling awkwardly to the side, his foot traced the cold water.
Jameson gazed up. The night sky was behind Gray, and his eyes looked bright and alive as he smiled down.
“I love you,” Jameson said.
“I’m in love with you, beautiful.”
They started to kiss, and Jameson whimpered into the scratchy heat of Gray’s beard. When he bit down on Gray’s lip, Gray released his legs, and Jameson splashed into the water with another laugh. His feet instantly ached from the cold, but he kept kissing Gray, hungry for his satisfaction while he wiggled their toes together.
“Okay!” Jameson yelped quietly, then grabbed Gray’s hand and jump-stepped to shore. “Enough cold!”
Gray grabbed the towels, and he squatted down to dry and warm Jameson’s feet first. The terrycloth was soft, and Jameson let out a slow, long breath as he felt the comfort of Gray’s touch.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” Gray rose to his feet, then tossed the towel over his shoulder. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow with your publicist. Declan will smack me upside the head if he knows I kept you up at the beach.”
Jameson nodded, and they started to wander back across the sand. In the distance, headlights crossed a street, and a few birds called overhead. “I could definitely use a few more hours. But I might reschedule things with my publicist.”
“Yeah?”
Jameson tightened his brow as he thought about it. When he was younger, long before he’d totally given up on show business, Jameson used to fantasize about the ways he might come out. He’d thought about it so much, in fact, that he’d planned it down to every little detail, from the shirt he would wear to the way he would present his imagined boyfriend.
It was like anything in his career. Jameson could play Hollywood like a fiddle. He could practically write the headlines himself, when he took the time to. And even if he hated using those skills, Jameson still knew the Justin Sweet machine was a powerful tool.
And maybe, with the help of Gray and his family, there would be a way to use that machine to his advantage. With just a little planning, in fact, Jameson realized that there was a way to take control of the story in the tabloids—and secure some real privacy for him and Gray, too.
“Gray,” he said, one sock on as he stood awkwardly on his shoe, the other dangling from his hand. “I think we’re going to need a little more than a press conference.”
Gray
