“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I know,” Hilliard murmured.
“Do you forgive me?”
Hilliard turned to find him with his head leaned against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed and dark hair ruffled as though he’d been grabbing fistfuls of it as he worked through his frustration alone in his room.
“Always,” Hilliard promised with a grin.
Monty pushed away from the doorframe and came to his side. He bumped his forehead against Hilliard’s shoulder, letting it rest there for a moment, then reached for a towel and began drying one of the cups that had already been washed. Hilliard expected the tight squeeze in his heart to be from his magic alone after such a tender moment. But when the warmth spread down to his stomach and caused his next exhale to come out a bit fluttery, he knew it wasn’t.
“I think I know why Ezra was so fed up with me on tour,” Monty said after a while.
“Why?” Hilliard encouraged.
“I might’ve told them–directly to their face–that I was looking to get laid in every city.” There was a pause. “I also might’ve been fastening my belt at the time.” Another pause. “After they encountered me and a very enthusiastic fan in the alley behind the bar.”
Hilliard laughed. “Montgomery,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You little scamp.”
Monty chuckled too, then lifted his gaze from the plate he was drying to look out the window. “Maybe that’s why I’m feeling so down. I only managed it twice.”
“You poor thing,” Hilliard tutted.
Monty turned on him then, eyes bright. “Say, why don’t you be a pal?”
Hilliard’s forehead wrinkled. “I am not going to sleep with you so you’ll feel better about other people not sleeping with you,” he said blandly. “Best I can do is peach delight.”
Monty sighed up at the ceiling, long and forced.
“Fine,” he relented. “But it had better be the best damned peach delight I’ve ever had.”
“I guarantee that it is, sweetheart,” Hilliard told him with a wink.
Chapter 7
Monty
Monty went to bed in higher spirits than the previous night. Even waking up in Hilliard’s spare bedroom for the second morning in a row didn’t bother him as much as it might have. He hadn’t caused a scene at the bar. His name wouldn’t be pasted all over the papers—at least, not for another week, and then it would be for good reasons. He’d even maybe made a couple of friends? He couldn’t be entirely sure.
Other than making a pass at Hilliard, he felt reasonably sure that he hadn’t embarrassed himself too much. His face got hot at the memory of that proposition, and how swiftly it had been turned down. Hilliard had been kind, as he always was, but it still stung a bit. Monty sat up in bed and opened the curtain before leaning back against the pillow. He’d slept with a fair share of his friends. Now in his morning sobriety, he was pretty sure he’d slept with Fred Forsythe at the party the man had referenced. But he and Hilliard had never even fooled around. Not for lack of trying. After all, the man was remarkably attractive, and Monty had long suspected that Hilliard’s warmth and kindness would translate beautifully in bed. But Hilliard had always gently sidestepped the issue, outright ignored it, or sweetly turned him down.
Monty’s magic was an effective one, and he knew how to wield it. But there was always the opportunity for the other person to rebuff his charm. Monty was not one to force anything. And every so often, someone did turn him down, and his magic bounced back. Hilliard was the most frequent offender of this. Monty had lost count of the times his friend had gently pushed the charm magic away. Sometimes he wondered if it was causing him to be under his own spell a little, because he was never upset by it.
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Then he got up, got dressed, and went out in search of his host. He found Hilliard in the kitchen, watering the plants on the windowsill. He smiled at Monty over his shoulder.
“Good morning, darlin’! I just put the coffee on. Fix yourself a cup.”
That was another good thing about Hilliard: things were never awkward after Monty made a pass at him.
Monty kissed his friend’s cheek on the way to the coffee pot.
“You going to read the script today?” Hilliard asked.
Monty slumped against the counter. “Ugh. I guess.”
Hilliard chuckled. “It really is going to be a fun film to make. Lots of snappy dialogue. I always love that.”
“Have you ever been in a movie you don’t like?”
