Page 31 of The Idiot

Did someone lace my drink? Am I having an out-of-body experience?

No. I can feel Philip stroking the edge of my harness. I’m still here at Gaytoberfest, and staring at the man I came here to get away from.

He’s laughing at a sexy Latino guy who’s tugging on his straps. I can practically visualize from here him bragging about his harness, recounting all of his rock climbing adventures, oblivious to the fact that the guy probably doesn’t give a shit about rock climbing. What the fuck is he doing here?

Our gazes lock and he lights up like he hasn’t seen me in ten years, rather than just speaking to me on the phone yesterday to say goodbye.

“Baloney!” he shouts, waving frantically. Like I could miss him in that harness and his Dew Drop t-shirt with the silhouette of a woman tangled around a dancing pole.

I go to him, oblivious to who or what I bash into. Oblivious to whatever Philip is saying as he paws at me. It’s not the magnetic pull I realize I’ve always felt. It’s terror and confusion, ready to spontaneously combust over the explanation I get.

Did he have an awakening and is here to explore that? Was it an awakening because of me?Forme?

“Oh, my word. I finally found you. This is off-the-hook. There’s like over a thousand people here,” he lets out between breaths when we reach each other. “Reception wouldn’t give me your room number, so I had to wait to see if you’d show up.”

“What… what are you doing here?”

Why does his face look like he’s surprised by the question? His confusion evaporates, and an excited smile forms as he holds his arms out aloft.

“Surprise?”

I am definitely surprised, but what the hell is the surprise? And why did he think it was a good idea to wear his strip club shirt?

“You’ve been all tense lately. I could tell you were anxious about coming here,” he explains. “I know you said you didn’t need help, but I remember you saying if you hated it, you’d hang out in your room. And I thought, man, none of these guys will get to find out how amazing Murph is. I mean, you can’t find happiness holing up in a ship cabin. Then you’d come home all miserable, so…I’mhere.”

I blink at the foreign language coming out of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve got you, Murph. I’ll be your wingman. I know you think I don’t understand, but I do. I’m here for moral support. We’ve done everything together. I want you to know that I support your happiness. I want you to have a good time and not worry about things being weird. You don’t need a secret life. I’m your boy, just like always.” He beams, slapping me on the shoulder. “We got this.”

Is he fucking kidding me? I now understand why animals have both the urge to protect and smother their young.

The second a slender arm drapes across my back and chilly fingers curl around the back of my biceps, I know it’s Philip. I can feel his sparkly presence before I even look at him.

Jesse notices too, his eyebrows hiking up at me conspiratorially, as if he thinks I’ve just struck gold.

Jesus fuck. Is that what he calls moral support? Gay plus gay equals happily ever after? Does he know me at all?

“Nice harness,” Philip simpers, eyeing him up and down.

“Thanks!” Jesse grins, hooking his thumbs through his shoulder straps, making the leg braces cinch tighter around his upper thighs.

If I noticed that, guaranteed others here will, reminding me of the comments I heard those laughing guys say a moment ago. He has no freaking idea what he’s gotten himself into.

“I had to dig them out of the back of my closet. I haven’t used them in a while,” he continues.

“Mm,” Philip hums, unimpressed. I inch away, but he goes with me, suctioned to me like a leech. “Big into the exotic dance clubs, are we?” he asks, arching a brow at the logo on Jesse’s shirt.

“Oh, um…”

Watching Jesse’s face heat as he glances around, realizing his blunder, almost has me feeling sorry for him. I did not come here to babysit him, nor to be babysat. I can’t freaking believe his brain concocted an entire plan that involved finding a ticket and getting himself here. What part of ‘I need space,’ did he not understand?

“I… like to support my sister,” he finally babbles.

Pinching my eyes shut, I get a mental image of his and Pete’s sister, Miranda, hearing that lie. I can just see how the rest of this cruise is going to go.

“Your sister?” Philip counters.

“Y-yeah. Gotta support your family. Right? She’s… flexible,” he supplies. “Really flexible.”

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