Page 45 of The Party Plot

Jamie shrugged. “Sure.”

A while later, the sound of tires popping on gravel cut through the thick quiet of the day. Jamie’s posture seemed deliberately casual as he lounged on the couch, barely glancing up at Casey. “Can you go get that for me?”

“Seriously? You wantmeto go unload your pallets of hot dogs or whatever?”

“Go on, CJ. Go earn your keep.”

Casey rolled his eyes, but he got up. He was too jittery to sit still anymore, anyway. When he got out on the dock, he was surprised to see that the vehicle pulling up the drive was a taxi, not a delivery truck like he’d expected.

And then could have sworn that the whole swamp quaked beneath him, though it was really just his knees going weak, a sweet, shuddery sensation unfolding in his chest, because Laurel was climbing out of the car, his hair tousled by the humidity, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, every smooth, strong line of him solid and graceful and perfect.

Casey didn’t rush into his arms. He wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to take a single step. Laurel was smiling, and the sunglasses were oddly intimidating, making him look a little unreal, like a still in a magazine.

“I had a lot of clever lines planned,” Laurel called. God, he was beautiful, breezy and careless and just a little bit mussed, a flush creeping up from beneath his collar. How had Casey ever convinced himself that he was only average-looking? “Something about coming to rescue you. Something else about only being here for the raccoons. But really, I just missed you.”

“I—“ Casey cleared his throat. The sound of his own heartbeat was deafening, and he was having a hard time coming up with words.

“God, Casey, say something. Is it okay that I’m here?” Laurel pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and the aching earnestness in his eyes finally unlocked whatever had been keeping Casey frozen at the top of the steps. He crossed the yard in an instant, and then his hands were on Laurel’s face, his jaw, shaping the lines of his shoulders and back, and he was kissing his forehead and scalp, clumsy, frantic closed-mouthed kisses as if he’d forgotten how to do anything else.

“Shit,” he said against Laurel’s hair, breathing him in, filling his lungs with him. “I guess I missed you too. How embarrassing.”

“Come here.” Laurel nuzzled at his cheek until Casey turned his head, and their mouths slid together like companion puzzle pieces. Casey forgot what he had been planning to say, forgot anything but the gentle heat of Laurel’s mouth as Laurel kissed him softly, almost carefully, his lips clinging to Casey’s for a long time before he finally broke away. He looked him up and down with a shy smile. Then the smile turned mischievous.

“What’s embarrassing is this rubber-boot-and-sweatpants combo,” Laurel murmured. He snapped the elastic of his waistband, and delighted heat fluttered through Casey’s groin. “What exactly is happening here? I thought you were the fashionable one.”

For a second, his fingers twitched, and he wanted to check his skin, ashamed that he’d let himself fall apart so badly. But Laurel was looking up at him guilelessly, and he hadn’t recoiled in horror at the sight of him. He was just teasing. And so Casey let his hand travel down Laurel’s neck, toying with the top button of his shirt. Teasing back.

“Shows what you know,” he said. “These here are raccoon-feeding clothes.”

“Oh dear, I apologize. It seems I’m overdressed.” Laurel’s eyes were sparkling, his lips wet and lush, and it was on the tip of Casey’s tongue to offer to help him become less dressed, when the screen door creaked open.

Casey sighed. “I should probably introduce you to Jamie. Unless you’ve already met.” Jamie had obviously been in on this, though he wasn’t sure how.

“Only on Instagram,” Laurel said. “I found him in your followers list and messaged him. I was kind of desperate to get in touch with you.”

“I thought you’d never want to see me again.”

“Funny. I thought the same about you.” Laurel made a little face.

“I didn’t mean to run off without saying anything.” Casey smoothed a strand of hair off of Laurel’s forehead. “I kind of lost it after your mom fired me. And then I figured it was too late to take anything back. But I’m glad—I’m glad—“ Behind them, he could hear Jamie being as loud as possible on the dock, but he didn’t want to invite anyone else into this moment just yet. And he really didn’t want to have to tell Jamie that he’d been right. Apparently Laurel still wanted him.

The thought made his insides squeeze and his heart patter dizzily, and he couldn’t really bear to look at it fully, so he tucked it away. “I guess I’m glad you cyber-stalked me,” he finished lamely. “And conspired with my best friend. You obsessive weirdo.”

Laurel winked. “Anytime, sweetheart. Now tell me more about these raccoons.”

*

The thing about dressing to impress was that it assumed a nice location. An indoor, non-swamp location. Laurel had worn his crispest linen shirt and the slacks that molded to his ass just right (the slacks he knew Casey liked), but now he was soaked in sweat, in mud up to his ankles, little bits of moss and bark and who knew what else stuck to his arms and the back of his neck.

Still, Casey didn’t seem to mind. As they stumbled along the edge of the water, following the swinging beam of Jamie’s flashlight, Laurel felt the weight of his gaze. He seemed unable to stop looking at him, and Laurel felt the same, his eyes drawn to Casey again and again, like maybe he would wink out of existence if Laurel wasn’t watching. It was hard to believe he was here, hard to believe that Casey had missed him, that he’d held him, clung to him and breathed out trembly words against his hair. Laurel would probably still be in Casey’s arms right now, except that he was carrying a bucket of cat dry food, which wasn’t exactly romantic or very conducive to hugging.

“It’s just a little further,” Jamie called over his shoulder, his thick glasses flashing in the gloom of early evening. He was an interesting individual, unapologetically straightforward and oddly zen, and he and Casey seemed to know each other’s personalities by heart. Laurel had messaged him in a fit of panic, hoping desperately that@j_raccoonboiwas, in fact, the friend Casey had told him about. He hadn’t really expected a response, much less that Jamie would invite him down here. Laurel had imagined it would be a fool’s errand, that Casey wouldn’t want to see him, or that whatever chemistry had existed between them would have dried up. Even now, there was a nervous edge to his buoyant mood. So many things remained uncertain. But as his eyes met Casey’s for the thousandth time, his heart flip-flopping and warmth spreading through his chest, Laurel tried to tell himself that everything would be alright.

There were three large troughs set up at the edge of the trees, and Jamie instructed Laurel to empty the bucket of cat food into one of them. Casey dumped his own bucket, which contained a mixture of hot dogs and grapes, into another. His forearms were strong and wiry in the fading light, and Laurel forgot for a moment why they were there, lost in thoughts of tasting his skin, licking his way from the pulse point at Casey’s wrist to the crook of his elbow. Casey’s tan had deepened since the last time Laurel had seen him, and there was an adorable rosiness to his cheeks and the nape of his neck.

The red cast of Casey’s skin deepened as he noticed Laurel looking at him. He straightened up, an ironic expression on his face. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Oh, definitely.”But not in front of Jamie and the raccoons. Laurel cleared his throat, turning to Casey’s friend, who was filling up the third trough with bottled water. “So, do you do this every night?”

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