Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“Jesus Christ, you just got so hard,” Jamie groaned. “What are you thinking about?”
Edgar was lightheaded with lust and confusion and fear and want and maybe. “You, um, looking at me.”
“Hey, hey, c’mere,” Jamie said. The tone of their voice had shifted instantly from lust to comfort. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Edgar kept his eyes shut and let Jamie ease him down to the floor. The lights in the shop were suddenly far too bright, and the music pounded in his temples.
“How do you sit in this shirt?” Edgar muttered as inches of his back were exposed.
“Hotly,” Jamie said. They knelt before Edgar, looking concerned. “Did you see…something?”
Edgar shook his head. He hadn’t seen a ghost. He’d seen a version of himself that it had never occurred to him to want. But now that he’d seen it—did he want it?
“Can you tell me what’s up, babe?” Jamie sank to the floor beside him. They were awkwardly leaning their backs against the cash wrap, the fallen clothes making an uneven surface.
When Edgar opened his eyes, Jamie’s fingers were intertwined with his, and Jamie’s soft blue eyes looked concerned.
“I don’t exactly know.” Edgar spoke slowly, trying to figure out what he meant as he went. “I never thought of myself like this. Like a…like…”
“The object of someone’s desire?” Jamie offered gently.
“Yeah, exactly. How did you know that?”
Jamie smiled at him fondly. “We teach women it’s their job to make themselves desirable so they can be chosen by a man, and we teach men it’s their job to choose. It’s more complex when you’re queer or trans though. The categories blur. Who does the desiring, who’s the desired. It’s not bound to gender.”
Edgar nodded, mind racing. He knew all this, of course, but knowing it and feeling it weren’t the same thing.
“And what do you prefer?” Edgar asked.
Jamie smiled. “I enjoy being the object of another person’s desire when I’m in the mood for it. And I also find it hot to do the choosing. It all depends on my mood. And the other person’s, of course.”
Jamie began gathering the fallen garments and refolding them. Edgar got the impression they were giving him a chance to collect himself.
Edgar thought about how he’d felt when Jamie told him how hot he looked, how debauched. The squirming humiliation that was quickly replaced with relief when he let himself let go of the feeling that there was anything he was supposed to want, to need, to be.
“I think I like it,” he said softly. But of course Jamie heard him. They knelt in front of him and lifted his chin.
“You like being the object of my desire?” they purred. “You like turning me on with how hot you are? How much I want you?”
His breath came shallower, and suddenly he wished he hadn’t said anything, because Jamie was looking at him like they saw him. Like they really saw the writhing agonized need deep in his guts and liked him anyway. Maybe liked him more because of it.
“You…you like it that way too?” Edgar asked, feeling silly, because hadn’t Jamie just said so? He closed his eyes.
“I do, Edgar. I like you. A lot.”
Edgar opened his eyes, needing to tattoo this moment on his heart for later when he was once again unsure. Afraid of the world and of himself and of the things he wanted from Jamie.
“You know I don’t give a shit about your clothes, right?” Jamie said.
Edgar was confused.
“You’re so fucking hot, Edgar. I just want you to like what you wear because you deserve it. Because you deserve to express yourself and not be afraid. That’s all I want.”
“Easier said than done,” Edgar joked. But it didn’t come out sounding the way he’d intended.
Jamie slid a warm palm up his spine and rubbed his back. Then they tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, which had ridden up.
“Well, FYI, I am very much in favor of adding this shirt to your wardrobe. Even if you only wear it at home. For me.”
A fizz of energy rushed from Edgar’s stomach to his chest. He’d never imagined himself wearing anything like this, but now he was already imagining the next time he’d wear it for Jamie.
For his boyfriend.
16
Jamie
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Jamie huffed as they hurried toward their sister, picking their way through the maze of clothing racks, poufs, handbags, and precariously large floral arrangements. “I’m so sorry,” Jamie said again. “I had to cross the 10.”
Emma hung up her phone and shot Jamie an unimpressed look.
When she’d texted to invite Jamie wedding dress shopping with her, Jamie had been touched. Was it possible that Emma wanted their opinion more than it had seemed in the family text thread? It had sowed a tiny seed of hope that maybe they could connect after all.