Page 112 of Except You

I couldn’t bear it.

When Beau returns home a bit later, I’m hyperventilating on the front porch, my head in my hands, my chest heaving. Of course, being the angel he is, he helps me breathe through it before leading me inside and making me dinner. I force the food down, not even tasting it, and then he leads me to my bedroom and tucks me into bed, pressing a platonic kiss to my forehead.

It was so wrong of me to say that.

Especially when I love him. No wonder he’s unsure and upset.

God, I’m an idiot.

“Night, Max,” he says before walking away, and I’m left in this cold bed without him.

I hear the click of the guest bedroom door close, and I stare at the ceiling forlornly. This is such a waste of time. Why lie in bed when I could lurk outside his bedroom door for hours on end?

So that’s what I do.

Finally, sometime around two in the morning, the door creaks open and Beau appears, his hair rumpled, looking just as wrecked as me.

“I think we’ve been separated for long enough,” he rasps.

“Oh, thank fuck,” I say, pulling him into me and breathing in his scent. He smells like he always does, like warmth and home. His arms wrap around me and he squeezes me to him, his head tilting up, and our lips connect in a frantic kiss.

“I don’t ever want to sleep without you. Don’t make me do that again, Bow-tie,” I tell him, and he huffs a laugh.

“I know, Max. I could tell by how you stood outside my bedroom door for hours.”

“Not your bedroom. This isn’t your room, Bow-tie. This is a guest room and you’re not one. You’re mine. Mine. Label it whatever the fuck you want. If you want to get married, I’ll drive you to Vegas tomorrow and we’ll sign the certificate.”

He gasps as I slant my mouth over his once more and pick him up. His legs wrap around my back and I carry him to our room.

Ours.

I set him on our bed and crawl over him, kissing my way across his face, his neck, his bare chest.

“Boyfriends,” I tell him and then nip at his skin. “Husbands. I don’t fucking care. I want it all. I want all the labels with you.”

Beau groans as his hands move into my hair, his body squirming underneath me.

“Boyfriends. That’s what I want. I want to be your boyfriend.”

“Yeah. Fuck yes. Boyfriends. Non-platonic roommates was a dumb fuck thing to say. It was so fucking stupid. I’m sorry, Bow-tie.”

He tugs at my hair, forcing my gaze to his. “It’s okay, I know you’ve been confused, but seriously though. Tell me. Be honest. Are you really in this?”

“I’m in it. With you. Forever.”

Chapter Twenty

Max

Without telling Beau, I bump the movers up a day. We’re boyfriends now, and I can’t fucking wait a second more. What’s the point anyways? Torture? I don’t particularly like it. I wasn’t made to suffer.

So, every free minute we have, I’m at his place, helping him box things up. He groans and complains about it, but ultimately, we get things sold or boxed up in time. Coop shows up to “help” a few times, but is generally useless. He sits on the floor, a glass of champagne in his hand, shuffling through a box of books and taking some of them out of the donate pile to keep, stating that there is no need to get rid of genius.

I scoff at him, and he rolls his eyes at me. He gives zero shits about my opinion on the matter and lets me know about it.

When the movers show up at his apartment on Wednesday, Beau glowers at me, his hair in disarray, his shirt on backwards. I may have fucked him over a stack of boxes earlier. His cum coated the cardboard and we couldn’t get the stain out. It looks like the state of Texas. We marveled at it for a few minutes before the doorbell rang.

“What did you do?” Beau asks, a hand on his hip, an eyebrow arching.

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