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“Fair. I’m sorry.” Will took a deep breath as the lift took them higher and higher. Patrick had been the one to suggest he bring Margo and his friends tonight. He’d thought it might make the whole evening feel more normal, and as they were all technically in on the secret already, nobody was violating any nondisclosure rules. The gag remained firmly in place.
So to speak.
The sliding doors opened onto the top floor of the hotel, which housed only two suites: one belonging to Patrick—with which Will was already intimately familiar—and the other to Audra Kelly, who appeared in the doorway as they all exited the lift.
“Welcome, welcome!” she shrieked gleefully, tugging Will into an embrace. “You must be Will. Patrick’s told me absolutely nothing about you. Isn’t he just the worst? Honestly. Come in, come in, everyone! Help yourself to anything. Liquor, sushi, weed gummies.” She pulled Will by the hand into a suite that was the mirror image of Patrick’s and bathed in pink and purple lights.
“Bisexual lighting,” she explained. “I discovered it while playing a woman called Joy who discovers her husband is trying to frame her for her girlfriend’s murder in the erotic thriller Two for Joy. Doesn’t it just make my hair pop?”
“It sure does,” said Jordan, heart emojis practically bursting from his eyes in the presence of TikTok’s current favorite actress. “You were so fabulous in that one.”
“Oh my god, stop!” Audra dropped Will’s hand and took Jordan’s, leading him over to a sofa, where he could continue to praise her filmography.
“We’ve lost him for the night,” said April, picking up a napkin from the main table. “Ooh, unagi!”
“Is that the Rock’s tequila?” Margo swiftly scooped ice into a glass and poured herself a large blanco on the rocks.
“I thought you were anti-tequila,” said Will.
“I am anti–cheap tequila,” said Margo. “Which heretofore has been the only variety available to me.” She took a sip and closed her eyes in pleasure. “Still kind of minging, but definitely an improvement. I can work with this.”
“There you are,” said Patrick, emerging from Audra’s en suite and sidling up to Will and enveloping him in a hug. He kissed Will on the cheek, and Will almost flinched before remembering that this was allowed and they were among trusted friends.
“I know, I guess they’ll let anyone in here,” he said, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist. “You should really have them tighten up security downstairs.”
“Nah.” Patrick kissed him again, this time on the forehead. It seemed he was savoring the novelty, too. “I told them Grace Anatomy herself was coming and they should roll out the red carpet.”
“Pour moi? You shouldn’t have.”
Will tried not to grin too idiotically as Patrick took his arm and walked him around the room, introducing him to his stunt double, Corey, and his trainer, Hector, both of whom he had already met, albeit as Grace, and some others he hadn’t: makeup artist Estelle, whose beat was so flawless she seemed to literally glow; Audra’s stand-in, Honor, whose neat blond ponytail and hoodie put Will in mind of someone who would ruin your life on the hockey field; and a tall, thin Swedish actor who was playing the supervillain Omega in Kismet whose name Will didn’t quite catch but who sounded like he might be a minor Skarsgård.
He couldn’t get over how good this felt. To be held by his boyfriend, in something approaching public. For the other people in the room to know they were together and treat it like no big deal.
It really wasn’t a big deal, of course. Will tended to get carried away with these things, but even he knew that a few weeks of hanging out and having admittedly incredible sex did not constitute a world-changing romance. He hadn’t even called Patrick his boyfriend out loud, apart from that one time when he’d been half asleep from rage and Rioja.
“Patrick!” Audra barked from across the room. “You’re up.”
Patrick groaned. “Can’t someone else go before me?” he asked.
“You’re our leading man,” said Audra. “I insist.”
“As do I!” added Will, his eyes mischievous. “What are you going to sing? Oh god, don’t choose Joan Armatrading. Please. I’d swoon and everyone else in the room might commit suicide.”
“Laugh it up now,” said Patrick. “I’m making you go next.”
“Oh, you mean I’m going to be the center of attention? Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mr. Lake.” He gave Patrick a playful shove toward Audra. “I only get stage fright when I’m Grace, remember?”
Audra pushed a microphone into Patrick’s hand.
“I’ve taken the liberty of choosing for you,” she informed him, and seconds later the room was filled with the larger-than-life overture of “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
“Come on, Jersey boy,” Will crowed. “Show us what you’ve got!”
His mockery did not last long. The moment Patrick knew he wasn’t getting out of this embarrassing ritual, he committed fully, strutting with a hypermasculine swagger from one end of the room to the next while belting into the microphone, barely even looking at the screen to check the lyrics. It was like looking momentarily into another timeline, Will thought. One where Patrick headlined a Broadway show or movie musical, something where even a fraction of his sheer warmth and charisma could be channeled effectively.
“Woo!” Audra squealed. “OK, now me!” She snatched the mic from Patrick, having already queued up her own choice, and launched into a straight-faced, deeply sincere cover of “Lucky.”
She butchered it. Audra’s singing voice was flat, nasal, and seemed to change key every other line. It was, quite possibly, the worst thing to happen to Britney Spears since the conservatorship, but Audra was clearly connecting with the material and having a great time, and Will found himself liking her all the more.
