Nothing left to lose, p.1
Nothing Left to Lose, page 1
NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
N.R. WALKER
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
About the Author
Newsletter Sign-Up
Also by N.R. Walker
COPYRIGHT
Cover Artist: N.R. Walker
Editor: Boho Editing
Publisher: BlueHeart Press
Nothing Left to Lose © 2024 N.R. Walker
Originally released as part of the ‘Vegas, Baby!’ Charity anthology in paperback format only.
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This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to living or deceased persons, companies, events or places is purely coincidental. Licensed images are used for illustrative purposes only.
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BLURB:
When Brody Molina entered photos of him and Miller into a newlywed photo contest for a free weekend in Vegas, he didn’t think they’d win. But they did. There’s just one big problem: they’re not actually married.
Miller Norton has been in love with his straight best friend forever. Tired of the heartache, he tries to put some distance between them. But then Brody wins a free weekend in Vegas. Against his better judgment—and as a last goodbye to their friendship—Miller agrees to play along.
It’s a stupid, stupid idea, but hey, it’s Vegas where anything goes. The stakes are high. But if Brody realizes he’s ready to go all in, then Miller can roll the dice one more time, right? When there’s nothing left to lose, maybe they’ll both win.
CHAPTER ONE
MILLER NORTON
In the book of The Most Stupidest Shit Miller Norton Has Ever Done, this would have to be in the top spot.
It was a bad idea.
Like bad bad. And stupid.
This idea was so bad and stupid, it would be the crowning glory in the aforementioned book of the most stupidest shit I’ve ever done. It’d have its own chapter, for sure.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
Shit. I must’ve zoned out. “Huh?”
He pointed to my forehead. “You get a line right between your eyebrows when you’re thinking.”
I resisted sighing. He knew me too damned well.
“Uh, thinking that this is a bad idea.”
Brody laughed, the kind of laugh where he threw his head back and got those cute little creases at the corners of his eyes.
See, therein lay the problem.
Brody Molina had been my best friend since our first year of high school. We’d been inseparable for eleven years, and I’d been desperately in love with him for every hopeless minute of those eleven years.
I had to wonder if he knew but he was too nice to let me down, and I was certainly too chickenshit to tell him.
Why?
Because he’s straight, and I’m chickenshit.
We’d been through everything together. First heartbreaks, first kisses, first times, first jobs, first parties at college, first jobs.
Doing all kinds of stupid shit like skipping school at sixteen to get stoned and sneaking into the movies. Going to college classes still drunk from a party the night before, that kind of thing.
Other stupid shit too.
Like the first time he went all the way with Becky Kirsten and I had to pretend I was happy for him when, in reality, I’d gone home and cried myself to sleep.
When I came out as gay as a gangly fourteen-year-old, he was the first person I told. I braced myself for rejection. I even kinda hoped he’d hate me so I could learn to unlove him.
But nope.
He was awesome. He didn’t care one bit. It changed nothing for him, he’d said.
But for me, it changed everything.
I loved him a whole lot more.
And so my years of teen angst and unrequited love morphed into my twenties of longing and heartache.
I was stupidly in love with my straight best friend.
And you might be thinking that this doesn’t sound as if it deserves a whole chapter in my book of stupidest shit, but let me get to the good part.
Because we were sitting on a plane, taxiing towards the terminal in Las Vegas. Why are we flying from LA to Las Vegas for a three-day weekend?
Because my dearest best friend won an all-expense-paid weekend in a contest for newlyweds, that’s why.
Yep.
Newlyweds.
That’s where the stupidest shit comes into play.
Because the unrequited love of my life entered us into a contest to win the said fully paid-for trip to Vegas. He thought it’d be funny. He thought I needed a vacation. I’d been stressed lately, he’d said.
And yeah, that was true.
See, we had some photos taken at my sister’s wedding. Of Brody and me in our suits, looking all kinds of handsome.
Looking all kinds of coupley.
Looking all kinds of newly married in the church, and then when we danced at the reception.
We always looked like a couple.
People always assumed we were a couple.
But nope.
Brody was straight.
The fact he’d hold my hand, or hold a door open for me, or stand closer than he probably ever needed to, didn’t help.
Most of my potential hookups took one look at the way Brody was with me and assumed I was taken. I mean, he’d come to gay bars with me so I wouldn’t have to go alone . . .
It certainly didn’t help me and my hopeless heart.
So yes, this was stupid.
Because now we had to act like a newly married couple. Just for three days, and just in front of the hotel promo people and contest organizers. The rest of our time would be free for us to do whatever we wanted. And there was a gay pool party I was interested in.
But anyway, it had disaster written all over it.
Brody thought it was hilarious. And he thought I’d have no problem with it. And normally I might not have. To be fair, we acted like a married couple most of the time.
But I’d been struggling with it lately. Every time he’d smile at me, or laugh, or put his arm around me, or take my hand . . .
My heart ached.
And I was tired.
Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt.
Pretending I didn’t want to have what we had . . . but for real. I wanted him to look at me and know. I wanted him to lean in and press his lips to mine. I wanted him to love me like I loved him.
So yes.
Pretending we were married for the sake of a free vacation in Vegas was a stupid idea.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
There was no way this was going to end well.
CHAPTER TWO
BRODY MOLINA
Miller needed this time away.
He’d been so stressed lately. Quiet and not himself. His smile didn’t quite sit right, and his laughter fell flat.
That spark of light in his eyes that I’d always noticed was gone.
He’d said his job was a lot to deal with right now, and he’d been putting in some long hours. The last few times I’d suggested dinner or grabbing a few drinks, he’d been stuck at work. And then there was the whole stress of Paisley’s wedding.
And, the truth was, I’d missed him.
He was my wingman. The Robin to my Batman. I couldn’t remember a time in my life when it wasn’t us against the world.
But lately, things had been different.
Something didn’t feel right with him, and it scared me in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack just yet. So I knew I had to enter us when I saw that newlywed photo contest with a fully funded three-day weekend in Vegas.
Plus, we’d gone to Paisley’s wedding two weeks before and had those really cool photos of us, with the one near the altar in the church, which could totally pass as our wedding. And the dancing photo as well. We were slow dancing, and it just so happened to be a photo where Paisley in her wedding gown wasn’t in the background, so it looed like our wedding dance . . .
Which it wasn’t.
But still . . .
The photo looked like it was, and that was all we needed.
Literally.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Miller mumbled as we waited to check into the hotel.
“It’ll be fun,” I tried, giving him a nudge. “Free room and free booze for three days. It’s gonna be great.”
“No, I mean, I can’t believe all it took was a photo to enter us. No marriage certificate or anything.”
“It was a photo contest.”
He made a face. “We’re going to get found out.”
“Stop stressing. All we gotta do is look all coupley. Be all cutesy with the sexy gay vibe. You know they love that shit.”
Miller’s gaze shot to mine, hard and fierce, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. “That shit?”
Goddammit.
“You know what I me
“That gay shit isn’t something I can turn on and off for a photo op, Brody. Jesus Christ.”
I put my hand on his back, sliding it down and pulling him closer than was probably necessary and giving him my sad puppy face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
Did I know that he’d forgive me for anything when I did that? Maybe.
Was that why I did it?
Yes.
I had absolutely zero problem with being handsy with Miller. We’d always been that way. It was why people often assumed we were a couple, because we were always handsy. Okay, correction. I was handsy with him. He was never handsy with me, but he was totally okay with me putting my arms around him, taking his arm or his hand, dancing with him.
So me putting my hand on his lower back and pulling him against me was nothing. Me pouting and batting my eyelashes until he smiled was par for the course.
But damn, for a minute I thought it wasn’t gonna work. He was really mad at me. But then the corner of his lip began to curl up and he rolled his eyes. “You’re such a jerk,” he mumbled.
“Can I help you?” the lady behind the counter said.
Oh, it was finally our turn. I dropped my arm from Miller’s back and stepped up to the desk. “Ah, yes. We have a reservation. Brody Molina and Miller Norton.”
She tapped her keyboard and stared at the screen for a second before giving us a blinding smile. “Oh, yes, the newlywed contest winners! How wonderful.”
Oh boy.
Here we go.
“Yes, that’s us,” I said.
No going back now.
We confirmed our booking and a few moments later were presented with our room keys. “The honeymoon suite,” she proclaimed proudly. Smugly, almost, as she slid the key cards toward us.
Like she presumed we’d be having all kinds of newlywed sex in that honeymoon suite.
Like most people would expect newlyweds to do . . .
Gawd.
Before I could lose my nerve, before I could agree that this was a very bad idea, I took the keys and played along with the lie. “Thank you,” I said cheerfully.
I turned to Miller with the intent of getting to the room ASAP when the reception woman offered me a printed piece of paper. “And here’s your itinerary.”
Itinerary?
I scanned the letter, horrified to see it was basically a full list.
“Carina left a message to say welcome and that she’d see you at four o’clock.”
Carina was the contest lady who I’d dealt with.
Who I’d lied to.
And sure enough, there on the itinerary at four o’clock was meet and greet with Carina in hotel lobby.
Which meant we had about an hour.
We bundled into the elevator, Miller’s eyes meeting mine in the mirrored wall. He didn’t say anything but half-rolled his eyes and shook his head when someone else walked in. We rode in silence, and when we walked into our suite, he stopped dead and dropped his duffle bag at his feet.
We stood there a moment in silence, both of us staring at the huge bed.
The one bed.
One huge, soft, and comfy-looking, expensive-looking bed.
With a heart of rose petals on the duvet, and a bottle of Moët on ice.
Ohhhh boy.
“The bed’s plenty big enough for both of us,” I tried. We’d shared a bed before. This was no big deal.
Miller took the bottle of champagne, unwrapped the gold foil, looked me dead in the eye, uncorked it like a pro in one smooth pop, then began to chug it straight from the bottle.
Right then.
He made a face as he stopped for air. “So tell me, what’s the felony charge, exactly, for the crime we’re committing? Just trying to do the math on that. Like, will I be out of prison for my thirtieth? Because Mom was already talking about my grandparents visiting from Florida.”
“There won’t be any felony charges,” I said.
I think . . .
“And anyway, your thirtieth is like five years away. She’s planning it already?”
“You know what she’s like.” He chugged more Moët while we both seemed stuck staring at the bed.
“And I still can’t believe your grandparents moved to Florida. I loved their house in the hills.”
Miller nodded and handed me the bottle of champagne. “Same.”
I took a decent mouthful, and then another.
Miller let his head fall back with a groan. “We are not gonna be able to pull this off.”
I gulped the Moët and swallowed down the belch that threatened to escape. “Sure we will. There’s nothing we don’t know about each other. What can they ask us that we don’t know?”
“It’s not the trivia I’m concerned about.”
No. He meant the physical stuff.
“We’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll be fine with it.”
Miller replied with one raised eyebrow.
“What?” I countered. “I can pretend to be your husband, no problem.” I put the bottle in the ice bucket and threw my arms around him to prove my point. I rested my chin on his shoulder. “You know I’ll be fine with it.”
He . . . didn’t react. Didn’t lean into me like he typically did, didn’t turn around and hug me back. Didn’t laugh or joke about it. He didn’t say a word.
He did nothing.
It was almost as if he had a problem with it.
But he was gay. He never had a problem with a guy hanging off him. Lord knew I’d seen guys fawn all over him before and that was fine . . . kind of. I mean, he was fine with it.
It was almost like the problem he had here was me.
Wait.
I froze as realization dawned. “Miller,” I said, turning him around so I could see his face. “Do you not want to do this?”
“It’d be too late now if I did, wouldn’t it?”
“Mills,” I tried. That nickname normally softened him like butter, but not today. He tried to look away, so I put my hands on his face to make him look at me. Something really wasn’t right with him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t, clearly.
He pulled his face from my hands but he didn’t move away, so I pulled him in for a fierce hug. I don’t know why hugging him always made me feel better, but it did. It gave me peace, and I hoped it did the same for him. “We’ll be okay,” I murmured. “It’s just one weekend. We’ll be fine. We’ll have a few drinks, relax, and have a great time.”
There.
That was good. Reassure him that it was just me and him, like the old days, and that I wanted to make this about him. For him to have a great weekend, relaxing and maybe feeling like his old self.
He sighed and pulled away from me. He threw his bag on the bed. “You’re on the left side.”
“As always.”
He took the Moët bottle and guzzled more of it, squinting as he swallowed. He looked at the remaining contents, then at me. “We’re gonna need a fuckton more of this.”
CHAPTER THREE
MILLER
So if we were doing this, I would be doing it drunk.
There was no other way I could get through it. Certainly not freaking sober. Social lubrication be damned. This was a pain buffer in the form of sparkling anesthetic, a hundred bucks a bottle.
One bottle of Moët later and I was feeling marginally better. Well . . . that wasn’t exactly true. I still felt bad, but I cared a whole lot less.
Which was probably just as well, because we had to meet with the contest organizer.
I was letting Brody take the lead on that.
This was all his idea, after all.
“Ah, Brody and Miller,” a woman greeted us. She was tall and thin, wearing a radio station T-shirt and a wide, bright lipstick smile. She shook Brody’s hand first. “I’m Carina. Nice to meet you,” she said, then she turned to me. “And you must be Miller.”
I shook her hand with an easy Moët smile. I really should drink more Champagne. Not that I drank much of anything, but that warm, easy feeling was nice.
“That’s me,” I replied.
She asked about our flight and if we were ready for a great weekend, if we were excited.
