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"The outlined blue states are where gay marriage is banned, the striped red ones are the undecided states, and the colored in red ones are where gay marriage is legal."
Miles looks over at Liam, incredulously.
"Pick a state."
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Liam Dillinger is foul-mouthed, addicted to cigarettes, as queer as a three dollar bill, and hopelessly in love with Miles fucking Reed. So, of course, what else is an impulsive lost cause supposed to do when he's drunk, head over heels, and probably not going to remember any of it anyways? Propose. Except one problem: gay marriage isn't legal yet in North Carolina. So, with nothing but clothes, a tent, and Almond Joys, the two set off on a journey to make their way to California to get married and start their lives. With all the pedophilic strangers, thieving hobos, abandoned Honeymoon suites, and a night in jail, of course complications ensue.
CHAPTER ONE
❝NO REST FOR THE WICKED, I SEE.❞
Liam looks up from the bottle of Tylenol in one hand and a bottle of Advil in the other, his eyes squinting as if it would help with the blurriness and allow his object of sight to come in through in high definition. It doesn't work, of course, but it doesn't matter. Only one person can joke about Liam's state of hungoverness, and think they can get away with it.
"Fuck you, Jackson," Liam grunts, halfheartedly, walking sluggishly up to the counter and tossing both bottles on it.
"Sorry, pal," Jackson replies, punching buttons on the cash register until it dings and slides open. "I don't swing for that team. Eighteen dollars and seventy-eight cents."
"Please," Liam scoffs, digging in his pants pockets for his wallet-which was, surprisingly, still there-and tossing a twenty dollar bill at Jackson. "Even if you did, you wouldn't score. You fucking suck at baseball."
Jackson laughs, shaking his head while he digs out the necessary change.
The thing with Jackson Milkovich is that he is the exact opposite of Liam. Liam has dark hair that probably hasn't been brushed in days, and Jackson has sandy-blonde curls that are smoothed down with fifty dollar gel.
Liam wears ripped jeans and wife-beaters. Jackson (when he's not wearing his ridiculous red and black uniform for work) wears designer jeans and button down shirts.
Liam is gay. Jackson is straight.
They have so many differences (physically, culturally, religiously, you name it), it's a wonder how they even like each other. Then again, the two haven't always been best friends; they'd actually hated each other from the start. If it wasn't Jackson challenging Liam for his spot as captain of the lacrosse team or Liam being caught with his hand down Jackson's sister's pants, it was Liam finding out Jackson was seeing a married woman and emailing the scandalous pictures he took to aforementioned married woman's husband (Jackson showed up to school the next day with a black eye, a broken wrist, and a missing tooth) and to retaliate, Jackson switching discs for Liam's Multimedia class so that instead of his film project on 80s movies, it was gay porn.
Let's just say they fought it out like men, and afterwards they shared a drink in the janitor's closet and called it square. They've been inseparable since.
"So, what was it this time? Bar, party, or was it Liam and Miles sexy time?"
"First of all," Liam says, holding his hand up, "don't call it that. Who the fuck calls it that?"
