I woke up to the smell of aftermath rather than aftershave. Cans of beer piled up on the coffee table along with glasses smudged with fingerprints, and someone had forgotten to air the place last night. I wasn't about to complain, however. We'd had a fabulous time until I passed out—with grace, of course. People had danced and goofed around, making as much noise for the neighbors as possible. It had been easy to forget.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I stretched on the sofa and wondered if it was time to face the day. The silence spoke in favor of staying put if I didn't want to wake the others, but I was on edge and desperate to find release. Although, not that kind of release.
I sat up and eyed the Coke on the table. It was less than fizzy, no doubt, but anything would suffice to relieve my parched throat. I reached out and clasped my fingers around the plastic bottle. Taking two long gulps, I realized too late that someone might have spiked it last night. More alcohol would not help my situation, nor my throbbing head.
"You're up early." Chris sauntered in from the kitchen, carrying two steaming cups.
"Please tell me that's coffee? I'll worship you forever."
He chuckled, handed me the cup and sat beside me. "Not sure I want your undying devotion."
The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wafted from the well of eternal life. I took a sip and leaned back. It tasted heavenly and soothed the strain behind my eyes within seconds. "You'll have it even if you don't want it. From this day, I shall be your constant source of nuisance."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
Inching closer, I realized that Chris smelled like a million bucks. "But can I please have a shower? I promise I'll be the bestest of best friends."
He took pity on me, flicking my nose with his index finger. "Help me clean up and you can take a shower for as long as you'd like."
"Thank God. Yes. And can I look through your closet?"
"No, I'll bring you something to wear. I'm not letting you go through my stuff unsupervised."
I grinned. "It was worth a try."
One long, hot shower later, I emerged a new man. I'd also decided to steal Chris' body wash. The light scent reminded me of the ocean and suited me perfectly. Chris needed something a tad heavier, so I would get him a better match.
A pile of clothes lay outside the bathroom door, sliding across the floor as I opened. Chris offered a pair of sweats and a blue T-shirt, meeting my expectations on point. The guy definitely knew how to wear casual and get away with it, but I hadn't touched anything like these pants in years. I could have chosen to wear my dirty clothes, but the fumes of alcohol would ruin my day. Better a pair of sweats than jeans sprinkled with beer.
The full-length mirror seemed to taunt me, cackling out an evil laughter when I neared the door. With a snort, I almost told the damn thing that I didn't care. Sweats or no sweats, I could pull them off. Or someone else could if I found the right man for the job.
Dante and Chris had cleared most of the mess when I joined them in the living room.
"Chris, I need a blowjob," I said, stifling a smile as his jaw dropped.
"What?"
"Do you have a blow dryer?"
Dante tried to hold back a laugh, but it didn't work very well.
Chris groaned. "You're too fucking much."
Shrugging, I let him lead me back to the bathroom. He opened one of the cupboards and placed a sleek blow dryer in my hands. "It's Dante's. Don't get any ideas." He appeared truly worried that I would judge him, the poor soul.
"What? That you're using it? You need to queen up, love. You can't live like this."
He rolled his eyes. "Live like what?"
I couldn't take it anymore. I laughed and patted his shoulder. "I love you, man." I waved with the dryer. "I need to make this happen, but then I'll help you clean."
Chris left the bathroom, shaking his head but still smiling. He was a freakishly awesome guy, quite definitely a better friend than I deserved. Between him and Adam, my months in the US had been nothing less than perfect. Next to them, my old friends in Stockholm didn't amount to much. Those guys had smiled, but they had never been truly happy for me.
An hour later, we were just about done when Dante's phone rang. I thought he would have some kind of classical music as a ringtone, but no, he had a song by an Icelandic band I couldn't remember the name of.
Dante answered and strolled into their bedroom, not allowing me to catch more than the first few lines of pleasantries.
Chris poured himself a glass of water and studied the ice swimming around in slow circles. "Have you thought about what you want to do?" His gaze flickered to mine, almost stating the question all over again.
"No, I don't know. I'll try to save what I can these last days and hope that I can find a reasonably priced ticket to get home."
"Money isn't really a problem if you're in trouble. We'll help you out."
I shifted in my seat. "Thanks, that's very generous, but no. I'll be fine." I had a thing with money. I hated being indebted because I knew it was unlikely that I'd be quick to pay them back. Money walked away from me on their own somehow.
Dante returned, helping us move the sofa back to its original position. "Tom and Lara are on their way up." He studied me closely as if he waited for me to react. It was a close call.
Tom. That name should mean nothing to me, but unfortunately, I hadn't been able to banish him from my thoughts. Something about Tom rubbed me the right way—like a pleasant itch I had to scratch to make it all better. Or maybe it was more like a painful rash, but that sounded too unattractive.
Chris dusted off one of their cushions. "Great, we need to speak with Lara, anyway."
"To ask about Joachim?" Dante asked.
"Yeah. I hope she has some good ideas."
Dante's lips twitched into a smug grin. "I doubt her ideas will be better than mine."
I dug my fingernails into my palms. If he said that idea out loud one more time, I might combust.
"What idea?" Chris didn't seem to know who to look at, twisting his head from left to right and then back again. "What's going on?"
The doorbell rang right on cue. Tied up in knots, I ignored the others and walked over to one of the big windows. Dante couldn't be serious. If he believed that Tom and I would ever agree to marry, then something was seriously wrong. Maybe he thought he was the mortal manifestation of Cupid, or that people married out of the blue with no prior knowledge of each other. Okay, so maybe arranged marriages was still a thing in certain parts of the world, but definitely not common in Sweden.
Lara swept into the apartment. "Where is he?" She trained her eyes on me and waved her finger. "Boy, you are in trouble. Worrying me like this."
Locked in her embrace, I didn't know how I was supposed to react. Could I cry on her shoulder? No, not really. Could I moan and bitch about what a total idiot I'd been? Maybe.
My gaze flitted over to Tom. He gave me a brief nod, forging a connection of something I wasn't sure how to interpret. I closed my eyes and focused on Lara instead. I couldn't deal with him now.
"You don't need to worry. This isn't the end of the world," I replied. There was always a time and place for drama, and this wasn't the right one.
She held my shoulders and took a step back. "We need to fix this. Do you have a CV?"
Confusion stopped me from feeling anything else. It lodged in my throat and made it difficult to find the right words. "What? Why?"
"I need to know what we can use?"
"Use how?"
"If we're getting you a working visa, you need to provide a service I can't employ from an American. It has to be something only you can do." The seriousness in her voice made it all kinds of real and scary.
I swallowed hard. "I don't think my CV will be very helpful. I don't exactly have any skills. I don't have a finished degree, and I haven't had any jobs I can verify."
She hugged me again, and couldn't help but look at Tom over her shoulder. He appeared tense although he was leaning against the wall, one foot propped up behind him while he read the news. I didn't know what to make of him.
Lara loosened her embrace. "Joachim, I don't know if I can help you if you won't give me more than that."
I sighed. "Trust me, I'd love to hand you my ticket to stay, but I think it's too late."
We parted, standing back to assess the situation. Dante chose that moment to stick his unwelcome butt into my mess. "I have a solution."
Lara eyed him suspiciously. "What?"
"Tom." He said the name as if everyone would understand the implications. The silence curled around us, giving an illusion of time slowing down.
Lara cocked her head, appraising both Tom and me in turn. "Dante, I think we better ask Tom first before you play match-maker."
Dante shrugged, perhaps thinking that his job was done. The idea was out there, trailing around the room like a looming cloud with a headache. Nothing good could come out of this, and my body was more than aware. My heart pounded with unrelenting force against my ribs. I feared they would crack beneath the strain.
Tom looked up from his reading. "What?" We were all staring.
Lara cleared her throat. "Dante thinks you should marry Joachim."
Seconds passed—long seconds filled with dread. Funnily enough, Chris was the one who spluttered out a laughter. While the rest of us stood in strained silence, he clutched his stomach and seemed to have a hard time breathing.
I wanted to laugh it all away, as well, hoping to prevent the inevitable rejection, but I couldn't. My throat was clogged for the first time in history. The thought of Tom saying no pinched at my soft spots no matter how ridiculous it was.
"You can't be serious," Tom said, finally cutting through the silence. It didn't matter that his blade was sharp and fierce—it did its job like it was supposed to. How I reacted was my problem, not his.
It's only a joke. It must be a joke.
"Why not?" Dante questioned. His level gaze exuded a confidence that refused to let this idea go to waste. He was serious, and that was the strangest part of it all. How could Dante think that this was a viable option?
"Because..." Tom took a deep breath. "Because I have no intention of marrying anyone, much less someone who barely left their teens." There it was. The rejection. It stung more than it should have, but it also sparked an angry fire.
"I'm twenty-four. Hardly a teen." I don't know why I even tried to defend myself. It was just that I'd been fed that line too many times to count. Sure, my features didn't exactly help my case, but couldn't people look a little closer?
It was only when I repeated his response in my head that I realized that he hadn't commented on the fact that I was a guy. Could he be? My anger died instantly. I tried to recall all instances of interaction between us. That first night when he'd met my gaze across the dance floor. When he'd dismissed me at the charity event only to drive me home. When he'd seen right through my defenses across the car after the shopping tour. How he'd been tense, reluctant but also unable to cut me out completely.
Lara joined Tom by the wall. "It's not more than a marriage on a piece of paper. You don't need to make such a big deal out of it. Besides, we're lucky enough to have evidence of a prior relationship because of that tabloid photograph."
I wanted to tell her that marriage was a big deal, and that I had vowed never to get married, ever, but I couldn't form the words. It should have been easy to disregard everything—to joke and ask them what the hell they were thinking, but when my eyes found Tom, I felt that small stirring of longing that messed with everything I thought I knew. Was I imagining things?
He frowned, and I wondered what it meant. "Is it really that important that he stays?" Tom asked the others, assessing them one by one.
Lara straightened her dress. "What a ridiculous question. Do you think we would have asked if it wasn't important?" She glanced at me, and I shook my head. This wasn't right. They were lying to help me, and if Tom's decision would be based on lies, then we had failed even before we started.
I sighed and stepped forward, trying a steady sort of smile. I couldn't let him do this. "I want to stay, but I won't let you marry me to save my ass."
Tom's gaze flickered to mine, searching deeper and deeper. He was looking for something, and I was afraid of what he would find.
"If it's only a piece of paper, then I'll do it."
I couldn't breathe. I don't think anyone could.
He agreed, and I didn't know how to handle it. My heart was going crazy, pounding hard with excitement, stress, and worry at the same time. Breathing in slowly, I smiled in the only way I knew how.
"That's awesome. I've always wanted to plan a wedding." Without waiting for anyone's response, I sneaked into the bathroom, locked the door and doused my face in cold water.
This was freaking surreal.