Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

dredge up a single retort. He simply stared back at Kevin, wondering which parts of his recent experience were his real life, and which were just strange snatches of performance art.

When neither Ricardo nor John took up the gauntlet and snarked back at him, Kevin puffed himself up bigger, gave them his nastiest glare, and said, “Y’all don’t intimidate me.”

And with that, he turned away, thrust the pin into the heaviest setting of the chest press, sat himself down, pushed…and grunted.

Ricardo twisted around and pressed the treadmill’s power-button as John climbed off. Today’s workout was officially over.

Even so, Ricardo found he couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

“Why don’t we go back to my room this time,” Ricardo suggested, once there was enough distance between them and Kevin that the workout grunts faded into the Mansion’s background noise. “There’s a private shower.”

“I like the way you think.” John trailed his fingertips over the back of Ricardo’s hand as he veered off toward the kitchen. “I’ll get my things and meet you there.”

The handhelds weren’t paying Ricardo any particular attention as he skipped up the stairs two at a time. Too bad. If anyone deserved to have happy-music playing in the background as they trooped back to the dorms, it was him. He flung open the door to his old room with his mind on what he’d wear tonight, and whether they’d hear how they did in the latest challenge anytime soon. He was so absorbed, he didn’t hear the rustle of paper until it dragged in an arc.

A single sheet had been slid under his door. It was your typical plain white printer-paper. Wrinkly, like someone had crunched it into a ball and then flattened it out again. Ricardo picked it up and turned it over, and found a snapshot of him and John.

It was an awesome picture, even printed on plain paper with an inkjet printer. It had been taken outdoors in diffuse sunlight, and for a quickie shot, it had great color and contrast. Seeing the moment when John had told Ricardo how good he looked, but viewing it from outside himself, felt surreal. Ricardo had never given much thought to how the two of them looked together. John was deliciously tall next to him—and that Edwardian tux was enough to make Ricardo lightheaded.

Too bad the photo’s headline was Ricardo the Fag-ificent.

Ricardo read the online message thread with dull interest, then had another look at the photo—my God, John is so handsome—then read the comments again. And when he heard John’s footfalls heading down the hall toward his room, he fought the impulse to jam the printout in the back of a drawer, to spare John from seeing what the public thought of them together.

But he didn’t. He decided he’d rather embark on their new life together with disapproval rather than lies. Ricardo had learned to give what other people thought only the smallest amount of credence—so, what other people thought about him and John? That was their business. What John thought of him was the thing that mattered.

“What’s that?” John asked in a soft voice.

Ricardo handed it over, then turned to get ready. He didn’t want to watch John read it, and yet he held on to it for so long, Ricardo eventually stopped going through his shower caddy and looked up to see what was going on.

John’s eyes were closed. He held the printout in one hand, parallel to the ground. The fingers of his other hand stroked the surface of the paper, their motion hypnotic, as if he was demonstrating some new sleight of hand that would end with him pulling out a mylar flower, or maybe making the whole thing disappear in a pop of flash paper. When he opened his eyes, finally, he said, “Quite a few people have handled this. But we don’t really know them.”

“Not Kevin?”

“I don’t think so.”

Ricardo took the paper from John and looked at the photo again, squinting so the phrase “I hope they give each other AIDS and die” was a bit less distinct. “No…” Ricardo mused. “Kevin’s more direct. And he doesn’t have access to the Internet any more than we do. Plus that thing he said about not being intimidated by us?”

John stroked his beard. “It must mean that he is.”

“Exactly.”

Ricardo dug a pair of manicure scissors out of his caddy, and set to snipping the photograph away from the hateful words. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find that photo again online,” John said, smiling his sad smile.

“I’m not going to give some asshole the satisfaction of ruining my day. As far as I’m concerned, all they’ve accomplished was treating me to a picture of you and me—you in that crazy-hot tux—and as the first shot of the two of us together I’ve had the pleasure of seeing, it’s currently my favorite photo in the world.”

John took the wrinkled snapshot from Ricardo and slipped an edge of it behind the frame of the dresser mirror to display it, and said in his grave and sonorous tones, “The first…of many.”

Chapter 37

SCORING THE PERFORMANCE

They were lying in Ricardo’s large bed, still damp from the shower, when a PA knocked and told them taping would begin after lunch, and fancy activewear would be required for the challenge. John kissed Ricardo goodbye deliberately, though they’d spent the morning lost in kisses. He didn’t know what they were heading into—and he felt it would be wise to ensure he was fortified against anything.

John’s activewear was nowhere near as clingy and revealing as Ricardo’s glittery gymnastic outfits. The slacks were fine dining waiters’ tuxedo pants with hidden elastic, the white shirt was a lycra blend made for dancers, and the vest had stretchy panels along the seams. Even his shoes were utilitarian. They looked like dress shoes from afar, but the soles were made to stand up to oily floors and broken glass. Once his secretly-flexible wardrobe was in place, John headed for makeup. Every crew member he