Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Liam
Everyone spilled out of the Rainbow Taproom in a blur of glitter, sweat, and laughter, the bass still pulsing faintly through the sidewalk like a phantom heartbeat.
The door swung shut behind the last of us, muffling the disco chords of Alicia Bridges’ "I Love the Nightlife" as the warm night air rushed in, sticky on our skin but sobering in the best way.
We tumbled onto the sidewalk like the last twenty minutes hadn’t just been pure, glorious chaos. Heels on pavement, boots stomping, someone, probably Harper, letting out a cackle that could’ve shattered the streetlamp above us.
Callie twirled beneath it, arms wide, eyes lit with leftover joy. “Where’s the afterparty, bitches?” they yelled like a war cry.
“Waffle House,” Evan said, dead serious, like he was delivering communion.
Harper threw both fists in the air. “Scattered, smothered, and covered or get out of my face!”
That got a round of cheers, laughs, someone doing an actual cartwheel, and I swear I saw Renzo do a high kick.
I was walking alongside Evan when Jordan caught up, still riding that post-dance glow, curls damp at the edges, and smile easy. Evan bumped his shoulder lightly against Jordan’s and said, “You’re coming too, right? Waffle House is non-negotiable.”
Jordan grinned. “Oh, obviously. You think I’m missing breakfast food and bad decisions?”
Evan laughed, the first real one I’d heard from him all night, and I tucked that sound away. That was the kind of thing I wanted to bottle for later.
Yeah, this night was shaping up exactly the way it needed to.
“We’re walking, right?” Avery called out, already pulling Jules into a slow sideways stumble that resembled dancing more than anything else.
“There’s no way I’m trusting any of us behind a wheel,” Elliott said, his arm draped lazily around Sam’s shoulder. “Come on, it’s like four blocks. My liver could use the cardio.”
“Hash browns count as recovery fuel,” Jules added.
The group surged forward, a swirling pack of post-midnight joy, neon-reflected and glitter-dusted, their laughter echoing down the block. Jordan and Evan brought up the rear, fingers intertwined, whispering to each other and giggling in the warm hush of shared intoxication.
That’s when Renzo paused and turned. “Hey, Liam, dude, you forgot your shirt.”
I looked down at myself, bare chest damp with sweat and spangled with lingering bits of body glitter. “Oh. Yeah. Probably should have that before walking into a restaurant.”
“‘Restaurant’ is a very generous term for Waffle House,” Jules called back without turning around. “But yes. Shirt required.”
“Depends on the Waffle House,” Avery said. “Some consider a shirt optional but still strongly encouraged.”
I laughed and jogged a few steps backward. “Go get us a table. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’ll wait out here,” Sam said casually, leaning against a nearby lamppost. “I need air. And maybe a little distance from Harper’s glitter cloud.”
“You say that like it’s not your kink,” Harper replied over their shoulder.
Sam flipped him off without looking, which only made Harper blow him a kiss.
The others were already halfway down the block, moving like a pack of misfits, their laughter still spilling into the night. The Waffle House sign glowed ahead like a fluorescent lighthouse guiding sinners to salvation.
I lingered at the curb, watching them go. Evan and Jordan peeled off at the corner, fingers intertwined. I caught the way Jordan’s hand drifted to the small of Evan’s back soft, unconscious, and sweet. They disappeared down a quieter street, and for a moment it felt like the night exhaled.
Sam was by the lamppost, one foot up on the base, head tilted back to look at the stars. The light made him glow. He looked unguarded. Beautiful.
And I felt that thing again, that ache I’d tried to dance away. The one that twisted low in my stomach when his body had pressed into mine on the dance floor. When I’d kissed him. When he didn’t stop me.
I turned and I stepped back inside, shirtless and flushed. The Taproom door thudding shut behind me.
The Rainbow Taproom always looked different once everyone left.
Without the bodies packed together and the bass rattling the walls, the place felt almost shy.
Sticky floors gleaming under the house lights.
Stray feathers and glitter ground into the corners.
The air was still thick with sweat, cologne, and spilled drinks, like the ghost of the party refusing to leave.
My jeans clung to my thighs in that uncomfortable, damp way that only came from hours of dancing too hard and caring too little. My skin still buzzed, like the music hadn’t quite let go of me yet.
And my mouth still tingled.
Fuck.
My brain replayed it for the hundredth time. Sam’s hands. Sam’s mouth. The way he’d leaned into me like he trusted me not to let him fall.
That kiss.
Jesus.
I spotted my shirt immediately, draped over a barstool like it had been deliberately placed there, waiting for me to come to my senses. I reached for it.
Got distracted halfway there by a stray glittery boot print on the floor and a half-empty cocktail bleeding neon pink down the side of a glass.
Huh.
Then I blinked, shook it off, and grabbed my shirt.
“I figured you’d be back for that.”
I jumped, heart slamming into my ribs as I spun toward the bar.
Max sat there, stripped of every ounce of Maxie Glam.
No wig or lashes. No rhinestones or neon drama.
Just Max. A tired hoodie zipped halfway up, jeans, and a glass of water cradled in his hands.
He looked relaxed in a way I’d almost never seen him, seeing me like he’d already clocked exactly where my head was.
Great.
“Jesus, Maxie!” I exclaimed, pressing a hand to my chest. “Are you trying to kill me?”
He smiled, unimpressed. “Please. You’d survive. Barely.”
I grabbed my shirt but didn’t put it on yet, just bunching it in my hands. My pulse was still racing, and I had the sense that Maxie could see every thought written across my face.
He took another sip of water, eyes never leaving me.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Liam spouted, grabbing his shirt.
“You didn’t.” Maxie nodded to the stool beside him. “Sit a minute.”
Liam hesitated, then obeyed.
“Well,” he said calmly, like we were discussing the weather, “that was an interesting series of events tonight.”
I groaned.
Maxie set his glass down. “You kissed him.”
I looked away. “Is everyone talking about it already?”
“Liam.” Maxie’s tone was gentle. “It was quite the show. It was beautiful. And loud. And lit in perfect strobe. Of course we watched.”
I swallowed. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“But it did.”
We sat in silence for a beat, the ice in Maxie’s glass clinking as it melted.
“You ever have someone who looked at you like you were the sun?” Maxie asked suddenly. “Like you could burn them and they’d thank you for the heat?”
I didn’t answer.
“His name was Tony,” Maxie went on, eyes far away. “Schoolteacher. Wore sweater vests. Smelled like chalk dust and peppermint. And he loved me. Really loved me. Not the queen or the show. Me. But I was a mess. I wasn’t ready for someone to see that and stay.”
He took a long sip of water.
“So I flirted. I kissed him in the wings. I whispered promises with escape hatches built in. And eventually, he took one.”
“What happened?” I asked, voice quieter than I meant.
Maxie turned to me, expression soft. “He left. Met someone else. Built a life. Sends me Christmas cards sometimes. But we were never the same.”
Another pause. Then, “I see the way Sam looks at you. And I see the way you look back, when you think no one’s watching.”
My stomach clenched.
“You don’t strike me as cruel,” Maxie said. “But fear? Fear can make liars of the kindest people. Can make us selfish in ways we don’t realize until someone’s gone.”
I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat.
“If you’re just playing, say so. But don’t give him maybes if you’re never gonna give him more.”
I blinked, my throat burning.
Maxie stood and shrugged on his hoodie.
“Don’t use someone else’s heart to figure out your own.”
He made it halfway to the door, then paused.
“And Liam?”
I looked up.
“You’re not broken. But don’t break him just because you’re still putting yourself back together.”
The door clicked behind Maxie, leaving me sitting in the quiet neon echo of the Taproom, shirt in hand, the ghost of Sam’s lips still lingering on my own and the weight of truth pressing hard against my ribs.
The air outside hit me like a tide shift. It was a little cooler now, but still sticky with the remnants of sweat and spilled drinks. The Taproom door swung shut behind me with a dull click.
Sam stood where I’d left him, leaning against the lamppost like some melancholy indie movie shot, arms folded across his chest. His head was tilted back, eyes tracing something up in the sky, maybe stars, maybe nothing.
He turned when he heard me, lips parting like he was about to say something, then didn’t.
I gave him a crooked smile, unsure if I was supposed to be apologizing or pretending like none of it had happened.
“Got the shirt,” I said, lifting it like proof. “Didn’t want to get kicked out of Waffle House for indecent exposure.”
Sam laughed, short and almost fond. “Would’ve been a first, but yeah. Probably best to keep the nipples under wraps.”
We started walking. Quiet at first. Just the slap of our shoes on the sidewalk and the fading sound of the others ahead of us. Laughter, someone howling the start of a Taylor Swift song, and Avery’s unmistakable cackle echoing off the buildings.
Sam shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders still a little tight.
“You good?” I asked, not sure what I even meant. About the night? About us?
He nodded, then shook his head. “I mean… yeah. It was just a lot. Fun. But… a lot.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Same.”
Another pause stretched between us.
I tried again. “You ever think about how every Pride night ends with us chasing hash browns like it’s the holy grail?”
That earned a small smile from him. “Better than chasing men we shouldn’t want.”
Oof.
I chuckled, but it snagged on something sharp in my chest. “Yeah… guess we’re both guilty there.”
He didn’t say anything to that, just gave me a look I couldn’t read. His eyes darted down to my mouth, barely for a second, and I felt it like a spark under my skin.
We turned the corner, Waffle House shining like a beacon at the end of the block. The group was already spilling into the tiny vestibule, arguing about booths versus counter stools.
Sam paused before the door.
I reached for the handle, then hesitated, glancing back at him.
He nodded. “I could eat the entire menu.”
I winked. “I’ll fight you for the last waffle.”
“You’d lose,” he said, brushing past me, but his arm grazed mine.
The post-Pride afterglow had settled into that soft, slightly disheveled intimacy that only Waffle House at 3 a.m. can provide.
Grease shimmered in the air like an aura of the divine, syrup clinging to every surface like a benediction.
We were all some variation of drunk, sweaty, glitter-smeared, and emotionally high on the evening's festivities.
Harper, Avery, Sam, Jules, Elliott, and I were crammed into two adjacent booths, legs tangled under the tables, voices bouncing off chipped tile and yellow laminate. A server with a teal mullet and a “DEAD INSIDE” enamel pin was slinging hash browns like a breakfast deity.
Callie and Renzo had claimed the booth across the aisle, already arguing over whether blueberry or chocolate chip waffles were superior. Renzo had syrup on his chin, Callie had glitter in their eyebrows, and both looked like they hadn’t stopped smiling since they walked in.
Menus were scattered like playing cards after a rowdy hand, some smeared with food stains. Coffee cups seemed to refill themselves by magic. Someone somewhere had started singing a little off-key, and it didn’t matter who.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, but no one cared. It was late, it was Pride, and it was Waffle House.
Elliott stabbed his fork into a scattered, smothered, covered mess. “Okay, but real talk. Who let Maxie play emotional terrorist with that DJ set?”
“Oh my god, “Erotica”?” Avery gasped. “I nearly combusted.”
“Harper did combust,” Jules chimed in, eyes bleary with delight. “I saw them grinding on Renzo like it was a paid gig.”
“I contain multitudes,” Harper said, licking whipped cream off his thumb. “Also, Renzo’s ass? A gift.”
Everyone nodded solemnly.
Renzo, mid-sip of his coffee, raised his eyebrows. “Thank you for seeing me. I work hard. I squat deeper than my emotional issues.”
Callie snorted into her mug. “That’s not a low bar.”
“You’re just jealous you didn’t get to grind on me,” Renzo shot back with a wink.
“Please,” Callie said. “You’d pull a hamstring trying to keep up.”
“I’d die happy,” Renzo said, arms stretched along the back of the booth like the king of brunch.
Sam was beside me, flushed and quiet, hands holding his mug like it was the only thing anchoring him. The kiss hadn’t been mentioned. Yet.
But then Harper tilted their head, all innocence and mischief. “Sooo…”
I stiffened.
“…was it the music, the tequila, or are we just all pretending we didn’t see the kiss?”
Sam let out a breath that was halfway between a snort and a sigh. “Must’ve been the glitter fog. Y’all hallucinated.”
Avery leaned in. “My gay little eyes don’t lie, Samuel.”
Elliott grinned, nudging Sam with his shoulder. “I’m just saying, if you’re gonna make out in the middle of the dance floor, you could at least give us a warning to clear a perimeter.”
“Honestly,” Jules added, sipping her coffee, “it was cinematic. Tasteful tongue.”
I opened my mouth to say something clever, flirty, anything, but my brain short-circuited somewhere between tasteful tongue and the way Sam’s thigh brushed against mine under the table.
“Y’all are doing a lot right now,” Sam said, color creeping into his cheeks.
Harper smirked. “And yet… not wrong.”
I finally found my voice. “Maybe it was a Pride miracle. You know, like a kiss from a glitter-covered fairy. You make a wish, it vanishes with the strobe lights.”
“Oh, so you vanish after kissing now?” Jules baited.
“Only when the floor’s sticky,” I shot back.
That got a round of laughter, and the attention shifted, saving me from whatever I might’ve said next, to Harper’s theory about the Waffle House menu being a secret queer-coded spellbook.
But under the table, Sam’s pinky found mine. A soft brush. Then a tap. Then stillness.
And I didn’t pull away.