Chapter -9- #2
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” His fingers squeeze Denz’s hip.
“You too,” Denz whispers.
“Sorry I’m late,” Braylon says, smiling dreamily. “Can I make it up to you?”
“Sure?”
He doesn’t mean to answer with a question of his own. It’s just that— Jesus . The sincerity in Braylon’s voice is next-level acting.
Jamie could never.
A pair of throats clear noisily.
On cue, Braylon turns, hand extended. “Apologies. Aunt Cheryl and Eva, correct?” He smiles at Kenneth next. “Lovely to see you again, Mr. Carter.”
“You finally made it,” Kenneth says.
“Traffic was an absolute nightmare,” Braylon explains while kissing Kami’s cheek, half hugging her. “Beautiful as ever, Kami. I’ve missed you and Nic. Is she here?”
“It’s a school night,” Kenneth grunts.
Kami says, beaming, “She’s dying to see you.”
“I can’t wait to see her.”
“So.” Eva sizes up Braylon. “You’re Denz’s boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend the sequel,” Cheryl corrects over the thrum of a Whitney Houston cover of “Higher Love.”
Denz sighs. Here we fucking go . But Braylon’s warm, unbothered laugh sings above Denz’s grim thoughts.
“Yes. I suppose it is a part two.”
“There won’t be a trilogy,” Eva bites.
“I should hope not,” Braylon says earnestly. “We’re quite serious about each other.”
Cheryl cocks a hip. “And how did you two get back together?”
“We, uh.”
Denz can’t answer quick enough. They never rehearsed their fictious backstory. Not like he had with Jamie. His parents didn’t ask at dinner either. Now, he’s without a lie that’ll not only convince the aunties, but Kami and his dad too.
“Shockingly enough,” Braylon starts, “it was at a Halloween party.”
“At a bar,” Denz jumps in.
Braylon nods. “I’d got quite pissed on tequila. We’ve all been there, right?”
“Unfortunately,” Eva confirms under her breath.
Next to her, Kenneth remains expressionless.
“I’d run across Denz’s socials before,” Braylon continues. “I’m a program director at an LGBTQ+ youth center. It’s important to know what queer influencers interest them.”
“You saw one of my videos,” Denz inserts, trying to keep up.
“Yes. I found out we were both at—”
“The Velvet Room.”
“And I DM’d you like a right git.” Something flashes in Braylon’s eyes. “I was too intimidated to approach you.”
“Because you left him for London,” Cheryl suggests, an edge to her voice.
“Sadly, yes.” Braylon doesn’t shrink under the aunties’ challenging glares. He’s not overwhelmed by Kenneth’s presence either. His focus lands back on Denz. “But I walked up to you. I said the music was too loud and—”
“We went to the patio,” Denz says.
“You laughed when I spilled my drink.”
“You ruined my shirt just like I ruined yours when we first met,” Denz confirms, as if any of this actually happened. “I asked you to walk around downtown with me.”
“I bought you a s’mores doughnut because—”
“I’d never had one.”
The room drops away. No spinning lights. No Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.” Only Braylon and him, standing on a city corner under a streetlamp. Awkward smiles and unexpected laughs and never needing words to fill up the space between them.
“We talked for hours,” Braylon almost whispers. “Made up for lost time.”
Denz inhales shakily. It’s not real. He went to a Halloween party at the Velvet Room. Posted about it on social media. But after two hours of mingling and cheap drinks and disinterested flirting with strangers, Denz went home.
Alone .
But, somewhere in his belly, he wishes this is what really happened.
At his side, Kami hisses, “Fuck me.”
Yeah, Denz thinks. He grimaces. No. Absolutely not.
“Sorry,” he says, tugging on Braylon’s hand. “My boyfriend’s dying to meet the mayor. Big fan. Enjoy the party!”
The dance floor’s crowd swallows them up. With all the gyrating bodies, Denz is forced to squeeze Braylon’s hand tighter. He ignores the indignant yelp from behind him, too frustrated to care.
How could he let that happen? Giving Braylon permission to tell their fake reunion story.
Sure, it was sweet, endearing even. But it was too perfect.
Doughnuts? Please, everyone knows Denz is a muffin man.
The aunties are probably having a cackle while dissecting every silly, incorrect detail Braylon put in there.
Denz might drink himself into a real coma before the night’s over.
“Would you slow down.”
He barely hears Braylon’s gruff voice over Prince’s “Kiss.” Denz stops abruptly, spinning around to growl, “What was that?”
Braylon’s eyes widen. “What. Was. What?”
“That.” Denz gesticulates toward the bar. His dad and Kami are gone, but the aunties are still there, watching like vultures zoned in on a decaying body. “The whole—you know!”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“The story, Braylon,” Denz snaps.
“Wait.” Braylon shakes his head, disappointed. “You’re upset because I saved you from making an utter arse of yourself in front of your family?”
“Stop talking like Hugh Grant. I was gonna improvise.”
“You were going to fail.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Braylon glowers. “What was wrong with what I said?”
Over Braylon’s shoulder, Denz clocks Eva being hauled to the dance floor by Uncle Orlando. Cheryl’s clutching her phone, thumbs at the ready to transcribe the latest entry in the Keeping Up with the Carters group chat.
Pasting on a sparkling smile, Denz says, “You were too perfect. It was like a fantasy date recap on The Bachelor .”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“You’ve seen that show, right?”
“Of course. It’s all Kami and me talked about.” Braylon steps closer. “Sorry if my attempt to help you land a promotion by pretending we magically fell back in love came off as cheesy.”
“Like a jar of Cheez Whiz.” Denz’s shoulders droop. “And we’re doing this for you too.”
“Are we? You still haven’t held up your end of the deal.”
“You’ll meet the mayor.”
“When?”
Denz strains to hold his grin. To not shove Braylon into the champagne tower. He wishes Braylon would stop staring at him like that. With his stupid, pouty mouth. The one Denz almost kissed the other day.
A Rihanna song he’s heard a hundred times before comes on.
Denz remembers this:
January, sophomore year. Sitting in the passenger seat of Braylon’s Corolla, fingers tangled over the center console.
The low hum of the radio. Braylon singing along with Rihanna while staring at him.
Denz refusing to get out of the car, even though he was late for class, a constant rotation of I never want to say goodbye to this boy in his head.
Now, Braylon grumbles, “Can’t believe I’m apologizing for being the Prince Charming you asked me to be.”
Denz sighs out, “You’re right.”
“I… am?”
“I’m not holding up my part. Would you like to meet Mayor Reynolds?”
A pause. Braylon’s eyes narrow suspiciously.
“It’s not a trick question,” Denz grunts. “I’m not going to trip you or anything.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
The edge to Braylon’s face softens. “I’m thinking about what I want to say to her.”
Denz recognizes all the little tics. Like that night in Braylon’s car, right before he met Denz’s parents. He considers offering a suggestion, maybe an opening line, but decides on a different tack.
He threads his fingers through Braylon’s. Refuses to acknowledge how effortless the movement is.
“Come on. I’ll do the talking.”
Soon, they’re in the mix of Mayor Reynolds and her team.
Denz turns on the Carter charm before introducing Braylon.
He talks up all the work the nonprofit’s doing for Atlanta’s queer youth.
Some of the goals Braylon mentioned at the center.
The mayor listens intently, and Denz doesn’t release Braylon’s hand until he knows he has her.
He steps back.
“Mayor—I mean, Tiffany,” Denz says with a practiced laugh, “could we get a photo?” His phone’s already in hand as her assistant begins to protest. He pleads, “For the teens?”
The start of a dimple appears in Mayor Reynolds’s cheek as she sidles up to Braylon, shooing the anxious assistant back.
“You know I love the kids.”
Nervously, Braylon rests an arm around her waist.
It’s the perfect shot. The popping red of the mayor’s gown with the sleek black of Braylon’s tux. Her tiara glimmers. Braylon’s smile glows, his attention fully focused on the camera.
Denz sends the image to their text thread. He watches Braylon talk animatedly with his hands. Mayor Reynolds nods, beaming. A warm feeling spreads in Denz’s chest that he tries to blame on the alcohol. Except, he hasn’t had any.
Maybe it’s how successful the party is. Or that intense sensation of accomplishing more than one goal. Knowing he did something good for someone.
He doesn’t want to dwell too much on it.
When the mayor’s impatient staffers give the universal wrap it up signal, she graciously waves at Braylon. “I’ll be expecting an email with details about that event soon!” she yells while being escorted away.
Braylon stumbles over to him, eyes glassy.
“That… just happened?”
“It did,” Denz confirms.
“You don’t understand,” Braylon says. “I’ve been chasing her for months . No response to emails or phone calls. Total silence. But we just spoke for five minutes.” An indecipherable glint flashes across his eyes. “Denz, you…”
Denz waits. Again, Braylon leaves his last sentence unfinished. But he squeezes Denz’s hand firmly.
Denz is not blushing at the touch.
“Big deal,” he says. “I made an intro. It’s nothing.”
Braylon’s gaze catches on something behind Denz. “Your dad,” he whispers, ducking his head, “is watching us.”
“Ah.” Denz could tell that Kenneth still wasn’t convinced by their act. He says dismissively, “You know how he is. Not as easy to win over as the others. Kind of stubborn.”
“Like his son.”
“Don’t make me regret what I just did for you.”
“No, no. I wouldn’t dare.” Braylon chews the inside of his cheek. “Should we, um, give him more proof?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well.” His eyes sweep Denz’s face. “Should we kiss? To prove earlier wasn’t simply a show?”
“Oh,” Denz says hoarsely.
Should they? It might help. Denz is supposed to be concentrating on the party. He’s here to impress his dad with his leadership abilities, not make out with his—unreasonably hot—fake boyfriend. Though, with Braylon’s face so close, he’s finding it harder and harder to reason against the idea.
“Are you okay with it?” he asks, low, unsure.
“It’s in the agreement.”
It is in the agreement:
#3: Kissing is allowed, but only with verbal consent.
Denz swallows, palms sweaty. “Is it okay if I kiss you? For, like, evidence. Or whatever.”
Wide brown eyes darken. This was a mistake. Braylon’s suggestion was a joke. He doesn’t actually want to kiss him. And Denz should have never—
Braylon’s lips are on his.
He’s kissing Denz.
At first, it’s awkward. Noses colliding, foreheads knocking. Denz is eager to make it look cinematic, to fool everyone into believing they’re in love, but this is all wrong.
Until Braylon leans into it.
His hands cup Denz’s cheeks. The new angle eases a sigh from Denz’s lips. His knees shouldn’t be unsteady. This kiss is nothing like their first one at The Varsity. That was reckless and fun and real.
This is… a performance.
A fucking Emmy-worthy one.
A sly flick of tongue. The soft skin where stubble was. Pressure that tingles from lips to spine to toes.
Denz pulls away, heartbeat erratic. He refuses to assess Braylon’s expression. Pick it apart to see if he felt any of what Denz just did.
“Okay,” he croaks. “The mayor’s speech. I need to. Er, get onstage soon.”
Where the hell was Connor with an itinerary and a credible excuse for Denz to walk away?
Braylon’s mouth twitches. Denz doesn’t stay long enough to see if it’s a smile or a frown. He rushes to the corner where his team is staged. Denz gives himself thirty seconds to find his chill. Eric passes him a bottled water, not saying a word.
When Denz unlocks his phone to review his speech notes, the first thing that appears is the photo of Braylon standing tall in his tux, smiling right at the camera.
Denz can’t help grinning back.