Chapter -16- #2
Braylon peels himself away. “They’re art .”
“Fuck, you’re awful at this.”
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you are. Your ancestors are offended. Have you never taken a selfie before?”
A sudden urge to kiss Braylon’s pouty mouth rattles Denz. Scratch that. He’s going to be the one throwing up last night’s food.
“C’mere,” he demands.
After too much effort and groggy complaints from Braylon, Denz rolls to his side.
He convinces Braylon to spoon him. A hint of relief comes when he realizes he’s not the only one with a sleepy erection.
Denz poses Braylon’s hand against his chest. Fixes the bedding until it only covers his lower half.
The shot is captured in one attempt:
Denz, shirtless on his side. Braylon hidden except for his arm; long fingers curled around Denz’s scruffy chin. Sunlight washes over them in the perfect shade of orange.
He captions it: morning cuddles . Adds the sleeping-face and smiling-with-three-hearts emojis.
“You’re okay with this?” Denz double-checks.
His first two posts were tame. Small hints to tease his followers. But this …
The gossip blogs will certainly smell blood in the water. At least it’ll push the narrative for his family.
Braylon stares at the photo for a long minute. “Yes,” he whispers.
“I won’t tag you,” Denz promises again.
“I know.”
And that hint of confidence, of the trust in Braylon’s voice, wakes a smile from the corners of Denz’s lips. He posts, then tucks his phone under a pillow.
A beat passes. Braylon doesn’t move away. There’s a distinct nudge between Denz’s thighs, behind his balls, that encourages his own half-hard cock to life.
God, he could go for another round.
No . Last night was… they were drunk. It was a one-time—two, actually—thing, but that’s all.
He does his best to slide into Now Denz. The one who doesn’t do sleepovers. Who never saves numbers, never repeats. Never, ever gets attached. He shakes off the ghost of College Denz because that version was uncertain and got his heart shattered.
That Denz wouldn’t last five seconds as head of 24 Carter Gold.
He needs to crawl out of bed. It’s time to get dressed. Order a car to drive him back to his own. Also, he should check in with Kami. Offer to help her with any of last night’s wrap-up like a responsible future CEO would.
With the engagement party out of the way, his dad’s retirement event is all that’s left before the next successor is chosen.
Now, more than ever, Denz needs to focus.
But the moment he turns to face Braylon to tell him this, the words dry up in his throat.
He’s caught on the shadowy bristle along Braylon’s jaw.
Warm skin soaking up the light. The sleepiness in his brown eyes.
Even this Braylon, with the curls instead of a buzz cut, quiet smirk instead of a loud, infectious grin, the heavy brow of someone who’s experienced success and loss and life in another country, looks at Denz like he’s still that boy in Athens pretending to know what the fuck he was doing.
“Do you think,” Denz pauses, swallowing, “I can do it?”
“Do what?”
“Run the company. Be the boss. Carry my dad’s legacy.”
“Do you ?”
Denz knows what the aunties think. What his dad thinks. What Kami thought—or maybe still thinks, he’s not sure. But right now, he only cares about one person’s opinion.
“I want so bad to do what my dad’s done for others,” he says. “Sometimes, I think I can be just like him. Be good enough . And then… I don’t know.” He shrugs half-heartedly. “No one else sees that in me.”
Braylon props his cheek on his knuckles. He stares down at Denz.
“Then I look at you and see so much confidence,” Denz says, quieter. “I know I keep saying this, but you’re different. It’s not a bad different. Anymore.”
“That’s a compliment, right?”
“A fact.” Denz’s tone is a weird tangle of envy and fondness when he says, “You look like you belong at Skye’s the Limit. Nora believes in you. I saw it last night. You don’t need me to get that promotion.”
He smooths the wrinkle from between Braylon’s brows.
“You’re great on your own, Braylon. People love you.”
“They love you too,” Braylon counters.
Denz laughs bitterly. “They love who they see online. Or at parties. My family loves when I don’t fuck anything up.”
He throws an arm over his eyes, groaning. Soon, fingers wrap around his wrist, tugging. Denz is forced to look up at Braylon’s deep scowl, his narrowed eyes.
“The people who matter love you for you.”
Denz inhales.
“I believe in you.” Braylon’s mouth slowly stretches upward. “You’re great on your own too.”
Denz follows the stream of careening sunlight over Braylon’s face. The clarity in his expression. Once again, he’s chosen his ex to spill his guts to over everyone else in his life. He should probably analyze that. But his stomach chooses now to growl angrily, and Braylon shakes with laughter.
“Shower and breakfast then?”
“Okay,” Denz agrees, relieved. He can’t spend another minute in his own head.
His gaze drifts down the bedspread. The very naked parts of them are still hidden. He doesn’t want to take any chances on his dick being reenergized by showering with Braylon, so he suggests, “You first.”
Groggily, Braylon crawls from their one-night-only cocoon. He stumbles to the bathroom. Denz’s eyes linger on his hairy legs, the shape of his ass until the door shuts.
Fist to his mouth, he moans.
This is why their agreement had conditions. Preventive measures. Now, it’s like all the rules are nothing but blurry, Rorschach inkblots, open for varied interpretation.
He reaches for a distraction. His phone. Something to keep his mind off the noise of the shower water hitting the tiles. Of Braylon standing, naked, under the hot spray. Of… Braylon, in an off-key voice, singing the song they danced to last night?
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Denz hurls a pillow at the bathroom door. Braylon’s voice gets louder.
Fine. Maybe it can’t hurt to blur the lines some more.
Denz leaps out of bed. Sprints into the foggy bathroom. He kisses the surprised yelp off Braylon’s lips. He maneuvers them both under the waterfall spray. Braylon’s body instantly responds, and Denz doesn’t recall a rule about hand jobs in their agreement.
The lines need redefining anyway.
the Carter Family Group Chat
Today 10:33 A.M .
Aunt Cheryl Carter
KAMI MADE THE FRONT PAGE OF SOUTHERN brIDE!
Aunt Eva Carter-Rivera Correction: THE SEDWICKS made the front page of Southern Bride’s BLOG. Denzel was featured in BY INVITATION ONLY.
Aunt Cheryl Carter Kami was in the background! Their writeup mentioned the company 6 times! Whats your point, E?
Aunt Eva Carter-Rivera That you’re wrong.
Aunt Cheryl Carter Its still great publicity! Meanwhile our nephew is posting thirst traps in bed w his BF
Nic Carter auntie please dont use the words “thirst trap” when talking about my bro its gross & he could never
Aunt Cheryl Carter Its all over Facebook!!! Taking attention away from Kamis big night
Aunt Eva Carter-Rivera He’s in a serious relationship that’s getting good buzz. Isn’t that what you wanted??
Aunt Cheryl Carter I didn’t want to see our nephew’s nipples on dlisted’s twitter!
Nic Carter [Tatianna from drag race choices.gif]
Leena Carter It’s Sunday morning. Y’all need Jesus. Going to ask my bible club to send an extra prayer up for each of you.
“Tell me more.”
Denz should be at his apartment, resting.
Tomorrow starts the final leg of the CEO race.
He should be napping on the sofa. Or cleaning the bedroom he didn’t sleep in last night.
Instead, he’s on an outdoor patio at Buttermilk & Jam, a swanky café in Buckhead, feeding his mild hangover with cornbread muffins and coffee.
Spring always comes early in Atlanta. February has barely vanished before lush greens return to the trees, the air scented in blooming flowers, trenches and boots shed for shorts and sandals.
Overhead, delicate white clouds float in a rich cornflower-blue sky. Dozens of red umbrellas shade the patio. Denz rolls up the sleeves of his somewhat wrinkly white oxford.
Across from him, Jamie waits impatiently.
He’s been recapping the engagement party. The gorgeous setting and awful speeches. Running into Braylon’s boss. The part about one too many drinks, carefully leaving out the kiss. He’s just started on Kiana, the front desk manager, when Jamie says, “So, when did you two fuck?”
Denz spits out his coffee.
It’s a slow brunch crowd. The closest customer, a fortysomething man, is too engrossed in his laptop to care. That doesn’t stop Denz from kicking Jamie under the table.
“We didn’t have—”
“Oh, you definitely did.” Jamie laughs. “Your clothes are wrecked, you’re obnoxiously giddy, and you keep watching your phone like Juliet waiting to hear from Romeo.”
It’s not true. Denz can’t help if the aunties are feuding in the family group chat. Or that his notifications have been out of control ever since posting that morning selfie.
But, like, maybe his eyes go there once or twice, expecting a text from Braylon.
After leaving the hotel, they shared a light breakfast. They ate in an easy silence, ankles brushing, eyes lingering a second too long. Denz kept waiting for the awkwardness to appear. It never came. Not even when the car service dropped them off at the botanical gardens.
They didn’t kiss goodbye. But Braylon’s pinkie remained curled around Denz’s until they were forced to walk in opposite directions toward their cars.
So, it’s not Denz’s fault he’s anticipating an I’m home message from Braylon to pop up on his screen. He’s simply being thoughtful.
“You’re doing it again .”
Denz snaps to attention, almost knocking over his mug.
Jamie leans forward and says, in a conspiratorial voice, “Was it good?”
“No, stop.”
“I knew it!” Jamie’s grin widens. “British dick is amazing.”
“He’s from here . Dunwoody.”
Jamie pushes his wavy bangs back. He’s in a tight-fit black V-neck and skinny jeans. He reaches for one of Denz’s muffins as he says, “Irrelevant. You two finally boned. You’re happy. What’s there to complain about?”
Wow. For once, Denz doesn’t have anything to complain about.
The sex was good. And it wasn’t weird afterward. His family’s still buying into the whole fake relationship. The company’s trending, whether from Kami’s successful event or his photo with Braylon, Denz doesn’t care. He’s content.
“Well?” Jamie prompts.
Denz smiles fondly into his coffee. “It’s… nice.”
His phone chimes on the table. It’s not another social media alert. Or an update in the group chat. It’s also not the I made it back to my apartment safely, thanks for the great night text he’s forecasting in the most nonchalant, zero-fucks-given way.
But it is a message from Braylon:
Is your name Earl Grey?
Because you’re definitely a hot-tea!
This time, Denz snorts so hard, he sees stars. Another text bubble appears under the last. Denz bites his lip, watching the floating ellipsis.
I’m home by the way , Braylon sends. The party was wonderful. You looked great.
He fights off another stupid grin.
you werent a bad date, he texts. 8 out of 10 .
Braylon’s response reads, You’re too kind. I’ll do better next time.
Denz starts to type out a thank you for the body-tingling orgasm in the shower earlier but thinks better of it. Some thoughts should stay in the drafts.
“ Ohmygod, please stop,” Jamie begs, startling the phone from Denz’s hands. He locks the screen before Jamie can read anything.
“Hmm?”
“Whatever your face is doing right now is gross,” Jamie says. “I can’t handle how cute you two are.”
“It’s fake, asshole.”
“Oh. Okay.” Jamie stares at him, eyebrows lowered like he’s unsure if they’re speaking the same language. “Of course. Totally fake.”
Denz is about to ask what’s happening with Jamie’s tone when a throat clears. A short, stout woman with stringy red hair stands over them, her deadly glare directed at Jamie.
“Jamie Peters,” she hisses. “You’re on the clock.”
“Um, hi, Georgina.” Jamie winces.
“What’re you doing out here for an hour and ten minutes?”
“Bussing tables?”
“While sitting down?”
“Yes.” Jamie does his best to sit taller, but it’s more of a raised slouch. “The lower elevation helps me focus?”
Georgina rolls her eyes. “Get your ass back to the bar. Amber’s drowning. A party of twelve ordered Long Islands and appetizers. Go before I fire you and rehire you next weekend for the St. Paddy’s Day crowd!”
Jamie scurries away from the table.
Before Georgina joins him, she points a stern finger at Denz, cheeks burgundy. “Don’t think your food’s on the house either. I expect a big tip. Tell your mom I said hello. And let your dad know we’re serving those tomato and goat cheese quiches he loves again.”
Denz smirks. He tugs out his wallet, forgetting all about Jamie’s cryptic expression or replying to Braylon’s last text.
It’s time to go home.