Chapter 12 Register the Gifts #2
“They’re a nonprofit,” Jordan says defensively. “I’m doing it as a fav—” He cuts off. His eyes meet Nic’s. Yes, originally, he was doing this because she had asked him to. Because he needed an excuse to keep his mind off Jamie. But it’s more than that now.
He’s not sure why. It just is.
“I want to help,” Jordan simplifies.
Javi folds his arms over his chest. He’s in a white linen button-up. Sunlight glints off the gold chain disappearing into his open collar.
“We never did that at Elite Events,” he admits.
“Shocking,” Jordan says dryly.
“If it wasn’t a headline-worthy spectacle, Katharine, the owner, always passed on it.” Javi makes a face. “I don’t know how to organize something like this.”
Jordan claps once. “Great. Shall I order a rideshare? Spot you some bus fare so you can get back to the office?”
“I’m staying.”
“What? You just said—”
“I know what I said,” Javi retorts. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.” He rotates to Nic. “If that’s okay?”
She shrugs. “Why not? Extra hands are great. And yours look”—her eyes trace over him—“helpful.”
“Nicola, no,” Jordan warns. “He’s like thirty.”
Javi gasps dramatically. “I’m twenty-eight!” With an apologetic smile, he says to Nic, “Also, I’m very gay.”
“Let him help, Jordan,” Nic says. “It’ll only make the event better. And it’s less work for me.”
“You do realize this is free labor,” Jordan tells Javi. “As in after hours. Weekends. Any time not spent on the wedding is dedicated to this.”
Javi smirks. “Aww. You’re worried I’ll become a bland, lifeless bore who needs his ma to set him up on blind dates like you?”
Jordan’s nostrils flare.
“Damn.” Nic blinks. “You two have serious Reylo energy.”
“Who?” Jordan and Javi snap simultaneously.
“Never mind. Let’s focus on the task at hand, boys.” As Nic walks away, she says, “Kill each other or make out later,” in a deliberately low, but still audible, voice.
To Jordan’s utter annoyance, Javi’s quite useful.
His inexperience with no real budget or company backing shows when he suggests hiring a big-name caterer and incorporating a step-and-repeat.
However, he makes up for it by using his previous ties with Elite Events to make calls.
Within an hour, one of his former clients connects them to the Atlanta Hawks.
They secure new basketballs and autographed jerseys to give away.
Javi also convinces a brand manager at Coca-Cola—whose wedding he planned—to donate cases of water and sodas.
And, just to show off, Javi books an up-and-coming queer singer for a halftime performance.
Whatever.
The most important part: He stays out of Jordan’s way.
When the book club finishes, six teens join them in the small lounge area inside. Javi eagerly asks them their thoughts on the book. He laughs and shouts out quotes and buys everyone lunch.
Jordan still doesn’t trust him, but it’s not the worst day they’ve had together.
By 4 PM, they’re finished. Jordan has lost almost the whole workday to this, but it feels good. He feels good.
That should’ve been his first warning.
Outside, Nic thanks Javi, then hugs Jordan. “See you for the Fourth of July festivities?”
Jordan nods. “Looking forward to eating my weight in your dad’s specialty barbecue wings.”
“Remind Tevin to leave the Roman candles at home this year. He almost set our house on fire last summer!”
“Again,” Jordan reminds her, laughing.
“Is Jamie coming with you?”
Jordan flinches. “W-why would he, uh, come … with me?”
He does not mean for his tone to sound so scandalized.
Nic eyes him weirdly. “Because he usually shows up? If he’s in town. You two rode together last year.”
Ah, that.
Back when they were spending time together. Casually.
When he looked forward to Jamie’s electric smile as Jordan climbed into the Jeep’s passenger seat.
Those coincidental touches shared while reaching for the same food.
Accidental ankle brushes as their feet soaked in the pool.
Sharing a lounge chair during the fireworks.
Watching Atlanta’s dark sky light up in bursts of red and orange and green.
It comes back to Jordan in waves. Thin smoke haloing in the air. Jamie’s laughter in his ear. The sizzle and pop above them. His bare shoulder brushing Jamie’s. Cool summer breeze against their shirtless backs.
That long look in Jamie’s eyes after Jordan said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Because Denz isn’t?”
Jordan shook his head, drunk. Not on alcohol. On … everything.
“Just because,” he finally said.
“Just because,” Jamie repeated, smiling enigmatically.
And the night went on.
Now, an uncomfortable shyness heats Jordan’s cheeks. “Um. I don’t think he’ll be there this year.”
“Why not?”
Because he’ll probably be on a yacht with his parents, with Sloane, he wants to scream.
Javi watches their exchange, his curiosity obvious.
Jordan pastes on a grin. “Nic, do you really want extra witnesses when I kick your ass at Spades?”
Nic flips both middle fingers. “Leave. We’re done here.”
After she’s gone, Jordan tugs out his keys. “Ready to head back to the office?”
“Or,” Javi says, phone in hand, “we could go grab drinks. Celebratory cocktails for all our hard work.”
“I’m pretty sure I did most of the work.”
“Is everything a competition with you?”
“Yes.”
Javi sputters a laugh. “Come on. You can pretend not to hate me for one—no, two drinks.” He must sense Jordan’s hesitation. He adds, “Unless you’re too good for that? Maybe I should call my besties Kim and Connor instead?”
Jordan’s left eye twitches.
Javi scrolls his phone. “That wouldn’t bother you, right? Them thinking I’m more fun than you?”
“I’m a fuck-ton of fun,” Jordan seethes.
“Prove it.”
And that’s how Jordan finds himself at the Emerald Palace, a swanky Midtown bar. It was Javi’s suggestion. Jordan only agreed to come after googling and realizing it’s not the kind of place Jamie typically bartends at.
The interior has warm gold lighting and rich jade walls and ruby-red leather stools. At this hour, it’s barely half full. The after-work crowd hasn’t arrived yet.
Jordan orders his usual vodka soda with lime. Javi settles for a Jack and ginger. After two sips, he says, “I never had anyone like you at Elite.”
“Meaning?”
“No one was as competitive as you.”
Jordan tilts his head. “Is that a compliment?”
“Doesn’t it sound like one?”
Jordan takes a swig. “Everything sounds like an insult coming from you.”
Javi chuckles into his glass. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “See! You never let up. It’s nice to be challenged by somebody.”
Despite himself, Jordan smiles. He can admit he’s secretly wanted the same. A rival. Kim and Connor are talented at what they do, but he’s never seen them as competition. They’ve never fought him for a project. Happy to stay in their own lane. Jordan needs someone to push him to be the best.
Other than himself, that is.
For better or worse, Javi has become that person.
Jordan raises his glass. “Always here to make you feel second best.”
Javi’s mouth twitches as their glasses clink. He takes a healthy gulp. His throat works as he swallows, and Jordan stabs his lime with a cocktail straw just for something else to look at.
“Is that why you left Elite Events?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“The lack of competition,” Jordan clarifies.
“Oh.” Javi’s brow lowers. He swirls his drink, the amber liquid catching the light. In one quick motion, he downs the rest and orders a second from the bartender. “No, that’s not it.”
Jordan waits until Javi has a fresh glass before he says, “What then? Low pay?”
“Nope.”
“No career advancement opportunities?”
“Para nada,” Javi says easily.
“Shitty boss? Toxic environment? You got into it with a client?”
Javi slurps, then gives Jordan a finger gun. “Bingo!”
“Which one?”
“All the above.”
Jordan’s lips purse, confused.
Eyes downcast, Javi says, “I was one of the youngest and best that company ever had. Everyone wanted to work with me.” He frowns. “Including an attorney general. His daughter requested me to plan her wedding. Biggest client I ever landed.”
Jordan sips quietly, listening.
“One day, the AG saw my Instagram.” Javi places his phone on the bar. “It was late October. Right around Atlanta Pride. I was there with friends. Time of my life, so of course I posted photos.”
He opens the post for Jordan to see. It’s a carousel of clear blue skies and bright-colored flags and Javi beaming in a vintage Ricky Martin T-shirt, the sleeves cut off and hem shortened to show off his toned stomach.
A rainbow bandana kept curls out of his eyes.
The Cuban flag colors in his white mariposa tattoo stand out richly against his brown skin.
He looks different. Less douchey, more boyish. Unrestrained.
Jordan scratches his eyebrow. “And—?”
“And.” Javi sighs. “The AG went right to Katharine. Said he ‘respects everyone’s choices’—his words, not mine. Then he told Katharine to find someone else to plan his daughter’s wedding.”
Jordan tries not to react. It doesn’t work.
“Katharine told him to go fuck himself, right?”
Javi laughs, exasperated. “Yup. That’s exactly what she did. Right after she called me to her office. She gave me a speech about being her most valued employee. That we were a team.” He takes another swallow. “Then she politely assigned me to some celebrity’s birthday party.”
Jordan blinks, surprised.
“She thought it’d be better for my résumé.” Javi smiles joylessly. “She handed the wedding over to a colleague without even telling me.”
“Fuck,” Jordan hisses.
“That’s Katharine Glass for you.” Javi raises his glass like he’s making another toast. “She couldn’t let one high-profile opportunity get away. Not to support me. To show everyone she doesn’t work with bigots.”
He downs another fourth of his drink.
Jordan frowns into his own.