Chapter 15 Have the Final Tasting with the Caterer #2
Jordan stares down at him. The soft, dreamy expression on his face.
Into the linen of Jordan’s shirt, Jamie whispers, “I’m tired of chasing that feeling when…”
He doesn’t finish.
Breath held, Jordan waits. His brain fires in ten thousand directions. But the rest never comes.
Jamie’s asleep, lips pulled into that crooked grin.
And Jordan—
He watches over Jamie, finally remembering to breathe. As the clouds begin to break outside the window, Jordan smiles too.
Jordan doesn’t catch Jamie’s flu, thank you, science.
He has, however, caught something else. Something he can’t see his regular physician for. Something that has him anxious and hopeful and a little scared too.
It’s an awful combination. One he can’t shake despite how bad he needs to. Which is why he’s spending a Friday night sitting on the edge of his sofa, staring impatiently at his phone screen as FaceTime dials.
His first instinct was to call Yazzie. They still talk. Every six months or so, they have at least an hour-long catch-up session.
She’s married now. Some sweet-faced, brown-skinned physiotherapist she met at the University of Miami. They have a two-year-old daughter with another baby on the way.
As much as Jordan loves Yazzie and her unfiltered honesty, though, he’s not sure she can help.
His next choice was Denz, but …
No, not yet. He knows his cousin will be thoughtful and considerate. It’s just that—
Jordan needs someone else. Someone who can relate more.
On the fourth ring, the video pops up.
There he is. Braylon Adams in an office, late-afternoon California sun giving his already honey-brown skin extra glow. His tight curls are trimmed, his artfully handsome face recently shaven.
“Jordan?” His light British accent is warm even as his voice is confused. “Did you mean to call Denz?”
“Uh, no.” Jordan hesitates. “I wanted to call you. To talk about … something.”
“Me?”
A pause. Jordan can see Braylon thinking. Out of nowhere, his eyes grow cartoonishly wide.
“Oh no. Something’s wrong. Is it Mom? Is she okay?”
“No, no,” Jordan says quickly when Braylon starts to panic.
Denz once told Jordan about what happened with Braylon’s parents.
How his mom died young from cancer. And his dad had an aneurysm, passing away in his sleep years ago, while Braylon lived in London.
It’s the reason he’s so close to the Carters now.
He finally has a family again after losing his before turning twenty-five.
“Auntie Leena’s fine,” Jordan assures.
On screen, Braylon slowly comes back to himself. He nods once.
“Sorry.” He wipes a hand down his face. “Thought I was getting better at not imagining worst-case scenarios. Can’t wait to tell my therapist about this next week.”
Jordan smiles. “Do you plan to mention the part where you refer to Auntie Leena as Mom now?”
Red tints Braylon’s cheeks. “Well. I mean. That’s a discussion for another day, innit?”
“Should we start ring shopping soon?”
“Me, marry your asshole of a cousin? Don’t be delusional.”
“Says the guy who ‘fake-dated’ him even though you were both still stupidly in love but couldn’t find an easier way to tell each other?”
Braylon’s face turns a darker red. “Are you quite finished?”
Jordan leans back on his sofa with a wide grin.
“You’re deflecting, Jordan,” Braylon points out. “What’s wrong?”
That erases the grin faster than Jordan anticipated. He chews nervously on his bottom lip.
There isn’t anything wrong, per se. The wedding’s on track. Things with Javi are normal again—their version of it, at least.
Jamie’s not sick anymore.…
Jordan paid him another visit the other day. A work visit this time. Amy tasked Jamie with reviewing her final three choices for reception centerpieces.
Naturally, Jamie needed Jordan’s opinion.
They spent the afternoon arguing over roses or orchids. Smiling as they cleaned Jamie’s apartment. Finishing the leftover soup on the green sofa, legs twined together.
They spent the evening in Jamie’s bed. Clothes removed. Sharing an orange Jordan peeled after dinner.
“Vitamin C boosts immunity,” he told Jamie while feeding him a slice.
Jamie licked the juice from Jordan’s fingertips. Followed the sweet trail down Jordan’s palm, over his wrist. He kissed Jordan, mouth sticky, tongue eager.
“So now you’re the expert?” Jamie said against his lips.
“On some things.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What else would you like to be an expert on, young apprentice?”
It was so easy from there.
Jordan rolling Jamie onto his back. Taking Jamie in his mouth again. Practicing, like their first kiss. Learning what Jamie liked. Working hard until Jamie’s hands couldn’t stay off Jordan’s head and his thighs couldn’t stop squeezing around Jordan’s ears and his voice cracked before he came.
After, he grinned over Jamie, out of breath. Transported.
Of course, Jamie insisted on returning the favor. But not in the way Jordan expected. No, Jamie eased him onto his stomach. Slid a pillow under his hips. Pressed long kisses across each nob of Jordan’s spine.
Then lower.
He spread Jordan, tasting him. Soft, slow circles. Then restless, greedy licks until Jordan was fully open against Jamie’s tongue. He pinned Jordan’s hips to the mattress, face buried. Reveling in every embarrassed noise and gasp Jordan let out.
It was too much. Yet Jordan kept arching for it.
Begging for it.
When Jamie drew back, eyes blown out, saliva smeared around his mouth, Jordan knew he’d never know peace again.
Jamie said, “Comfort check?”
And Jordan whimpered into the sheets.
“Use your words.”
“If you don’t finish what you started, I swear to G—”
And Jamie did. With enthusiasm. With a tongue so determined, so skilled, Jordan saw fucking stars.
He didn’t stay the night. He wanted to. But he wasn’t sure if Jamie wanted him to?
They also haven’t discussed what Jamie said the other day. After they had sex. Before Jamie fell asleep. Maybe he doesn’t remember? Maybe it was the medicine talking?
It’s fine.
Except, Jordan thinks about it. That Jamie said no one’s made him feel like their first kiss. How he’s tired of chasing that feeling.
Then, Jordan’s brain snaps like a rubber band all the way back to December. When Jamie said he didn’t want to ruin their friendship. He’s not the right person for Jordan.
Occasionally, Jordan finds himself thinking about that kiss with Javi. The dates he’s been on with women. The emptiness behind it all.
He considers all these puzzle pieces in front of him and none of them line up. They never connect. Or form a crystal-clear picture.
Jordan wants Jamie. Loves being around him in a way that might be more than friends. But what does that mean about who Jordan is?
“Jordan?”
His eyes dart back to the screen. Shit. He forgot about Braylon, and why he called him in the first place.
“I’m working on a project for Skye’s the Limit,” Jordan says. “With Nic.”
Braylon beams. “She told me. Have you seen the facility yet?”
“It’s … amazing.”
Even though he spent most of his time planning and working out logistics, Jordan couldn’t help but absorb the cozy atmosphere. Everything about it, from the furniture to the colors, felt like a home. A sanctuary.
He looks forward to going back.
“And you got on with Whit?” Braylon says.
Jordan grimaces. “She’s kinda scary.”
“Quite,” Braylon agrees wistfully. “Fuck, I miss her.”
He goes on about his first day at the center.
He and Whit started together. True to form, she made their trainer cry on the third day.
Braylon mentions the dreaded espresso machine, which makes Jordan cackle.
Then his voice goes soft as he describes what originally drew him to Skye—wanting to build more visibility for the kind of place he needed when he was still discovering himself.
Jordan takes that as a sign from the universe to segue into the topic he really wants to ask Braylon about.
“So.” He rubs the back of his head. “Denz mentioned you weren’t out when you two first met?”
“I wasn’t.”
“And, like, it took you a minute? To come out?”
Slowly, the corners of Braylon’s mouth rise. As if he knows where this is going. “It did,” he affirms.
“Did you always know you were—” Jordan hesitates.
“That I was gay?”
“Y-yeah.”
Braylon shrugs. “Mostly.”
Jordan sinks lower on the sofa.
Secretly, he was hoping for a different answer. That Braylon wasn’t like Denz or Jamie or everyone else. That Jordan wasn’t alone in … whatever he’s working through.
Lately, he’s felt more and more like that checkbox meme all over the internet. Except his looks like this:
? Single
? Taken
? Currently going through an existential crisis about my identity because everyone expects me to immediately know and then come out if I’m anything other than their definition of straight
Instead of unloading all that, Jordan says, “Oh.”
“But I didn’t come out to be with Denz,” Braylon quickly adds. “If I’m being honest, I took quite a bit of time because—” He pauses, eyebrows lowering. “Because I was so worried what the world thought of me.”
Jordan stares at him, head tilted.
“I was a great swimmer. A hard worker. The son of a doctor. And gay,” Braylon says. “I let everyone else decide what that last part meant to me.”
“Oh,” Jordan repeats, softer.
“Then I met your cousin.” Fondness stretches over Braylon’s expression. “He was so intense. Unapologetically so. That confident little fucker.”
Jordan laughs loudly.
He knows Denz wasn’t always like that. He’s had his struggles with his sexuality. But he rarely let that side affect him.
Braylon sighs. “Anyway. I didn’t come out for Denz. Hell, after we first met, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I came out for myself. I was so exhausted from letting the world dictate my happiness. I wanted control back.”
“That’s … amazing.”
A pause.
Braylon scratches his temple. “Even after I came out, I wasn’t confident in who I was. Not like Denz. Fuck, I didn’t own my gayness until after I got the job at Skye’s the Limit.”
“You didn’t?”
“No! But I loved your cousin. All five feet, eight inches of him.”
“He’s five-nine.”
“He’s a liar!”
This time, they both crack up.
When he’s done, Braylon says, “We don’t have to be anything just because the world says we have to.”
Jordan bites on his cheek, steadily absorbing everything Braylon tells him. He doesn’t know what to say. Is he supposed to say anything?
Eventually, he whispers, “Thanks, Braylon.”
Braylon grins at him. It’s wide and unrestrained and almost brotherly. So much like Denz.
“I should let you go,” Jordan says.
“Oh, yes.” Braylon’s gaze drifts off, like he’s checking the time. “I should get home to your cousin. It’s our date night.” His mouth purses. “Is it weird that I can’t wait to see him even if he drinks all my tea and leaves the milk in the fridge almost empty?”
Jordan’s face brightens. “Sounds like marriage material to me.”
“Oh, shut it.”
Braylon gives him that affectionate smile again. Jordan happily returns it.
“I can promise you, Jordan,” Braylon says, “whatever you’re feeling is real. Even if you can’t explain it. Or don’t have a proper name for it. It’s real. Let it be real. Not for anyone else. Just yourself.”
A calm spreads through Jordan’s limbs. He’s always fought hard to be the best. To impress others. So much of who and what he is has been to prove he’s capable. That he’s doing everything right.
Jordan’s never sat back and let anything be just for him.
“Okay,” he whispers, smiling genuinely.
“Call again soon?”
Jordan nods. He will.