Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
“The blood of the innocent seeps into the soil and I can hear Demeter weep as the grain drips rubies.”
—“I Pray the Gods Forgive Me,” The Wooden Horse, Act One
Dexter stood on the stage in the bar. He wound the microphone wire around his palm, cocky smile plastered on his face as the
first few notes of the song he chose drifted through the crowd from the speakers. Jonah laughed to himself and shook his head
as Dexter pointed at him, singling him out from the others, then felt a flush spread over his cheeks as he realized what song
Dexter had on. “Afternoon Delight” by Starland Vocal Band. Jonah watched as Dexter swayed his hips, the bright yellow T-shirt
he wore practically glowing beneath the glitter ball above his head. Jonah already gave him shit for the top before they even
left the theatre: one of his Piniquo specials complete with an embroidered cat right in the middle of it, something Jonah
would have happily set fire to before Dexter told him how much the hideous thing cost. But, seeing him up there, the most
stunning smile on his face as he put just as much energy into singing a song about sex in the afternoon as he gave throughout
an entire 150-minute performance at the theatre, made something inside of Jonah tingle, a feeling he hadn’t felt in . . .
he didn’t want to think how long.
The feeling, something he recognized, couldn’t be the one he associated with Dexter.
He could look at him and feel all levels of lust, his attraction to him couldn’t be denied, but this feeling .
. . the feeling of floating, of feeling warm even in the midst of the deepest, darkest winter, it couldn’t be real.
He didn’t want it to be real. Yet, there the feeling dwelled.
It flourished as he watched him, the goofiness of his performance earning him cheers while Sherrie danced with Bastien happily before him.
Was a month all it took? Four simple weeks of finding a strange and unnerving balance between professional criticism and the most mind-blowing orgasms Jonah ever experienced?
A month of letting Dexter’s name fall from his lips, of feeling his palm pressed against his under the sheets and eking out parts of him he kept undercover, things that made him feel so much more than bloody casual he could scream?
It wasn’t love. He wasn’t in love with Dexter Ellis. Not yet, anyway. But he liked him, he really liked him. He was in like with him, which he knew was a treacherous
hill to be on because those two L words could so easily be interchanged. Like. Love. Like. Love . . .
The feeling didn’t come in like the tide, steady and reliable. No, his fondness for the man gallivanting about onstage crashed
into him like the sea on a stormy night, the same storms that used to scare him as a child when the thunder rolled on the
waves outside of his house. It winded him. It reached down his throat and pulled the air out of his lungs then left him with
nothing but the overwhelming feeling of wanting, no, needing Dexter, like he’d never breathe again if he wasn’t near him.
Which, when Jonah really thought about it, was mildly terrifying.
As Dexter finished his song, the crowd in the bar clapped loudly, like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. Dexter made his way from
the stage, his eyes on Jonah as he moved through the bodies before him. He danced as he moved, smiling and laughing as people
spoke with him. Jonah stood back and watched, the smile on his face mirroring Dexter’s, and he allowed himself to forget about
their awkward exchange in the dressing room earlier. Dexter moved closer and closer until he suddenly stopped, his path blocked
by a man taller than himself, and his smile turned from jovial to something far more intent, the same smile he gave Jonah
before telling him exactly what he wanted to do with his mouth before going onstage.
The man who stole Dexter’s attention rested his hand on Dexter’s hip, a small gesture, friendly on the surface, but Jonah could see how firmly his fingers were pressed against Dexter’s hip bone, and he wanted to snap each and every one of them in half.
The man said something, and Dexter threw his head back with laughter, sweat glistening across his forehead.
Then he leaned closer to the man, Dexter’s lips so painfully close to his ear, and Jonah wondered what the hell could be so funny to warrant Dexter following it up with a seductive whisper.
“Babe!” Bastien hollered over the crowd, his cheeks red, limbs loose from alcohol. “It’s our turn.” He grabbed Jonah’s hand
and pulled him toward the stage, away from Dexter and the man with groping hands and into the spotlight he hoped wouldn’t
wash out his complexion. Omari already stood there with a microphone, his cheekbones glistening with glitter beneath the sparkling
lights, ready to show everyone just how professional karaoke could be. A microphone found its way to Jonah’s hand, and Bastien
nudged him in the ribs with his elbow, gesturing toward the TV screen displaying the song title and opening lyrics. But Jonah
couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man whose hand had now made its way to Dexter’s forearm.
The crowd cheered as the first notes of the song played. Sherrie’s bright-pink hair bobbed beneath the glittering lights as
she waved her arms rhythmically, doing her best impersonation of Stevie Nicks. Romana danced beside her, slender warms wrapping
around Sherrie’s waist as she pressed kisses to the other woman’s neck. Bastien started singing and nudged Jonah again, who
this time looked away from Dexter and focused on the screen, where the lyrics to “We Built This City” flashed before him.
He opened his mouth and assumed noise escaped him, words, hopefully, and not some strangled screech akin to a dying animal.
By the sounds of the people in the bar who sang triumphantly along with them, he guessed he wasn’t embarrassing Bastien and
Omari by wailing and decided that, hey, Dexter could flirt all he wanted, they were casual after all. Not only that, but he didn’t want to be anything other than casual with someone who attempted to trip him on national
television, kicked him in the dick, and accosted his lips for no reason other than jealousy.
Only. Those things didn’t matter anymore.
Dexter opening up about the relationship with his dad mattered, him standing close to be protective at the stage door mattered, and the way he mumbled in his sleep mattered.
The man Jonah knew as the real Dexter Ellis mattered, with his embroidered clothes and obsession with cleaning; he became more real each day, and the green monster Dexter started out as faded as if he were a bad character note scribbled out by a director.
As Jonah continued to sing, Bastien dancing and belting by his side, he searched Dexter out in the crowd again and found him,
the man he spoke to leaning in, eyes closed, moving toward Dexter’s lips. The room flashed in shades of green and red, Jonah
becoming the jealous creature left behind by Dexter, and he shouldn’t have cared, he really shouldn’t have given it a second
thought; Dexter owed him nothing. But it didn’t stop the bitter taste from seeping through Jonah’s gums, the words he sang
suddenly angry and less joyful than they should have been. Omari glared at him, karaoke something he took as seriously as
his role onstage, but Jonah didn’t care because who gave a fuck about karaoke when Dexter was about to make out with some
random guy right in front of him?
But then Dexter stopped the man. He moved his head back and placed a hand on the guy’s chest, halting him. The stranger frowned
and narrowed his eyes, a look of bemusement on his face that Jonah totally understood; the guy was bloody gorgeous and Dexter
had just turned him down. They spoke, the words forever lost in the sea of voices and karaoke background music, his own vocals
drowning out whatever they said to each other, and the man shook his head, stepping back as Dexter pointed up to the stage,
to Jonah, and the man looked, too, and he saw Jonah looking back at them and something like realization dawned on his face.
Jonah focused his attention back onto the screen and his friends beside him, who didn’t have a clue as to what just unfurled before them.
Bastien swung his arm around Jonah’s shoulder, face too close as he belted into his microphone.
Even drunk out of his mind Bastien sang like an angel, his voice pitch-perfect, and Jonah let the idea of Broadway cross his mind for a moment.
New York didn’t know how lucky it was for Bastien Andrews to cross the sea and spread his talent over there.
When Jonah looked back into the crowd, he saw Dexter dancing with Sherrie and Romana, the same smile he had on his face when he sang on the stage himself, and he looked up at Jonah and cheered while singing along.
Had he really turned down the advances of someone else because he wanted to be with Jonah?
Or was it just politeness, seeing as Jonah was right there and making out with someone else in front of him was low even by Dexter’s standards?
The answer came when Jonah left the stage and Dexter pulled him close and kissed him, openly, in front of strangers, in front
of their friends, and in front of the rest of the crew who had come out to let down their hair after another full-on week
at the theatre. He heard a cheer, Bastien’s and Sherrie’s voices leading the rally, and Dexter kissed him deeper as he wrapped
his arms around his waist and held him close.
“What happened to being secret and casual?” Jonah shouted over the music when Dexter finally released him from the kiss.
“I’m sorry,” Dexter said suddenly, and Jonah’s eyes widened, expecting him to repel him across the room and pretend he didn’t
just kiss him in front of everyone. “For being weird in the dressing room earlier. Because, seriously, fuck casual. Fuck secret.