21 Brandon
Brandon
This is fate. Just days ago Brandon was saying they should have a game night to meet Jon, and now they’re going to!
He reads over the texts as Jon gets them another round from the bar, grinning because Ollie thinks he and Jon are cute but then frowning because Ollie is calling Jon Connor.
Maybe Jon is his middle name or something.
People can call themselves whatever they want, right?
So, no matter what’s going on, this is something good.
And yeah, someone’s head got blown off, and there was brain on the ground, but Jon will tell Brandon about that when he’s ready.
It must have been so traumatizing for him, after all.
That’s not second-date territory. And that’s what this is, right? A second date, sort of?
“So are you sure I won’t be crashing?” Jon asks, setting another cosmo down in front of Brandon and sitting next to him, thighs pressing together.
“Absolutely not,” Brandon says, letting himself lean into Jon. He’s morning-blanket warm. “We have people at game night all the time. Ollie will probably bring the new girl he’s seeing, right?” he says as Ollie comes back and sits down.
“What?” Ollie says.
“I was telling Jon about game night and saying he won’t be crashing.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Ollie says with a smile. “Everyone is really excited to meet you.”
“And you might bring that new girl you had a date with,” Brandon says. “Then it’s everyone meeting everyone’s new…people.” Too soon for boyfriend probably, though the word wants to explode out of his mouth, tinted bright pink from the cosmo. Jon squeezes his thigh. Soon.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Ollie says, nodding. “We should probably go clean up, buy snacks and drinks though.”
“Oh,” Brandon says, disappointed to be leaving Jon after finally finding him.
“I can help,” Jon offers. “Why don’t Brandon and I handle the shopping and bring food and drinks to the party?”
Ollie’s eyes narrow. He’s suspicious, Brandon realizes.
Or maybe just being an overprotective friend.
And Brandon gets it. It’s sweet. But he can handle it.
He saw brains splattered on the street; he can deal with shopping with a guy he admittedly doesn’t know so well and who might be—but probably isn’t—mixed up in something dangerous.
Brandon has made plenty of bad choices and survived before.
Maybe this will finally be the time he makes a bad choice that turns out to be a good one.
Jon might also be—and hopefully is—Heimweh.
“Yeah,” Brandon says, wrapping his hands around Jon’s arm. It’s so muscular. “We can handle the shopping. I wouldn’t know how to clean that place anyway.”
Ollie holds his stare a moment longer, then nods. “Sure.” He stands, still looking wary. “No red wine.”
“I would never,” Brandon gasps. In that house?
“See you later, then,” Ollie says, almost nervously, before walking off.
“Alone at last,” Jon says, arm wrapping around Brandon’s waist. “I still can’t believe you just walked in here.”
“Yeah,” Brandon says. He thinks about telling him everything for a moment, but it’s a lot.
The phone, tracking him down, talking to his friend.
He almost wants to say it all right now.
He can feel Jon’s phone in his pocket. But better to wait, have an amazing night, bond even more with him, and tell him later, tomorrow, next week, next year, on their ten-year wedding anniversary.
Whenever it goes from sounding like a stalker to being a cute story.
He’ll play it by ear. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Me too,” Jon says, kissing Brandon. The kissing is better than Brandon remembers.
The sex was so rushed before, they didn’t really get to experience lips on lips, tongue on tongue, the smell and taste and warmth of him.
So they do that now, and it’s like a shot of champagne, all fizzy and light, and then a bite of dark chocolate, coating his tongue.
They make out at that table in the back for a while, but also not long enough.
“You want to go to the bathroom?” Jon asks.
Brandon bites his lip. He does. But he shakes his head. “You can stay over tonight, after game night,” he says. “It would be nice to have you naked somewhere I don’t feel like we’re in a rush.” He reaches out and runs his hand down Jon’s chest—god, it’s so muscular.
“Mmm, good point,” Jon says, kissing Brandon’s earlobe. “Okay, we can wait,” he whispers. Brandon is way too hard for this. He leans back and downs some of the cosmo. “What did your friend mean about red wine?”
“Oh, the place he’s house-sitting for these rich people is fancy. And the whole house is white. White furniture, carpet, everything.”
“Ah, so nothing that stains.”
“Exactly,” Brandon says.
“But the house isn’t his, or yours? No one knows you’re staying there?”
Brandon shakes his head, confused as to why that matters. “No, I guess not.”
Jon grins widely. “How fun.”
Brandon shrugs, happy Jon is happy. “It’s pretty cool. Oh, I have to call work, call in sick.”
“Go do that. I’ll settle the tab and meet you outside.”
Brandon smiles. A man hasn’t bought him a drink in what feels like forever. “Okay.”
Outside, the air smells clean and fresh, like autumn and love. A few leaves drift from a tree and swirl around him, red and gold. Magic. He calls in sick, faking a hoarse voice and getting away with it pretty easily.
He watches Jon through the window to the bar as he pays and then checks his phone and smiles. He comes outside and extends his hand, and Brandon takes it, Jon’s chunky rubber bangle resting on his wrist. They’re holding hands! On a perfect fall day.
“I’m so glad you walked into my bar,” Jon says. “What were you even doing there?”
Brandon swallows. Ollie was the one with the good cover story. “We were just out enjoying the day,” Brandon says. “Ollie’s a dog walker, so he has the afternoon off, and we thought we’d just, like, go out.”
“Nice,” Jon says. “Lucky for me.”
“And me,” Brandon says. “I wish you’d left a note or something for me.”
“I was worried you’d get in trouble.”
“I get it,” Brandon says.
“Plus I thought I could text you. Did anyone find my phone in the hotel?”
Brandon swallows again, pulling on Jon’s hand so they start walking. “A maid found some stuff. It’s in the lost and found, if you want to go get it.”
“Eh, later,” he says. “For now, let’s go shopping. I think we should make the party DSLWLS themed.”
“Oh,” Brandon says, “like those weird little cream puffs they eat in that café?”
“Windbeutel,” Jon nods. “There’s gotta be someplace in NY that sells them, right?”
Brandon shrugs and goes to take out his phone, almost taking out Jon’s accidentally. He’s really not made for keeping secrets. “Let’s find out,” he says, heat rushing to his cheeks. They google and find a place in Brooklyn that makes German pastries, so they take off for it.
“Oh, and we can get beer and J?germeister,” Brandon says as they walk.
“Maybe more options than that. My treat. Let’s go all out.”
Brandon laughs. “Are you rich, too? That would make you too perfect.”
Jon grins and puts on a pair of sunglasses. “Nah, not rich. But I might be coming into some money soon.”