Page 13
Twelve
Ryder
I ’m a dick. Well, I think with my dick, but I’m an asshole, a big old jerk. I liked antagonizing Knox, teasing him, and making him uncomfortable because I knew I could. That reaction to him was purely physical and not at all because of him . I could rub myself wrong in my sweaty, smelly hockey pads and get an erection, so it’s not like Knox caused my cock to get hard, it was just from being pressed against his muscular thigh and getting a little friction. Whatever my sleep-deprived brain decided to come up with after that, about the way he smelled, was simply putting my mouth on autopilot and letting the first thing that popped into my head come out. Maybe Knox is right, I should think first before I speak .
Knox’s cologne is pretty amazing, though. I’ve caught a whiff of it several times as he’s come and gone through the house and always stopped to breathe in a little deeper to see if I could place it. His scent lingers on the couch and in the kitchen and floats in the air down the hallway. It’s woodsy with a softer underlying scent like vanilla or maybe coconut. I don’t know, but it smells amazing, and I think it might be custom because I haven’t come across a cologne that smells even remotely like his. I might have to go sniff some candles to find one that smells like him so I can burn it when he’s gone to get my fix. It’s probably called sandalwood and vanilla or something frou-frou like that.
Why I’m even thinking about Knox’s cologne is pointless. We both went to our separate bedrooms after that thing in the kitchen, but I couldn’t sleep for long. I decide to shower off my night of casual sex when lying in bed proves fruitless. I should be dead tired after a game and going out with the boys, then bringing Veronica home and fucking her until the early morning, only to get a few hours of sleep before getting up early and catching Knox’s arrival. Instead, I'm wired.
He was pissed seeing her in the kitchen, half naked, and from what I heard, asking him to join in on the fun. From his quick negative answer, I can take bisexual off the table and know for sure he’s gay because she was hot and nothing stirred below the belt for him. He didn’t react until Veronica grabbed my dick and I got hard, then Knox was flustered and rushed to the kitchen to make himself busy. I saw the bulge in his slacks when I followed and teased him with a recounting of my night, getting into his space a bit to see if he’d react to me more. Again, I’m a shithead and know that was stupid, and he didn't deserve to be taunted or touched or have me in his space, trying to get him to admit I’m his type and he finds me attractive. But my ego needs to know I do it for him, and well, I could tell enough.
When I finish getting dressed in casual shorts and a navy button-down short-sleeve shirt, I hear movement in the hallway and know Knox is up again, even though it’s only been a few hours. He must not want to sleep his day away, either. I open my door and lean on the doorframe as he walks past, looking extra sharp in a fitted white shirt and gray pants that hug his thighs and ass like they know the joy of their job or something. They have to be Lululemon ABC slacks. I have a drawer full of them myself because they’re the only thing that fit my thighs and butt off the rack. Knox is taller, broader, and just as round in the ass region as I am, so I know what he’d wear.
“Going somewhere already?” I ask, keeping my tone even as I let my eyes roam the length of him. No curiosity or confusion this time. I just want to know what he’s up to. Right.
He pauses at the living room entrance and turns. “I’m going to brunch with a friend. It’s what people do on Saturday mornings.”
A shot of jealousy streaks through me, and my fear of missing out kicks in. “Is brunch an exclusive club you and your friend are only allowed to attend?” I ask, emphasizing the word friend. Who’s he going with? Does Knox have friends? I haven't paid much attention, but he’s probably friends with his teammates, and he likely knows more people in Atlanta. He did say Harlowe was one of his best friends, so maybe he’s going to brunch with her. That would be acceptable. Would he go out with a guy? He’s not technically out, but maybe he’s testing the waters with brunch to see about dating. Why does that make my insides churn violently? Not unpacking that thought right now.
Knox smiles slowly, his full lips parting and showing off even, white teeth as he studies me. “Are you trying to get an invitation to brunch, Reckless?”
That fucking nickname. But I am being reckless because I’m willing to do dangerous things without the slightest impulse control. No wonder it’s stuck. “I love brunch. Breakfast at lunchtime is the best.”
“I don't think you’d like this brunch. Not your style,” Knox says, turning away from me and heading into the living room. I follow him, intent on knowing his meaning now.
“Brunch is everyone’s style, Golden Boy. What’s not to love? Eggs Benedict, all the carbs, breakfast meats, and mimosas by the gallon. Who wouldn't want avocado toast and Bloody Marys?”
Knox sighs. “Seriously, it’s not your scene. Besides, I’m going with a friend I don’t think you’ll like all that much. It might be awkward for you, and you don't adapt well in new situations.”
“Everyone loves me,” I insist, outraged by his audacity. “Why wouldn’t I like your friend? And I’m adaptable. Just look at me adapting to having a roommate for the first time in years. I’m ready to go, so it’s not like you’d have to wait on me or anything,” I say, removing any further arguments.
Knox looks at me for a few beats, his face inscrutable. Finally, he shakes his head, and I know I’ve won. “Fine, but no complaining. And you’re not allowed to say anything offensive, or you’ll owe me $500 per nasty statement.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re going to fine me for being offensive? Not on your life, Contraire. I’ll be on my best behavior. You have no idea how nice and charming I can be. This will be a piece of cake, and you’ll end up owing me money when it’s all said and done because you’ll be the mean one today.”
He laughs. “Fat chance of that when you’re around, Reckless.” He sighs and inclines his head toward the front door. “I’m leaving now. If you’re riding with me, it’s time to go; otherwise, you’re on your own, and I’m not telling you where brunch is.”
I duck back into my room for my wallet and phone before jogging to catch up with him. “You take brunch so fucking seriously. It’s so gay of you, and I say that in a complimentary way, not an offensive one.”
Knox snorts and pushes the garage button as we enter the elevator. “That was borderline offensive, and you know it. ”
“How do you treat brunch with this much reverence and people not know you’re gay? This can’t be a one-time thing. Someone has to know of your affinity for breakfast foods late in the day. Come on, I’m kidding,” I say when he shoves my shoulder and gives me an annoyed look.
“Enough of your mouth, Reckless. Once we get in the car, you can’t even toe the damn line or you’ll be paying out.”
I swallow the retort about him not being able to get enough of my mouth because, hello, that’s not the track we need to go down, and I find something else to say instead. “What do I get if I manage to make it through brunch without saying anything offensive?” I ask. “I need a reason to abide by your dumb rules; otherwise, it’s worthless because I’m not paying you jack-shit.”
He sighs, the sound deep and resonant in the garage as our steps echo off the concrete walls around us. “I’ll take care of Goldie while you’re away on road trips.”
“Now that I can get behind. Goldie needs two parents, Knox. She can’t know she comes from a broken home, or she’ll end up with daddy issues.”
He shakes his head and makes a sound of derision as we get in the car, but he doesn't disagree.
Knox drives us to brunch and lets me pick the music, even though he gets veto power for song choices. I put on Bad Omens, and he tells me it’s too hard for how little sleep he’s gotten. I put on Post Malone instead, which seems easy enough for him even though he says my music choices are bland. We park and walk up to what looks like a music venue of some sort, and I’m fucking confused.
“I thought you said we’re going to brunch? This looks like a club or something. Where are you taking me? Not to some pop-up thing, right? That sounds awful,” I say, digging for information.
“Rule one: you’re not allowed to complain,” he reminds me. “Rule two: you can’t say anything offensive.” He waits for me to agree.
My brows knit together, and I give him a confused look because what the fuck? “I already agreed to this at the condo,” I remind him.
“This is drag brunch. It’s brunch and a show, so you’ll have plenty of entertainment.” He pauses, waiting for my reaction with a hesitant look on his face.
It’s slowly sinking in what I’ve gotten myself into. I insisted he bring me, and now I realize I’m in way over my head. Holy fuck, what am I even doing here? This isn't my scene. I’ll be so out of place and uncomfortable. I should have listened to Knox when he said this wasn't my style. He was right. This could get expensive if Knox has his way about fining me, because how am I supposed to hold back my thoughts when we’re at a fucking drag brunch?
Knox looks over my shoulder, and his face brightens. “And my friend is here. Please be nice and remember the rules.”
I turn, and my confusion morphs to anger. The motherfucker tricked me. He told me just enough to perk my interest and I forced him to bring me. Now I have to spend a few hours of my precious Saturday with Lilah fucking Williams from the Atlanta Free Press of all people. She’s walking toward us in a body-hugging dress and sandals, her signature red lipstick painted on, but her razor-sharp eyeliner is hidden behind big black shades. I turn back to Knox and grab his forearm. He flexes under my fingers, and fuck if it doesn't do something to me to know that even subconsciously, he wants me to feel his hard, muscled arm and the veins that work their way down to his big hands. I ignore that thought immediately because I have more pressing matters to deal with.
“No. This isn't happening. I don’t hang out with the media, and she’s got it out for me. It’s not going to work. I’ll get a ride home,” I say, dropping his arm and pulling my phone out.
Knox puts his hand on my arm to stop me. I glance up, catching the disappointment on his face. Fuck, I don't want him to look at me like that. Why can't he be mad or apathetic? Disappointed is an expression I know all too well and never want to see on anyone’s face when it comes to me. Disappointed was my dad’s default because I wasn’t the son he thought I should have been, and that always led to him taking his rage out on me. My defenses rise at that look, even though rationally I know Knox isn’t my dad.
“You, going to drag brunch, is a huge step in the right direction for your image. It shows you’re tolerant and accepting of different ways of life, and the queens are funny as hell, so you’ll be entertained no matter what else happens. And the food is good. They have this amazing Southern restaurant, Mama P’s, doing the brunch, and it’s out of this world delicious.”
How did I end up here, at drag brunch, with my closeted gay roommate and the sports reporter who wants to see my career end? Did I even wake up today, or am I still asleep, and this is a nightmare of epic proportions?
“Hey, Knox,” Lilah says, stopping next to us and hugging him. She turns to me and lowers her sunglasses with a Condor's manicured finger, appraising me from head to toe and pursing her lips like I didn't pass muster. “I didn't realize you were bringing him .” She says it conspiratorially, like they’ve spoken about me before and their judgment has been passed.
“Brunch is open to everyone, Lilah,” I snap. “It’s not just for judgmental women who have it out for athletes who happen to slip up once.”
Knox lowers his brows and holds his finger and thumb up in a this-close gesture, and I know I’m treading on the edge of his rules for the day. I have to keep it together, to prove I’m more than the asshole he thinks I am. I'll be wonderful company and can enjoy even a fucking drag brunch if that’s what these two think is fun. I won't be the annoying third wheel that rains on their Pride parade.
“Let’s go find seats,” Knox says, weariness in his tone already. Great, he doesn’t believe I can do this, and I'm ruining his morning .
Nope. I think the fuck not.
I won't ruin anything. In fact, I’ll be so fantastic, he’s going to have the best fucking time at drag brunch. Even better than it would be with just Lilah, because I’m not the awkward third wheel on their bestie brunch date he’s thinking I will be. I’m the party. It’ll be so much fun that he’ll want me to join him at every outing from now on. Just you wait and see, Golden Boy.
A heavily made-up queen in a big blonde Marilyn Monroe-style wig, tall heels, and a sparkly red dress leads us to a table. She’s almost as tall as me, though she's slimmer. “Just look at you two beefcakes. Gawd, what did we do to get you in the house this morning?” She whips out a fan and flutters it in front of herself with a hand that has long red nails and glittery rings. “It’s a praise Jesus hallelujah miracle, and it’s not even Sunday morning.”
I laugh and play along. “Is it really a miracle if I’m the demon your mama warned you about rather than the boy you’d take to church?” I joke. It’s easy enough to flirt if I just imagine it’s any woman I’d meet in the bar or someone’s friend. I don't have to think about the specifics. Just look at me, proving Knox wrong.
She presses the back of her hand to her forehead and faux swoons against me. “Oh, lawd have mercy. We’ve got a lively one. I’m keeping my eye on you, big boy.” She swaggers off, hips swaying and fan fluttering quickly.
“I didn’t know you’d be into drag brunch, Ryder,” Lilah says once we’re seated. “Doesn’t seem like your style after your sentiments recently went viral.” She leans her elbow on the table and props her chin on her palm as she grins, clearly goading me.
What is her problem? She won’t let this go. I need to put a stop to this, or we’ll never be able to move on. “Well, Lilah, people are complicated, with layers and different sides to them that aren't always seen in one video or interaction. Human nature means we’re not perfect and will inevitably fuck up.”
I throw a packet of sugar from the holder on the table and make it into the coffee mug in front of her, and smile sweetly. She picks it out and rolls her eyes. “You’re like the annoying little brother I never wanted,” she grumbles. I ignore her comment and continue.
“Sure, the video was an unflattering portrayal of one thing I said that was caught and shared out of context, and I’m not proud of it. But it helped me realize I had some things to work on.” I pick up the rolled-up silverware and point it at her, using all the props on the table to my advantage. “But you continually bringing up my mistake isn’t helping me move on. It’s only proving that you think people are one-dimensional and incapable of change. If you can’t acknowledge that people can learn from their mistakes, then I don’t think we’ll ever get along.” I dramatically unroll the napkin and let the fork, knife, and spoon fall into my hand as I snap the linen and set it in my lap with finality.
Lilah’s grin has slipped away, replaced by a look of deep contemplation. She seems to be weighing my words, looking for the truth in them, or deciding if I’m full of shit. It was the most honest thing I’ve said in a while, so I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t accept it.
“You’re right,” she says slowly, like it hurts to admit. “I judged you based on one bad moment. That was pretty shitty of me. In my defense, I’m protective of my friend and hated that you dragged his name through the mud and cast any sort of doubt on his character with your statements being so hateful. I don’t care if what you said was true or not; it’s the way you said it and how it unintentionally defamed Knox that got to me. But I should have been more professional about the whole situation. I’m sorry, and I won’t bring it up again if you do better going forward.” Her face is serious, contrite even, and I feel like I’ve won a conference final with that admission, even with her caveat at the end.
Holy shit, I never expected her to see reason or to agree with me. I just wanted to call her out for how she’s been hounding me in interviews. She eases the tension by throwing the packet of sugar back at me, aiming for my face, but I have superior reflexes and catch it in the air before it even comes close.
Knox looks between us and blows out a breath like he’s been holding it during our standoff. “Glad that’s out of the way.” He laughs, the sound rich, deep, and relieved. “I thought I was going to have to referee your sparring match all day.”
A queen with purple victory-rolled hair dressed like a Betty Page pin-up girl stops by our table, blowing a pink bubble from her gum before popping it and pulling out an electronic ordering pad. “I’m Tess Tickles, and I’ll be taking care of ya. What can I getcha studs, and you fine lady?”
We place our brunch orders with the appropriately named server and get our mimosas just as the house lights go down and the stage lights brighten.
“Hello, all you good girls, boys, and toys! I’m your hostess with the mostest, your drag lurker and twerker, Miss Fonda Cox!” She bends over and skillfully shakes her ass in a fringed green dress before standing upright again. “You can call me Fonda, Miss Cox, or Mama, 'cause I’m taking care of you for the duration of this show, got it?” She nods her head, her bright red curly wig sliding around her shoulders.
The room erupts into hoots and mmhmmms and yaasss queen s as people snap and clap and nod.
“We have the best food from Mama P’s, so I hope y’all ordered brunch, and don't forget to tip your servers; they need it, honey,” she says, placing a hand by her mouth and lowering her tone conspiratorially before brightening and skipping to the center of the stage in her tall gold heels. “Today we’ve got a brilliant show all ready to go, with some of the best queens in Atlanta about to blow your minds. Or, you know, other anatomy, should that interest you, but you’ll have to be very good and make it rain, dolla, dolla bills y’all!” she shouts into her microphone, and the place screams like they know some secret I’m not privy to.
I look around and see Lilah and people all around the room holding up fistfuls of bills, waving them around, and dancing in their seats. What the hell? Is this like a strip club? Was I supposed to bring small bills with me, and what would I do with them if I had? I fish for my wallet, but I know I only have a hundred, maybe a twenty if I’m lucky. I rarely carry cash. Knox puts his hand on my arm and catches my attention.
“Relax, I have cash,” he says evenly, a small smile on his full lips at my apparent distress. I don't want to do this wrong. He slides over a stack of ones and pats my hand. “If a queen comes up to the table, you can either hand her cash directly or tuck it into her outfit wherever they present an opportunity to you. They’re forward and open, so you’ll know if they don’t want something.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the money and looking away so he doesn't see how touched I am by his kind gesture. Why does he have to go and one-up me with his niceness every chance he gets? It raises the bar for what I have to meet and exceed to show him I can be better.
This is weird enough without knowing the unspoken rules of drag brunch. I feel like I’m three steps behind everyone and standing out like a sore thumb as an obviously straight dude who doesn’t know what he’s doing here. Well, the thing with Knox in the kitchen this morning makes me question just how straight I might be if my cock was that happy to be rubbing up against him, but I’ve already ruled it out as a friction rather than feelings thing.
Fonda Cox captures our attention again from the stage, where she’s twirling lazily around a pole off to one side. “Are you ready to be wowed by your favorite entertainers?”
She waits for us to shout our enthusiasm. The crowd sends up a murmur of assent, and she frowns, her exaggerated makeup doing even more for her expression.
“I can’t hear you, my babies. You must be louder for the queens in the back to know it’s show time.”
The room erupts into noise, and I look around, wide-eyed at the spectacle. People really get into drag brunch, including Knox and Lilah, who are shouting and wooing like the rest.
“We have the grand dame of Atlanta, Gloria Hole, the illustrious Ivanna Dix, Hotlanta hotness herself Honor Back, and our luscious Lucinda Rear all kicking up their heels and clutching their pearl necklaces, waiting to come out here to knock your socks off. Now, put your hands together for our queens!”
I follow the crowd and clap along as Chappell Roan’s “Pink Pony Club” blasts through the speakers, and a queen in a pink wig and cowboy hat, high-cut bodysuit, and cowboy boots gallops onto the stage, riding a hobby horse while lip-syncing and dancing. This is fucking surreal. I cannot believe what I’m seeing or where I am. No one would believe me if I told them because it’s so beyond my normal that they would say I’d made it up as a funny story to entertain the boys.
Our food is brought out by Tess Tickles, and things get even more bizarre as I eat a plate of biscuits and gravy, bacon, and eggs, with a side of pancakes and fruit while drag queens prance around a stage, singing their hearts out. The food is phenomenal, though, so I start to relax a bit and sink back into the booth as I try to enjoy the spectacle in front of me.
I look over at Knox. He’s smiling and singing along, his shoulders doing a slight bounce as he eats his eggs Benedict. He's so happy and lighter than I’ve seen him in—well, since we were kids. I only notice now that he carries such a heavy weight around with him daily because he’s free of it, at least for a few hours. It must be hard not to live your truth, hiding who you are just to fit in and make others comfortable. I feel a pang of remorse for my part in that. Okay, I was probably the biggest contributing factor to Knox's closeting himself for this long and living behind this pretense to satisfy the image of how others see him. I need to be the one who helps him realize that he can change now, and he’s free to be the man he truly is and love who he wants to love.
“Ivanna Dix needs a big, strapping beefcake of a man to come up here and show us what he’s made of for this next performance. Tess Tickles let me know there are two such lads in attendance, and one might just be the bad boy we need,” Fonda Cox says, stretching out a long, manicured finger and slowly turning around the room until she stops at our table. “You, big boy with the long hair, look like just the man for the job. How about we show him our appreciation and get him up here!”
The crowd turns to our table with curious and appreciative looks alike. My face goes up in flames as they start screaming and clapping to encourage me to go up on that stage. “Oh, fuck no,” I say as Lilah howls in glee and points at me.
“It’s not so bad. You play in front of a crowd way bigger than this, and you like being objectified and having your ego stroked, anyway. This is exactly the crowd to do it,” Knox counters, squeezing my shoulder to incentivize me to leave the safety of my table for the spotlight.
Just then, three of the queens stop at our table in a cloud of wigs, pantyhose, and sequins, and I no longer have a choice. They haul me from the table with remarkably powerful hands and frog march me up on the stage as they titter and compliment my arm muscles and call me pretty . When they move to the side, I’m suddenly in a spotlight, and all hell breaks loose on the stage. “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross starts to play and my heart drops into my ass. I cut my hands in front of me in a no way gesture and look around frantically. I don't want anyone thinking I volunteered to be part of this act or knew what song would be played, and this is somehow part of some big coming out plan. I’m not gay. I can’t be. Except …a little voice in my head hedges, and I shut it down before it can go on. Not happening.
Now what the fuck is going on? The three queens who dragged me up here know some kind of choreography and are dancing around me like I’m a prop. One of them positions my arm into a biceps curl and then abruptly hangs off it, so I have to flex to not drop her. They’re treating me like a damn jungle gym. I stare out into the crowd, in the general direction of my table, and can vaguely make out Knox, grinning and laughing like this is his birthday and I’ve made his whole fucking year. Okay, fine, if this is what makes him happy and shows I can do nice things, I can get into it a little.
I do some more muscle man poses, and suddenly the entire room is catcalling and dollar bills are flying onto the stage as people get out of their seats to get closer. This is all it takes to entertain the drag brunch crowd? Easy enough. I lift my shirt and flex my abs, getting the biggest reaction of all. I smile and take the hand of one of the closest queens, twirl her into me, and dip her just as the song transitions to “Whatta Man” by Salt-N-Pepa and En Vogue.
“Oh, you’re strong,” she says with a smile. I set her back on her feet and attempt to leave the stage, but she grabs my arm and holds me in place. “Not yet, honey bear, don’t you hear this song? It’s your anthem, baby. We need you up here.”
Another drag queen enters the stage and approaches me as she lip-syncs to the song about a man with a body like Arnold. I make an “Oh gosh, me?” face at her as I press my hand to my chest like I’m so flattered. I cross my arms because it’s fucking awkward to be up here, not knowing what to do, even if I’m trying to play this off for Knox’s sake. My heart is pounding from the scrutiny, but it also kind of feels good to know that I’m the object of attention for so many of these people. Knox was right, I do want to be objectified. He knows me better than I do, apparently.
The drag queen, who I think is called Ivanna Dix, drapes a purple feather boa around my shoulders, and suddenly, I have a prop. I grab the ends and shimmy my shoulders, getting the crowd going again. More dollars end up on the stage, and now I know I can do this. I move my hips back and forth and even pop my ass a bit in an attempt to twerk, which gets even more of a reaction. I catch Knox’s eye, and he’s looking at me with awe and like he has no idea who I am, so I keep going. I gyrate my hips in his direction, pumping along to the beat of the song, and then turn and shake my ass. I have no rhythm, and this cannot be called dancing, but it’s certainly entertaining.
When the song ends, I’m kind of out of breath from the theatrics of it all, and Ivanna Dix bends, scoops up a handful of bills, and shoves them down the open front of my shirt. “You deserve this and more, honey,” she says, squeezing my biceps and leading me to the edge of the stage. “That was priceless. I should have you come out for all my sets, and I’ll be taking home more money than I’ll know what to do with.”
I pull my wallet out of my pocket and fish out the hundred, holding it up. “I should be the one thanking you. That just proved to my roommate that I could overcome stereotypes and have a little fun, so you deserve it.”
“I won’t stop you, baby,” she says, leaning forward from the stage and presenting her contoured chest and the stuffed bodice of her dress for me to stick the bill into. It’s one of the oddest things I’ve done, but I’m racking those up today, so I shouldn't be surprised by this.
I walk back to my table slowly because I’m stopped by more than a few people giving me their numbers or saying I was the highlight of their brunch, and complimenting me. When I finally slide back into our table, Knox is leaning back with a satisfied grin, and Lilah is looking impressed. I hand the wad of cash from my shirt to Knox.
“Thanks for taking me to drag brunch,” I say.
“That was something,” Knox replies, a little awed.
“I got video and pictures, so we know it actually happened. I’ll send some to you,” Lilah says to Knox.
I groan. “Great, just what I need, evidence of this out in the wild with the one person who wants to take me down more than anything.”
“Hey, we’re past that,” Lilah says, waving her hand like it’s nothing that she trashed me in the press. “This is insurance to keep you from doing anything to Knox in the future.”
I don't think Lilah and I will ever be the kind of friends she and Knox seem to be, but I can appreciate her wanting to protect him. “Make sure you only send him the ones where I look good,” I say, giving in to the teasing. “Can’t have him holding bad photos of me over my head.”
Lilah laughs wickedly. “Deal.”
Okay, drag brunch wasn’t so bad.