Bowl Full of Cherries (11 page)

“Sort of!” he replied, making his voice project.

“C’mere! Lemme draw on you.”

He gave Sondra his hand and she pulled a pen out of her purse. She began to draw on him. Tyler brought him a nogtini.

“This is fun!” Crowley shouted over the noise of the crowd. The lead singer of the band was sweating profusely, but there seemed to be no end to the set. “I don’t fit in at all!”

Rell stepped right up beside him so that they were almost touching and dropped his head so that he could speak directly into Crowley’s ear, which made his body tingle.

“None of us do,” Rell said.

Crowley turned his head, just a little, so he could really study Rell, whose features blurred in the heat and the weird lighting and the dizzy haze of alcohol on an empty stomach.

Sondra seemed oblivious to the way she’d positioned herself: knees in the seat, one hand holding Crowley’s wrist against the small table, the other furiously “tattooing.” There were club-goers who certainly noticed, though. Indie boys who craned their necks to get a better look. Some of the hipster girls, whose appeal was a thing you just had to
get
, stole a look too.

When Sondra was done, she cried, “Triumph!” Then she said, “Who’s going to dance with me?”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’m not dancing with my cousin.”

“Because you’re totally afraid that I will show you up with my mad dancing skills.”

“No, because that pink-haired girl is giving me the eye.”

“The eye?” Rell asked, looking where Tyler unabashedly pointed at a very tall woman, all long, sharp limbs and hot pink hair bobbed by her ears.

“Excuse me folks.” Tyler grinned and casually walked toward her, like at any moment he might change trajectory and end up elsewhere. It didn’t exactly mesh with the fact that he’d just openly pointed at her.

Crowley squinted at Sondra’s ink work on his hand. She’d covered his skin from wrist to fingernails in vines and word art. In different fonts of different sizes, she’d written the words
Poignant
and
Savor
and
Beauty
and
Lust
and
Enough
and then surrounded them with leaves. It was beautiful. She’d even taken special care to shade everything in. He looked up to tell her he liked it, but Sondra had hopped down off the chair and grabbed two boys, dragging them onto the dance floor.

“Your cousin seems….” Crowley inched closer to Rell so that their shoulders brushed.

“Like a manic pixie dream girl?” Rell laughed in his ear, “Because she sort of is. Her father pays for her trips around the world and she just travels and takes pictures. And visits indigenous tribes. And smokes a lot of pot. And has been married like three times, though two of them weren’t actually legally binding.”

“Really?”

The laughter died on Rell’s lips as he watched Sondra dance between the trendy guys. “I don’t hate Sondra, even if I sound bitter.”

“Just a little bitter.”

“It’s just… she does these things, right? And no one calls
her
a slacker.”

“You’re not a—”

“I am,” Rell argued. “I totally am. If I could never work and still survive, I would. I just wish people would realize Sondra does the same damn thing.”

The lead singer of The Emporium Sound cut into the long note he’d been holding and shouted into the microphone. “What would a Christmas concert be if we didn’t facilitate a little making out for our friends?” The hipsters cheered. “All right, this song is called ‘Mistletoe’ and you guys know that mistletoe is a legally binding contract. Since we’re about to fill the rafters with sound, you’ll all be standing under it and you are
contractually obligated
to grab a stranger and kiss them. And if there isn’t at least a little tongue, then, folks, you’re just not doing it right!” And then his hands hit the keyboard and his bandmates brought the music to a swell around them.

Sondra had grabbed both her boys and pulled them into a three-way kiss. It looked awkward, but if the way she wiggled was any indication, she was definitely enjoying herself. Tyler waved smugly at them from across the dance floor, his arm around not the pink-haired girl, but a redhead with aviator shades instead. Tyler waited until they were both watching him before he kissed her. All around them, people had coupled and were kissing.

“Well, this is fun,” Rell said and took a longer swig off his beer.

“You could grab a girl, you know,” Crowley told him. Their shoulders still touched. Crowley looked over at Rell, traced the line of his neatly trimmed beard with his eyes, gaze dipping into the corners of his mouth. His lips were beautiful. Full, sculpted. They looked soft and smooth, and he wondered what it would be like to finally—
finally
—kiss someone.

Rell was looking around at the lonely faces, searching for someone to kiss as the band tripped into the catchy chorus. “Mistle-mistle-mistle-tooooe!”

Crowley sang lightly.

Look at me
, he wanted to say. Instead, he murmured. “I hate this sort of thing. It’s stupid, but it would be really nice if, y’know, for once, someone would come up to me and be like, ‘Hey, you! I think you’re cute!’”

He lost himself in thought, trying to push away memories of douchebag guys who thought they were better than him. Crowley blinked, trying to forget the way Peter Yeats had smiled at him and said, “We could go back to my room and kiss.”

Crowley shuddered as the memory assaulted him.

He felt an arm around his shoulder and Crowley startled, looking up to find Rell’s dark blue eyes on his face. His heart leaped and his stomach flipped.

“I think you’re cute.” Rell finished, swirling the last dregs of beer around in the bottom of his bottle.

“Exactly. If someone could say it just like that.”

“No.” Rell shook his head slowly. The sexual energy of the club-goers swirled around them, couples taking the lead singer’s instructions
very
seriously. “I, uh,
actually
think you’re good-looking. I have since we first met.”

If he’d had two brain cells to rub together in that moment, Crowley might have turned away. Or grabbed a napkin. Or
something
to cover what was sure to be a very open series of emotions that crossed his face. First there was shock and then confusion and then embarrassment and then, through a hot blush, open pleasure. He looked up at Rell and smiled, and Rell dropped his arms around Crowley’s waist, slowly pulling him closer. Crowley could feel the beer bottle against his back.

Very slowly, so there could be no doubt what was happening, Rell leaned in and kissed him. It was nothing at all like brushing shoulders, or holding hands, or even hugging. This was electric. It breathed life into him and made him idiotic all at once. Rell’s lips against Crowley’s was unlike any experience he’d had before. The feel of that sensitive skin made him tremble.

Crowley’s mouth moved against Rell’s and one of them, or both maybe, groaned. Their warmth had just begun to really mingle, when a catty boy nearby shouted something that sounded like, “I guess even chubs need love!”

Crowley yanked back, a panic attack coming on hard and fast. Was this a joke? Was Rell messing with him? Was everyone laughing? He turned sharply, trying to see where the camera was. Who was watching?

“Are you okay?” Rell’s voice sounded like it was coming to him through water, and a fuzzy noise filled his ears. Crowley muttered an apology and then pushed through the crowd, stumbling toward the exit.

W
HAT
THE
hell had just happened?

Barely conscious of what he was doing, Rell lifted his empty beer to his lips, tasted air, and lowered it. One minute they were… and the next… and then Crowley was pulling back, eyes downcast, muttering something that sounded like an apology.
An apology?
Why?

Oh Jesus.

What had he done?

Rell went after Crowley, pushing through the crowd, ignoring Sondra, who looked like she had something to say. He didn’t bother to let the bored-looking stamp girl mark his hand for reentry. He did tell her he’d never come back if he could help it, though, and pushed out into the freezing night. The snow fell silently through the orange cones of light cast by street lamps. The road was empty except for a few parked cars. He could hear the muffled strains of “Mistletoe” spilling out of the door. He turned, ready to start running whichever direction Crowley went, when he found him near the wall, arms crossed over his chest to ward off the arctic air.

“You never do run very far, do you?” Rell’s voice was tight. He’d meant it to be a joke. “Look, Owl, I’m sorry.” Rell tried to make his voice firm. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. I just….”

Crowley turned his head and looked at Rell. Snow had caught in his curls and on his shoulders, and a flake melted on the tip of his delightfully round, freckled nose. “I get it, Rell. You feel sorry for me.”

“Sorry for you?” Rell repeated, baffled. “I thought you looked hot, I had one too many beers, and I acted like a jackass. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Crowley looked down at his snow-covered shoes for a moment and then up at Rell. “You thought I looked…?”

“Hot,” he said earnestly. “I still do. I don’t know. I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I swear, I’m usually way more suave than this. When I picked you up at the train station, I expected someone
else
. Someone Tyler-like and pretentious. But you are so funny and clever and… I like the way you smile. I like the color of your eyes. I like your freckles. I’ve never noticed a guy’s
freckles
before, but I notice yours.”

They stood there in silence.

Rell didn’t really understand what kissing Crowley might mean about him, and just then, he didn’t care. “I
am
sorry.”

Crowley swallowed “That kiss was awesome.”

“Yeah, it really was.”

“Do you want to—?”

“Kiss again? Hell yes.”

“I was going to say take a walk and talk.” Crowley looked serious for a moment, and then he smiled. “But if you’re really interested, then….”

He took Crowley’s hand and pulled him up against the large mural on the outside wall of the Livery. He couldn’t tell what part of the song they were in or if the band had moved on to something else, but as he raked his fingers through Crowley’s hair, he made sure their tongues touched. They were definitely doing it right.

E
VEN
THROUGH
the snow, Rell didn’t feel the cold. His face burned with the excitement of escaping the Livery and absconding with his brother’s best friend. He clasped Crowley’s hand, pulling him through the street. They ran and skidded and laughed, moving farther and farther away from the club.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” Crowley breathed and Rell squeezed tighter. “Doesn’t it weird you out, though?”

“Nope.”

Rell knew what Crowley was asking—didn’t even pretend that he didn’t. Stopping, he tugged lightly so Crowley came stumbling up beside him. He twined his arms around Crowley’s waist and held him for a moment, right there in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Does it weird
you
out? I’m your best friend’s brother.”

“Not weirded out at all.” Crowley shook his head. His dark eyes shimmered with concern. “But for you… I mean, it was loud in there and hot and fun and there was alcohol and… sometimes… things just happen and—”

“Yeah, things happen,” Rell agreed. “Except I’ve been to a lot of stupid hipster clubs with a lot of Tyler’s friends and….” He leaned forward and kissed Crowley again, letting the experience linger, melting the chill between them. He tasted like nogtini. “And
nothing
like that has ever happened.”

“But… do you even like guys?”

“Owl. You’re a guy. I like you.”

“But have you
been
with a guy?”

“Why are you overthinking this?” Rell asked, gently cupping the side of Crowley’s face. “No, I haven’t been with a guy.” He remembered what Tyler had said about Crowley and the douchebags in his life. “Have you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“And I like you and you like me, right? I mean, I assume you do because you’re standing with me out here like this.”

“I just don’t want to make you do anything… weird.”

“I like weird.” And then thinking maybe that sounded a little kinky, Rell grinned and grabbed Crowley around the waist. “All right, Owl. One kiss and you want to have a strict sexuality talk? Let’s do it.”

“Two.”

“Talks?”

“Kisses.”

“You’re gay,” Rell said. “I’m… liking who I have in my arms.”

Crowley’s brows came together. “You’re
straight
is what you mean.”

“Obviously it’s more gray than that, Owly. Again, you’re, y’know, in my arms.”

“But—”

“Dude.” Rell smiled, brushing Crowley’s hair out of his face. He wanted to do that a million times, brush the hair back, let his fingertips swipe gently across Crowley’s cheek. “Why’s there got to be a ‘but’?”

“I don’t know.”