The charm offensive, p.12
The Charm Offensive, page 12
Dev works himself up into a frenzy of passion, his arms flailing and his eyes shining brightly. In this moment, in this light, his eyes remind Charlie of the dark wood Mendini violin he played in his high school orchestra, almost black around the strings, a well-loved umber brown on the edges of the lower bout. He loved that secondhand violin.
“So, yeah,” Dev says, his shoulders deflating a bit. “That’s why I like Leland Barlow so much.”
From across the aisle, Jules throws a neck pillow at them, and the other first-class passengers glare. “Will you idiots shut up? I’m trying to sleep so we can party tonight, and y’all would be wise to do the same.”
Dev plucks up the pillow and puts it on like a necklace.
“Are you going out tonight?” Charlie asks.
“We are going out tonight. Drinks and dancing with Skylar and Jules. It’s a crew tradition to take the star out the first night of travel.”
Charlie swallows down his sudden panic.
Drinks and dancing and Dev sounds like an unbelievably dangerous combination.
Dev
New Orleans is the perfect first destination for the travel portion of the season because it has a heady, frenetic energy that matches Dev’s current need for distraction. The hired driver snakes through the crowded streets of the French Quarter on the way to the hotel, and Dev rolls down the window and sticks his head out.
Even though it’s only four-thirty in the afternoon, and it’s a Sunday, people spill onto sidewalks in bright-colored clothing, visibly drunk. There’s music coming from an unknown source, and as they drive past a group of women wearing “Bride’s Entourage” sashes, they all holler obscene things at him. He loves everything about it.
Skylar has to meet up with the travel crew for a few hours, but she promises to join them at the bars later. Dev needs this night out. He needs a day off from the cameras and the crowns. He needs a night of heavy drinking with good friends.
Also, he needs sex.
Which is clearly his problem—the reason for all his restless energy and the disastrous oh, love and the even more disastrous semi-hard he shoved at the hetero star of their show. It’s been almost five months since he’s had sex. He needs a rebound. He needs to get this energy out of his system.
His plan is simple: he’s going to have a night of casual sex with a random hookup he finds at a bar on his night off work. He’ll end his sex drought, and then the smell of Charlie’s oatmeal body wash won’t mess with his mind so much. He’ll have sex and get his head screwed on straight so he can help Charlie fall in love and write him a happy ending.
The show has Charlie and the production team staying at the Hotel Monteleone, on the top floor, and the women will be downstairs when they arrive later tonight. Jules and Skylar both have rooms on one end of the hallway, and Charlie and Dev have adjoining rooms on the other end. As soon as Dev gets to his room, he takes a long, hot shower, shaves, and shakes out his duffle bag onto his king-size bed, searching for the right outfit that says, “Gay dude looking for mutually enjoyable, noncommittal sex.”
Unfortunately, most of his clothes seem to say, “Straight dude actively trying to die alone.”
He kicks the adjoining door until Charlie opens it, half asleep, pillow lines already formed on his cheek from an afternoon nap. Dev pushes his way into the room. “I need to borrow a shirt.”
Charlie stares at his bare chest, at the waistband of his boxers, his eyes sliding all the way down Dev’s legs. There’s something about Charlie’s enormous gray eyes that makes Dev’s skin come to life under his gaze.
Charlie closes his eyes, covers his face with a giant hand, and groans. “God, why are you naked?” He sounds repulsed, and the tone returns Dev’s skin to its normal, dormant state.
“Because I need to borrow a shirt.”
Charlie gestures to the armoire, where he’s already unpacked all his things. “You can borrow whatever you want, but it’s all going to be big and short on you.”
“Big? I’m not that much skinnier than you.”
Charlie drops his hand from his eyes and stands directly in front of Dev in a wordless display of their respective widths. And yeah, okay. Charlie is twice his size. He could cover Dev like a duvet.
And that thought—that thought right there—is why Dev needs to have sex tonight.
He goes to the armoire and begins rifling through Charlie’s expensive things. Charlie’s clothes are beautiful, but none of them really scream Dev. None of them really scream Charlie, either. Charlie’s fancy clothes are another protective layer he puts on every day. Except.
“Oh my Lord, is this a jean jacket? Why do you have a jean jacket? I’ve never even seen you in jeans. It’s glorious.”
Dev grabs one of Charlie’s hundred-dollar T-shirts and throws the jean jacket on over it. He swims in both. “Honest assessment: am I rocking this jean jacket, or does it make me look like a twelve-year-old trying to get into a bar while wearing his father’s suit?”
“You look really good.”
Dev punches his arm. “Thanks, man. Now get dressed!”
Dev goes to put on a pair of skinny jeans while Charlie gets up to brush his teeth. Charlie’s in the process of choosing from his many possible colored-shorts-and-short-sleeved-chambray combinations when there’s a double knock on the door, and Jules comes bursting in holding two mini bottles of vodka she pocketed from the plane. She’s released her hair from its usual topknot prison, and black curls spill down her back in beautiful waves. In place of her usual T-shirt, she’s wearing a jean skirt and crop top and mascara. “Shit, Jules! You look hot. Like a Chinese, ‘Sometimes’-era Britney Spears.”
She tosses him a mini bottle. “You look like an Indian, Growing Pains–era Leo.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Charlie settles on periwinkle shorts and a cream-colored chambray with little flowers stitched into the fabric. Jules snorts. “Charles, you look like a stockbroker vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard, as always.”
“Well, you look very beautiful,” Charlie says with the same sincerity.
His earnestness seems to dissolve some of her usual cynicism. Jules shyly looks down at her feet. “Thanks, Charlie.”
Something unpleasant in Dev’s chest, but he swallows it down with vodka, puts on a smile. “Shall we?”
Charlie
There’s an undercurrent of panic beneath his skin—a tiny, nagging voice that says, Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Maybe don’t get drunk with Dev tonight. But the voice is buried beneath an overwhelming thrum of anticipation as Jules leads them out of the hotel and into the chaos of the French Quarter.
It’s all the things he usually hates: too many people, too many smells, too much noise. But for some reason, all Charlie can see and smell and hear is Dev. Dev laughing at something Jules says; the smell of hotel shampoo as Dev brushes against him, pulling them along toward the bar where they’re meeting Skylar; Dev strutting around, wearing Charlie’s clothes. The sight of Dev in his oversize jean jacket makes Charlie feel… something he can’t quite name.
It takes them an hour to walk three blocks because Jules wants to eat at every food stand, and Dev wants to talk to every stranger, and Charlie wants to read every historical plaque. When they finally meet up with Skylar outside a gay bar, she looks nothing like her usual high-strung-director self, and every bit like a happy fortysomething woman. She hugs Jules and Dev, shakes Charlie’s hand in greeting, and then they’re all stuffing themselves around a tiny table, knees banging together. “We are getting belligerent tonight, yes?” Skylar asks with a formal air.
“Indubitably,” Jules agrees.
Charlie doesn’t say anything. He watches Dev press the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip. Charlie imagines his thumb, Dev’s lip, and the gentle pressure it would take to coax his mouth open. He’s losing it a bit, and they haven’t even started drinking.
“Can we get four of your house margaritas and a round of tequila shots?” Dev asks the server.
Jules rubs her hands together, getting down to business. “Okay, Dev. Let’s find you a man.”
Charlie’s stomach folds in half.
“A man?” Skylar asks.
“Dev is finally ready for his post-Ryan rebound. We are on the prowl for a one-night-stand candidate. Oh, how about that Joe Alwyn–looking dude by the bar?”
The server deposits the drinks on the table. Charlie doesn’t reach for his shot. He was stupid, so stupid to think Dev might—
“A one-night stand? Dev?” Skylar snorts after she’s thrown back both her own shot and Charlie’s. “Mr. Happily Ever After? I doubt it.”
Dev is immediately defensive. “There is nothing wrong with believing in happy endings.”
“Isn’t there, though, when statistically, you know half of those endings are actually divorce?” Jules sucks on a lime. “Shouldn’t orchestrating love stories for our crappy show spoil the magic for you a bit?”
“No! Never!” Dev is ridiculously cute when he’s passionate. Charlie stares down at his coaster. “Look, I know in real life relationships are complicated, but on our show they’re not. It’s as simple as two people liking each other enough to try. And then we put them on a boat in St. Thomas, and they fall in love, because who can resist falling in love on a boat?”
Skylar snorts again, but Dev plows on. “The situations are dramatized, sure, and the emotions are heightened to the point of absurdity for ratings, and in most cases, people don’t fall in love in two months. But sometimes they do! Sometimes, you meet someone, and you just know. That happens on our show two seasons per year! How is that not magic?”
Skylar grins. “Tell me again how you’re looking for a one-night stand?”
Dev flips her off across the table. “Charlie, why aren’t you drinking?”
He wasn’t ready for anyone to address him, so he stumbles through some vowel sounds in response to Dev’s question.
Dev puts a hand on Charlie’s knee under the table and leans in close. “Let go a little. You’re safe with us.”
He doesn’t feel safe. He feels exposed and ridiculous, even though no one knows how profoundly disappointed he is. And it’s all so silly, because of course Dev wanted to go out tonight so he could flirt with other men. Whatever weird friendship they’ve formed is friendship at best, and Dev being damn good at his job at worst. When this is over, they won’t stay in contact. Dev will be busy prepping the next princess and Charlie will hopefully be busy with his new job. Too busy to think about repressed feelings or Dev’s mouth.
Besides, Charlie wants Dev to find someone else. Maybe if he sees Dev with someone else, he’ll stop picturing Dev with him.
Dev’s hand is still on Charlie’s knee when he flags down the server again. More shots land on the table. Dev’s fingers fall away. “Charlie, can I see your hand for a minute?”
“My hand?”
Dev’s fingers, cooled from his margarita, slip around Charlie’s wrist, and then Dev is bringing Charlie’s hand up to his mouth. For a fraction of a second, he thinks Dev is going to kiss his hand, like a noble prince in one of the fairy tales he loves so much.
Dev licks Charlie’s hand instead. Dev’s tongue. The side of Charlie’s hand. Saliva and germs and Dev’s tongue. That’s all it takes for Charlie’s whole body to go rigid. Then he’s thinking about the bathroom, Dev’s arm around his shoulders, Charlie’s hand pressed into the small of his back, Dev hard against his hipbone. There’s an ache in the back of his throat, and he can barely focus on the salt being poured along his hand, Dev forcing him to lick the salt, Dev positioning the shot glass against his lips.
“You’re taking this shot with us, Charlie,” Dev says. “It’s crew tradition.”
He already feels drunk as Jules counts it down. “Three… two… one!”
Dev tilts the glass. The tequila slides down Charlie’s throat, and then there’s a lime. Dev slots the lime between Charlie’s lips, his thumb pressed to the corner of Charlie’s mouth. “Suck, Charlie.”
Charlie sucks on the lime slowly, trying to live in this moment of tequila and Dev’s fingers for as long as he can. Another round appears on the table, and Charlie takes this one without any part of Dev touching him. Charlie needs Dev touching him. Everything beyond Dev goes quiet and blank. Radio static. Panic and longing and a third shot.
Charlie needs to be touching Dev, and soon he’s too drunk to stop himself, so his hand finds Dev’s sharp knee under the table. Dev lets him keep it there, and Charlie doesn’t know what it means.
He isn’t sure when they end up leaving the first bar or how they arrive at the second, a club where drag queens perform onstage. He only knows the feeling of his shoulder pressed into Dev’s arm as they walk, the back of Dev’s hand brushing his. Dev’s mouth on Charlie’s ear, lip and earlobe and hot breath: “Let me buy you another drink.”
Dev leaning against the edge of the bar. Long limbs and sharp points, so beautiful and so not his.
Dev
“So…” Charlie starts. He props himself against the bar while they wait for their drinks. In Charlie’s mind, he must think this little lean he’s doing looks casual. It does not.
Drunk Charlie is an absolute mess. Dev is kind of obsessed.
“You’re looking for a man-shaped person to share the night with?” Charlie asks primly.
Dev laughs. “Yeah, I guess I am. I think it’s time, after Ryan.”
The bartender sets their Sazeracs on the napkins in front of them, because when in New Orleans, mix hard alcohol like you’re not twenty-eight and prone to heartburn, Dev thinks.
“Tonight, I’ll be the handler,” Charlie says while his tongue struggles to find his straw, “and you be the Prince Charming. I’ll find you someone to love.”
Dev laughs again, and Charlie reaches for a passing person with a bright blue pompadour and sequined top. “Excuse me?” Charlie sounds vaguely European and looks distinctly cross-eyed. “Can I introduce you to my friend Dev?”
Sequins’s eyes never make it past Charlie. “Are you Dev?”
Sequins doesn’t wait for Charlie’s answer, but latches onto the front of Charlie’s shirt and pulls down his ear. Whatever Sequins whispers makes Charlie blush from hairline to collar. “That’s a very nice offer,” Charlie says. “But I am currently dating ten women on a reality show, so I will have to pass.”
Sequins pouts, then disappears into the crowd. Charlie bypasses the straw to take a large gulp of alcohol. Dev laughs again. Dev feels like he’ll never stop laughing—like there’s a bottle of champagne bubbles stuck in his throat.
“Come on!” He grabs Charlie’s free hand and pulls them through the pulsating bodies until they find Skylar and Jules. It’s Lady Gaga night at the club, and all the drag queens are dressed in costumes from various music videos. “Poker Face” Gaga is performing onstage right now, and Dev swings his hips in time to the music.
“Dance with us, Charlie!”
The request is met with some horrible hetero head-bob, knee-locking combo from Charlie.
“Good Lord, Jules! Make it stop!”
Jules takes Charlie’s hands in hers and tries to correct his robotic moves, tries to loosen his hips. “Bad Romance” comes on, and Jules and Skylar teach Charlie a bastardized version of the choreography, and Dev is all champagne bubbles and a second Sazerac and the perfect feeling of a bass thumping through his bones.
Men flock to Charlie, and Charlie tries to introduce the men to Dev, but it’s impossible to see anyone else when Charlie’s around, hulking and blond and sweating in the flashing lights. Dev loses track of how many drinks he’s had. He loses track of everything except for Charlie’s curled lips, his white teeth, strobe lights. He wonders how many nights like this Charlie Winshaw has had in his life. Permanent smile, completely out of his head, not worried about being weird and being totally, unapologetically weird as he thrusts his hips to Lady Gaga.
Has Charlie ever had a night like this? Has he ever just let himself be? Charlie dances like his skin is a pair of stiff jeans he’s finally broken in, like for the first time, he fits. Dev wishes Angie and Daphne were here right now, wishes all the women could witness this, because it would be impossible not to fall in love with this version of Charlie.
“You’re not dancing!” Charlie screams in his face. He grabs Dev’s waist and pulls him toward where Jules is grinding on someone wearing fishnets and nothing else. Skylar’s in her own world, arms vertical, completely free from her usual stress. It really is a perfect night.
“I was just watching you enjoy yourself.”
“What?” Charlie shouts over the music.
“Nothing!” Dev laughs, but for the first time all night, it doesn’t feel funny. Charlie’s hands are massive on his narrow hips, like bookends holding him upright. Charlie pulls him even closer, knees brushing knees.
“You’re too nice to me,” Charlie shouts.
“No one can ever be too nice to you, Charlie.”
“No. No.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He looks so serious, carved in florescent, flashing light. “I’m worried you don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“I’m worried you don’t know what you deserve.” He grabs Dev’s shoulders. “Six years is a long time to stay.”
For a second, Dev isn’t sure if Charlie is talking about his six years with Ryan or his six years with Ever After. Charlie’s hands are on the back of his neck, and he pulls their foreheads together. Dev can taste the alcohol on Charlie’s breath with every exhale. “You’re too amazing to settle for Goonies T-shirts and a PS5.”
Ryan, then. “Thanks, Charlie.”
Charlie leans back just enough to reach out for a man dancing close by. He pulls the man into their little hug-circle. “This is my friend Dev,” Charlie tells the stranger. “You should love him.”
The man is drunk enough to roll with this moment. “Okay,” he says, winking at Dev.
