Page 23 of Reckless On Ice

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’mtheparty. 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. “Justlookat 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 yoursentiments 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, lookingfor 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 electronicordering 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 andmmhmmmsandyaasss queens 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 dancingin 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. “Areyou 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 isphenomenal, 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.

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