Page 22 of Reckless On Ice

“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 newsituations.”

“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 arebland. 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 brunchanda 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 perkmy 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 elsehappens. 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 bringinghim.” 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 athis-closegesture, 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.

---