Page 48 of Companion Required

Chapter Twenty-One

Kennedy

Kennedy fiddled with the gold cufflink on his left sleeve and peered nervously towards the large doors to the room. Tonight’s event showcased another side of the gay community. Two nights ago, at the White Party, some of these men had been sexy Snow Queens or Marilyn Monroes, complete with platinum wigs and high heels. Others had worn next to nothing—loincloths or Roman togas. Tonight, with most people dressing in either black tie or evening gowns, his mother and father wouldn’t have looked out of place. Although on a closer inspection, dotted around the room, some guests had chosen alternatives—white, powder pink, or blue tuxes, and some men had chosen drag, dressing gloriously in stunning gowns. Kennedy would normally have enjoyed the splashes of non-conformity, but his mind remained elsewhere.

Once again, he checked his watch, then brushed at an imaginary dust mark on his sleeve.

“For goodness’ sake, Kennedy, will you stop fidgeting—oh, fuckity-fuck,” said Pete, gazing over Kennedy’s left shoulder, his eyes going wide. Along with the lull in the weather, Pete had emerged from his cabin that evening.

“What?” asked Kennedy, spinning around, but seeing nothing through the crowd.

“Fuck my old boot,” said Pete, his mouth hanging open. “Queer One scrubs up good.”

And Kennedy spied him—Kieran—with Laurie on his arm, and a sudden pride swelled in his chest like an inflating airbag. Kieran absolutely rocked the dress suit, a perfect fit with a black bow tie and dark red—burgundy—cummerbund. Not only that, but his hair had been trimmed and tamed with gel, and he moved with an easy confidence Kennedy had never noticed before. All heads turned as he passed, some clustering together to dish about this deliciously handsome male specimen.

Prince Charming had arrived at the ball.

Laurie stopped and looked around before whispering something in Kieran’s ear. After finishing, she nodded towards Kennedy and Pete before moving off. Kieran strolled over to join them. On his way, he plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, who smiled then turned to give Kieran’s departing back a once-over.

“Look at you, Mr Hottie,” said Pete, as Kieran arrived. “Licensed to kill.”

“You look really good, Kieran,” said Kennedy, amazed at how shy he sounded.

“These bloody shoes are killing me,” said Kieran, grimacing down at his stylish black patent leather dress shoes.

“Style comes at a price, kid,” said Pete, whose own dress suit had seen better days. “Where’s Laurie gone?”

“To let the MC know Kennedy and Steph aren’t going to be dancing tonight.”

“Yes, it’s a shame she’s not better,” said Kennedy. “Still, maybe you and I could take a turn on the floor later? Once the contest is over?”

“We’ll see,” said Kieran, his expression unreadable.

Even though they’d managed to secure a table bordering the dance floor, their party’s depleted size had meant other passengers—complete strangers—joining them at their table. Kieran chose to sit away from Kennedy, between Laurie and a nice-looking older man. Kennedy glanced Kieran’s way a couple of times, admiring his newfound confidence. Kieran continued to engage the man beside him in conversation, not once turning in Kennedy’s direction.

After a served meal of lobster bisque, with a choice of filet mignon, black cod or vegetarian pasta, followed by a selection of desserts, cheeses and coffee, the first of the dancers took to the floor.

Two large bears, dressed in pink and blue tuxedos, danced the cha-cha. Although light on their feet, they came frighteningly close a couple of times, and at one point he thought they might crash into their table. Kennedy’s favourite came in the form of a mountain of a man, completely bald, dressed in a sleeveless, flowing dress in sparkling electric blue, with one arm showcasing an inked sleeve tattoo. The man’s lesbian friend, dressed in a bright-red dress suit, looked like a character out of the Dick Tracy movie. They made an unlikely but mesmerizing couple. Energetically performing the Lindy-Hop, the pair had the whole room clapping along to their routine. Once the applause died down, the announcer moved back to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a slight change to the programme. Due to one half of the original male-female couple being unwell—a touch of the Saigon squirts, by all accounts—tonight’s dance will instead be performed by two gentlemen. Please give a big hand for Kennedy Grey and Kieran West.”

Amid the sound of applause, Kennedy looked around, shocked, to find Kieran standing behind his chair, his hand held out, palm upwards.

“Come on, old man,” said Kieran, his voice and face stern. “Exactly the same as you practiced with Steph. Every step the same. Let me lead, and you follow. Are we cool?”

Stunned and unable to replycoherently, Kennedy allowed Kieran to take his hand and lead him to the centre of the dance floor. Kieran adopted the same starting position he and Steph had agreed upon. As the music began—the staccato rhythm ofEl Tango de Roxanne—Kieran moved in perfect sync with Kennedy, their eyes glued to each other.

Often, when dancing with Steph, she had been unable to maintain the fierce glare between them, usually dissolving into a fit of giggles. Kieran’s eyes never once left his and positively smouldered with sexual innuendo. Each time Kieran crushed their bodies together, at one point bending Kennedy’s body backwards while closely hovering over him, he inhaled Kieran’s unique body smell mixed with something that smelt bizarrely like Steph, the kind of distinctive perfumed shower gel she used. At the end of the dance, with a final flourish, they ended frozen in place, their hands joined above their heads and their foreheads pressed together. Around the room, the watching crowd erupted into loud cheers and applause. When Kennedy finally relaxed and peered over at their table, he noticed Laurie grinning broadly while fanning her face with her napkin.

The band changed gear into a gentle two-step, allowing everyone to join them on the dancefloor. Kennedy had been about to head back to their table, but Kieran pulled him into the dance. Within seconds the floor filled around them, with a few people—other gay couples—leaning in to congratulate the two of them on their performance. Kennedy shook his head, still stunned.

“That was amazing. How the hell did you memorise those steps?”

“Child’s play. Although, of course, the video helped. My cousin and I were West London Under Fifteen Ballroom Champions in our youth. Three years running. Unlike you, though, I loved dancing lessons. Still step out every now and then whenever she’s in town.”

“Aren’t you full of surprises?”

“You have no idea. There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Mr Grey.”

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