The Charm Offensive(38)
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.”