The Charm Offensive(42)

He’s too drunk and too hot inside the jean jacket to process all of this. He searches for an emotion and lands on anger. How dare Jules accuse him of having feelings for Charlie?

He cares about Charlie, of course. Because Charlie is their Prince Charming, and it’s Dev’s job to care. And because Charlie is Charlie. Sure, he might be attracted to Charlie, but only because Charlie is objectively attractive, and Dev is objectively lonely.

And then he’s thinking about what Charlie said about him in the club. He’s so fucking beautiful.

No one has ever told him he’s beautiful before. High school boyfriends and college boyfriends and Ryan, and how is Charlie Winshaw the first person to ever say that to him, blackout drunk in a dance club surrounded by Lady Gagas?

But he already knows the answer. Hell, Charlie Winshaw somehow knows the answer.

I’m worried you don’t know what you deserve.





Charlie


Dev was here. Dev is now not here.

Charlie’s fairly certain he has an exceptional brain—he’s maybe even won awards for it—but right now, it doesn’t seem capable of understanding where he is or what he’s doing. He thinks there are hands on him. He thinks he’s dancing. He thinks someone gave him another drink. He knows Dev is gone.

His legs feel numb as he moves through the crowd like a puppet on bad strings, weaving in and out. Bodies and arms and low voices in his ear and hands that glide across his chest. Where’s Dev?

Jules. He catches his fingers on Jules’s tiny shoulders, sharp like Dev’s. “Dev?”

“He went back to the hotel.”

Charlie stumbles toward the door. “Wait!” Jules shouts over the music. “I’ll find Skylar, and we’ll all go!”

He keeps walking. Beyond the door, the air is warm, muggy. Charlie swims in it. “Dev?”

“Charlie?”

Dev. He’s leaning against a brick wall up ahead, his long legs spilling into the sidewalk. Dev is ten feet tall, and his face is wet. “You’re crying,” Charlie yells. “Hey, you’re crying.”

“Shit.” Dev pushes tears around his face. “Sorry. It’s nothing. I’m just… I’m really drunk.”

“You’re crying,” he says again, quieter now. The music is gone, and Dev is right here, two feet in front of him. He probably doesn’t need to yell. “Why are you crying?”

Charlie reaches up and catches a tear on his thumb. He blows on it. Make a wish. Or is that eyelashes? Charlie’s so drunk, he doesn’t know anymore. Dev pushes past him and starts walking up the busy sidewalk.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the hotel.”

“Dev.” Charlie reaches out for Dev’s jacket—his jacket—to hold him in place. “Did I do something wrong?”

Dev laughs and looks down at his sneakers, the same ones Charlie barfed on—was that just three weeks ago? “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.” Dev’s voice breaks. Charlie wants to put it back together.

Dev tries to walk away again, and Charlie doesn’t let him. He had Dev. He had Dev in his hands and in his arms on the dance floor. He had Dev right there, and he’s far away again.

Charlie grabs two fistfuls of Dev’s jacket. “Why do you always pull away from me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s play a game,” he hears himself say. He’s drunk, so drunk. “Let’s see who pulls away first.”

And then he shoves Dev’s back against the brick wall again, harder than he intends, but it’s fine, because Dev is here. Dev is right here. Charlie’s holding him in place, and Dev’s knee is on Charlie’s thigh, and Charlie’s knee is brushing Dev’s skin. This is what he wanted. This is what he’s wanted for days, and now Dev is here, and Charlie realizes he has no idea what happens next. Dev usually scripts these sorts of things for him.

“What the hell, Charlie?”

He grabs tighter to the front of Dev’s jacket. He’s not sure what to say.

He says, “Can I please kiss you?”





Dev


First Charlie shoves him against a brick wall, and then he asks permission to kiss him, and the stark juxtaposition between that act of aggression and the thoughtful question of consent might be the sexiest thing that’s ever happened to Dev, overriding any logical thought. He says something. It might be “okay.”

But Charlie Winshaw isn’t going to kiss him. It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense. Charlie’s pinning him against this wall with a wild look in his eyes, and Dev wants to pull away; Dev never wants to pull away. But Charlie isn’t going to kiss him, and Dev doesn’t want Charlie to kiss him. Because he doesn’t have feelings for Charlie.

Then Charlie’s thumb is on Dev’s lower lip, brushing it tenderly, and then Charlie’s mouth is on Dev’s lower lip. And fuck.

The Prince Charming on the show Ever After is kissing him against a brick wall, so hesitantly, his mouth soft and tasting of salt. For a second, Dev thinks about the camera angles and the music they would add in postproduction, and then he doesn’t think about anything, because Charlie’s hands are on his hips, sliding their bodies together as his tongue teases Dev’s mouth apart.