Page 36 of Grief & Glitter

An older couple was waiting behind us for the valet. The woman stared at Ryan, then at me, then back at Ryan. Not hostile. Curious. Ryan noticed too, and his fingers tightened around mine. I tightened mine back.

“You okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Yep.”

“You sure?”

He quirked a smile. “Nope.”

Fair enough.

We walked through the doors, and the second we stepped inside, heads turned. Not all of them. Not even most. But enough that Ryan’s hand clenched mine harder.

“Holy shit!” Walker exclaimed when he noticed us. Finn elbowed him. “What?” Walker protested. “I meant Taft.”

Finn rolled his eyes, and Ryan laughed, some of the tension leaving his hand. Finn came straight over and hugged him. “You look incredible. I love the dress.”

Ryan lit up. Walker looked me over, smoothed his lapels, and tipped his chin. “Nice styling, Taft.”

“Thanks,” I said and nodded back. “You are too.”

“Our boys did good,” Walker said with a grin and winced theatrically when Finn smacked him on the arm. “What? I’m being nice.”

Chip arrived next with his date Dane, a firefighter with a handshake like a vice, and Sable trotting between them in a red bow tied to match Dane’s tie. Bob and Arnaud right behind. Arnaud stopped dead in front of us, placed one hand over his heart, and announced, “Mon Dieu. You’re magnificent, little Ryan. Like an ocean-faring princess who has arrived to destroy the hearts of men.”

Ryan went scarlet.

Bob stared at Arnaud, his mouth open. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means he is beautiful.”

“You could’ve said that.”

“I did. With poetry.”

Chip smiled at Ryan. “You look great.”

“Thanks.”

Bob looked Ryan over next, and I waited. He nodded once. “Nice dress. Shoes look dangerous.”

“They are.”

“Good.”

And that was apparently Bob’s complete contribution to fashion.

The night got easier after that. Not easy, just easier. I saw the looks, and Ryan saw more of them. A woman from one of the corporate sponsors complimented his dress before spending five minutes asking where he’d bought it. A season ticket holder told him his makeup was beautiful, and a guy from a local bank stared too long before his wife elbowed him and told him to stop being rude. There were whispers. There were double takes. There were people who didn’t know what they were looking at and people who knew exactly what they were looking at and couldn’t decide how they felt about it. Mostly, though, there were people who didn’t give a shit. The roulette wheel still spun. People still drank champagne. Walker still cheated at blackjack even though no actual money was involved. Arnaud somehow ended up running a craps table despite admitting he didn’t understand the rules, and Bob threatened to throw him in the lake for it.

Ryan stayed beside me at first then slowly stopped needing to. He talked to Finn for twenty minutes, helped one of the wives fix a broken clasp on her bracelet, and got dragged into a conversation about skincare with three men representing a local brewery. Someone asked about his eye makeup, and ten minutes later, he was explaining the difference between shimmer and glitter to an audience of five people.

I watched him from my roulette table. He was glowing. Not the makeup. Him. For the first time since I’d known Ryan, there was nothing hidden, no faint glitter left behind after he’d scrubbed his face clean, no bag of makeup clutched against his chest while he invented imaginary women called Penny, no oversized hoodie covering everything. Ryan. All of him.

He caught me staring, and his smile changed, smaller, just for me. I smiled back, and that was when I noticed the man two tables over. Mid-fifties, expensive suit, too much whiskey already in his glass. He wasn’t looking at the roulette wheel. He was looking at Ryan, and his mouth had gone thin and tight. I’d seen that look before, on other faces, in other rooms, and I knew exactly what it meant before he ever opened his mouth. He set his glass down and started walking my way.

“I need a word,” he said and nudged my elbow.

I dragged my attention off Ryan and back to the table. “Sorry. Bets are closed.”