Bad Idea (Stonewall Investigations Miami 1)

Another reminder to how different I felt on the inside. It was like a Broadway musical in my head, with colorful songs and magical characters, all dancing and having a blast. Slightly corny, but I didn’t fight it, I was on cloud nine. My hand was currently on Fox’s thigh, my thumb rubbing over his jeans, everything feeling so damn right.

Things felt profoundly different in the days after having come out for the first time, and after having Fox underneath me, our bodies reaching new heights at the same time as we came together.

I couldn’t really pinpoint exactly what felt different, but maybe that was because it all felt different? There was a special glow to everything. It was easier than ever to hold my head high, to make eye contact with random people on the street, and to smile at them. It was easier to keep eye contact with myself in the mirror. Everything in the world was right. Things were okay.

No, forget that. They were so much better than just “okay.” This was… fuck, it was magnificent. I felt so good. I had woken up the past couple of days and literally pinched myself, making sure that having Fox’s arms around me every morning since coming out wasn’t just a fever dream.

I even bawled in the shower one day. I’d been by myself and was overcome with a deep sense of rightness. Like it was all happening the way it was meant to be. I had come out to two people, and the reactions had been exactly what I needed from them. There were still hurdles to jump, but that would all come later. In the shower that night, I cried because of happiness and not because of fear. That was a first for me, which seemed to have been a trend since the week had started.

Lots of firsts, this week.

“All right, I think this is the closest we’re getting.” Fox looked out the window. I followed his gaze. It was hard to see, but we were only down the street from the hotel we were meeting Dylan and his partners at. They said their house was currently getting renovated, so they were staying indefinitely at the Fontainebleau, a five-star hotel famous for its opulence.

We each readied our umbrellas and set our sights on the hotel. Outside, we got under our umbrellas and hurried to the covered valet station, our umbrellas not doing much against the torrential rain that was falling at a sideways angle. We entered into the grand lobby looking like wet Labradors, our pants soaking wet from the knee down, our shirts also wet from the rain.

We looked at each other and laughed. The front desk concierge offered to keep our umbrellas for us and asked if we needed a blow-dryer. I checked my watch and saw we got here fifteen minutes before our scheduled meeting. We took her up on the offer and ended up blow-drying our hair in one of the back rooms behind the front desk.

No wonder they were rated five stars.

Once we were dry, we went back into the beautifully decorated lobby, past the white marble columns and dangling chandeliers that looked like crystal waterfalls, and toward the wall of elevators.

Before calling the elevator, Fox turned to me. “This is a going to be a little unpredictable. I don’t know how they’ll react once they realize the evidence is pointing in their direction.”

“I’ve got your back, and you’ve got mine. Whatever happens, we’ll be good. The practice questions we went over with Andrew helped. If we stick to those, they might not even realize the targets shifting.”

Fox nodded. I felt confident this interview would go smoothly, especially since we had clicked right into preparation mode the second it was scheduled, but like Fox said, the situation was unpredictable. I didn’t feel as in danger as I did walking into Graffiti Graveyard, that was for sure, but I’d seen some desperate people do some desperate things when they felt their backs hit the wall.

The elevator took us up to the executive suites, where a security guard escorted us to Dylan’s door. He knocked for us and we waited. By the five-minute mark, I heard someone undoing the locks on the door. The heavy door opened, Dylan Rose standing there in a dull pink shirt with pineapples playfully printed all around it, his bright blue swim trunks popping against the pink.

“Hey there, boys, come in.”

We exchanged pleasantries, and Dylan led us into the living room, which was spacious with clean white walls and soft white furniture, highlights of blue and gold giving a sense of the beach that currently surrounded us. There was a wall-to-wall glass door that opened up to a huge balcony, with a stunning view of the ocean on any other day. Today, you could barely see past the railing with how hard it was raining outside. The wind was faster up here, too, whistling against the glass. Inside, there was a stunning fish tank with all sorts of colorful, tropical fish swimming lazily through the clear blue water. There was a gold and light blue splatter painting on the wall behind the couch, which was currently being occupied by Pierre and Lucien.