A Beautiful Disaster

by Marguerite Labbe

  Brenden slipped his sunglasses on and laced his hands together. “I get that, but think of it this way. You’re between Brian Austin Green and Sam Ellis. People are going to make their way back there regardless—either to get a picture with a Power Ranger or to hit up Sam about his shows and art—and you’ll have a better chance of wrangling in people to chat back there.”

  “You annoy me when you’re being reasonable.” Dakota scrubbed a hand through his hair, making the cowlicks stick out at odd angles.

  “Yeah, well you annoy me when you barge in here. Especially when I have shit to do.” Brenden glanced down at his list. “So if you don’t have any other complaints, I’m going to send this final draft to the printer and you can post it online for me.”

  “You need to take a break before you give yourself an aneurysm and start dinner.” Dakota patted his stomach. “You promised chicken cordon bleu.”

  “Stop hitting the marijuana so hard. I did nothing of the kind.” That recipe took forever, especially when he made the risotto that went with it. He never would’ve committed to that the week before a con. “In fact, I think we should stay in our corners and order in.”

  “You totally did. All the ingredients are in the fridge.” Dakota leaned over the desk and reached for Brenden’s sunglasses. Brenden shrank back. “Are you going to be a double promise breaker?”

  Dakota just had to phrase it that way. Brenden must’ve been distracted or insane when he made that promise because he never would’ve if he’d been thinking straight and Dakota knew it. “If you’re hungry, that’s a bad bet because it’s going to take a while.” Brenden looked at his to-do list with a plaintive frown. He could multitask several of the items and he was ahead of the chaos, but that wasn’t the point.

  Dakota grabbed Brenden’s hand to haul him up. “It’ll be good for you to take a break. You’ve done this so many times you can do half the work in your sleep. Besides, I’m taking care of the promo, and I’ll forward the okay on the layout. See, that’s two things to scratch off. The panels are all set and the schedule locked in. Funnel along a few other things too. I’m mostly caught up.”

  Brenden let himself be dragged into the kitchen. Dakota stayed long enough to stick some music on and pour Brenden a glass of wine before he slipped outside to his studio. A break was in order if his mind was this fuzzy. He didn’t want to make a mistake at this stage. Brenden opened the refrigerator and stared at the bag of ingredients from a grocery store he never patronized. “That sneaky jackass,” he muttered as he yanked it out.

  He opened the back door and yelled toward the studio, “If you’re going to set me up, hide the evidence better!” Dakota waved from the door and gave him a thumbs-up and a grin. “Motherfucker,” Brenden muttered and slammed the door shut. It would serve Dakota right if he ordered a pizza with all the toppings Dakota hated. Only now he had a craving for chicken cordon bleu.

  As Brenden set up his workstation, he consoled himself with the thought that he could always pretend the chicken breasts were Dakota when he pounded the hell out of them. Brenden closed his eyes with a sigh. Even his angry thoughts carried innuendo.

  He’d make the damn meal. Take the break that Dakota believed he obviously needed. Then retreat back to his office and work once it was done. And after the Kent Island show ended, he’d have a talk with Mr. Dakota Nye about his sucktastic approach and manipulating ways.

  Brenden took a sip of his wine and calmed down now that he knew he wasn’t losing his mind and forgetting things. In his business, he couldn’t be forgetful. The prep took longer than normal because Brenden had to pause every time his phone dinged, but soon enough the panko-encrusted chicken was in the oven. Brenden was on the phone with the venue, stirring the risotto when Dakota dared to stick his head back into the kitchen.

  “Excuse me a moment.” He pointed his long-handled spoon at Dakota as he tried to sneak past. “You, wash your hands and get the asparagus out of the fridge. You’re helping.”

  “I’ve already done my due diligence—” Dakota’s gaze darkened when Brenden ignored his protest and went back to his call.

  Brenden wasn’t about to accept his excuse. The bastard had bought all the ingredients and worked his way around to getting what he wanted. Again! He watched Dakota out of the corner of his eye as his annoying housemate jerked the refrigerator door open with a hiss of irritation.

  Brenden finished his call as Dakota washed the asparagus. “You tricked me into doing dinner, and I don’t appreciate being manipulated. Some of us are cognizant of our responsibilities.”

  Dakota rolled his eyes. “Stop it with the big fucking words, and don’t you dare give me a definition. I know what cognizant means. I wouldn’t have to resort to sneaky tactics if you’d be reasonable and stop being so damned stubborn. There’s being responsible, and then there’s you. Responsibility’s bitch.”

  “I am no one’s bitch.” Brenden pulled out a clean spoon to taste the risotto. Perfect. He didn’t understand how he could nail it when he was distracted and doing five other things. When he had plenty of time, something was always off. He spied Dakota looking at his phone and glanced over. “I see you’re searching cognizant. It means—”

  Dakota clamped a hand over his mouth. “Brenden, I will end you right here if you take that prissy teacher tone with me. Got it?”

  Brenden’s heartbeat sped up, and he had to remember to take a breath before Dakota noticed. He hated it when Dakota pulled that shit because it always made his limbs go all hot and heavy and other parts of his body want to go to attention. He glared at Dakota and mumbled behind his hand, “Do you mind taking your hand off of me?”

  “I will if we agree on a truce. I’m in no mood for us sniping at each other. It’s too early in the week. Let’s save it for the show, okay?”

  Dakota did look tired, his mouth pinched and his eyes red. More tired than he ought to considering he was just handling promo and didn’t have to deal with unforgiving hormones. If Dakota got horny, he just had to call one of the numbers on his fuck list in his phone. And it pissed off Brenden to no end that he had a fuck list. How juvenile was that?

  Brenden caught a whiff of the risotto and pushed Dakota back. “I said hands off. You should respect that without a deal, especially if you don’t want dinner to burn.” He turned back toward the stove and shut off the heat. Dakota was right, by the morning of the con, they would be at each other’s throats. It never failed. Under stress, they were oil and water. “But no more sniping at you tonight. I’ll behave.”

  Though why he apologized when Dakota started it, he didn’t know.

  There was a long pregnant pause behind him, and then Dakota leaned over to grab a skillet from the island. “Maybe I shouldn’t have shanghaied you into cooking an awesome dinner. Even if you always do better when you take a step away from work for a few minutes.”

  Brenden bit back a snarly response. Making dinner had not taken just a few minutes, and the pile of tasks to take care of had grown when he was pulled away. But the headache that had been forming had eased back, and eating a real meal instead of whatever he could grab would get him through the rest of the evening. Still, the challenge from Dakota required a response.

  “Some of us cannot cavalierly careen through life. Even if you do get the job done.” Brenden had to remember that. Dakota’s ways might mystify him, but he got results. “I’m not built like that.”

  Dakota banged the skillet down on the stove, dumped the asparagus in, and flipped on the burner. “Some of us can’t make a checklist to go take a shit either.”

  Brenden drew himself up, outrage silencing his tongue. Why was it that comments like that made him want to strangle and kiss Dakota in equal measure? He made Brenden laugh almost as much as he infuriated him. Brenden drizzled olive oil over the asparagus as he considered his response. “If you don’t have a checklist, how do you know it made it past your colon okay?” he deadpanned.

  Dakota stared at him a long moment. Brenden’s l
ips twitched, and then they were snickering. Dakota elbowed him out of the way. “Damn, I love you, asshole.”

  Brenden lightly shoved him back. “Yeah, love you too, jerkward.” He moved out of the way with the familiarity of long practice before Dakota could turn the tussle into a wrestling match. He’d been dodging bouts ever since he realized he couldn’t keep his hormones out of the fray.

  Dakota hummed off-key under his breath as he seared his part of dinner. Brenden took down plates for them both, and it hit him with a wrenching pang that this right here was what he wanted out of his life. The two of the snarking at each other one moment, working side by side the next, and sharing their geek loves as a career. He wanted to hear Dakota say “I love you, asshole” and mean it beyond the sense of their teenaged past.

  “Hey, I was thinking, we could take our food and work into the living room and watch wrestling or the game while we work.” Dakota turned to study him. He cocked his head, his expression darkening with concern. “You okay? You look like someone punched you in the gut. I didn’t elbow you that hard.”

  Brenden affected a sneer he didn’t feel, about to deliver a scathing retort, and then shook his head with a sigh. He wasn’t in the mood for their usual games. He couldn’t sit across from him tonight and pretend he felt the way he was supposed to. It drove him crazy to be so close and yet so far away from what he wanted.

  “I… I’m not hungry. Headache. I’m going to get done what I have to and hit the bed early.”

  “But….” Dakota trailed off with a crestfallen expression that pulled at Brenden’s already aching heart. There had to be a way to resolve this so they could go back to normal. He didn’t want Dakota moving back out after the con because Brenden couldn’t wrangle his feelings into line. He handled complex problems all the time. He should be able to handle his emotions.

  Brenden grabbed his phone and headed back toward his office, past the scent of dinner made for two, past the signs of Dakota’s invasion in his living room.

  “You think taking off those sunglasses might help?” Dakota shouted after him. “You’re going to give yourself a brain bleed you keep that up.”

  Brain bleed… what a laugh. More like his damn heart. And if Dakota picked up on it, he would hound Brenden until he confessed what was bothering him. No matter the cost, Brenden had to keep that from happening because his defenses against Dakota would crumble like a sandcastle in a windstorm after that.

  Chapter Six

  “WHAT DO you mean the hotel is double-booked? What the fuck kind of business are you running?” Dakota snapped as he kicked his car door shut after struggling to pull out his equipment. The phone threatened to slip from his shoulder and Dakota cursed again, nudging it into a better position with his cheek as the hotel clerk stammered apologies.

  “He’s a VIP. We guaranteed his hotel. We—” The clerk cut him off with more bullshit excuses that Dakota did not have time for. Dakota closed his eyes and struggled for calm as the spring wind coming off the Chesapeake Bay whipped at him. The first day of the con had started off gloriously.

  “No. If you value your spleen, do not call Brenden Wade. His tone will flash freeze you through the connection. Give me a second,” Dakota snapped as the excuses started again. He ran through options and latched on to the easiest. “When the guest shows up at check-in time, give him my room. I’ll bunk with Brenden. Make sure there are two doubles in our room because I’m not putting up with his prissiness when he’s already in a mood. Get it done. You owe me for saving your life, got it?”

  He slipped the phone in his pocket and shouldered the bag with the banners that contained everything for his booth and Chessie Con. He debated for a quick second whether to tell Brenden about the latest snag. Nope. It had been taken care of. That’s all that mattered.

  He was the one who was going to suffer. He’d have to put up with Brenden’s old-man PJs, which managed to make him look totally fuckable. And the prissy tone. Whenever Brenden took that tone, Dakota wanted to take a delicious bite out of him and make him squeal.

  He snickered. If Brenden knew his reaction he’d get prissier, which would have the absolute opposite effect he wanted. Besides, Brenden had been acting weird and Dakota didn’t feel like dealing with it. Being extra-irritable during con week was one thing. They both were always extra-irritable. Brenden was just being moronically weird.

  The main ballroom of the hotel buzzed with activity as staff hauled in a platoon of tables and chairs. Their small band of volunteers in their green Chessie Con shirts scurried about at their various tasks. Brenden was on the move, directing the setup as he consulted the clipboard attached to him like a goddamned lifeline. Dakota slipped around behind him and headed toward his spot. He’d set up and test the sound system, then check in with Brenden.

  The Mystery Machine and ECTO-1 were already in place behind ropes. Dakota swerved to check out the converted Cadillac. He’d dreamed of being a Ghostbuster when he was a kid. He’d harassed his momma into making him the jumpsuit and had crafted together a sweet cardboard proton pack. At least it had been sweet to a seven-year-old trying to keep up with the other neighborhood kids.

  Dakota did have good memories of his momma, strung between a series of broken marriages and failed relationships. He preferred to linger on the good moments instead of the bad, but he didn’t allow them to sway him on the rare times she attempted to contact him. He couldn’t be her yo-yo anymore. The one she depended and doted on when there wasn’t another guy around and ignored when there was.

  Dakota paused in front of the ECTO-1. He’d have to meet the person who rebuilt this. They’d done a sweet job. Dakota was definitely getting his picture with this later on. Brenden would be all over the Scooby-Doo ride. Man… all they needed was a black Impala and Morris would have ecstatic kittens of geek joy. He’d have to talk to Felipe about renting one to decorate for Morris and Theo’s getaway after the wedding. Picturing Morris’s grin when he spied it clinched the idea for him. He’d talk to Felipe today. He’d be here as soon as the doors opened for those with VIP passes.

  Dakota set down his box and slung the backpack off his shoulder in the approximate area where his table should be. “Hey,” he called, flagging down one of the convention hall employees. “How long before the rest of the tables are set up?”

  The woman studied the vast space with an assessing gaze. “Another twenty minutes for this room. Then we’ll start in on the auxiliary rooms.”

  Dakota frowned and waved her off. He’d cart in the rest of the gear first. He dodged around Brenden as he conversed with their hotel contact and made a mental note to haul the manager aside later and have words with him about the room screwup. Brenden noticed him as he hurried by and leveled a finger in Dakota’s direction. Dakota winced. He suspected Brenden had heard about the after-party.

  Screw him. Just screw him. Dakota was not in the mood to deal with Brenden’s rules. He didn’t know how one man could live beneath the weight of all the regulations he placed on himself. Muttering under his breath, he stalked outside. Maybe he’d find another hotel to stay at tonight. Let Brenden freak when he couldn’t find him.

  “Hey, Dakota. How’s it going this morning?”

  Dakota glanced over at Felipe as he hopped out of the Magick Den’s van. Felipe was no more a morning person than him. Where had his pep and cheery voice come from? “It’s not time for vendor setup.” Dakota waved him off. “Check back in an hour. What the hell are you doing here so early anyway?”

  “Trask and I stayed at my old apartment last night.” Felipe grimaced and ran a hand through his curly hair. “I hoped it meant I’d get to sleep in more than this, though. He’s a believer in getting to a place earlier rather than later.”

  “Makes sense. He’s got a lot to set up.” Dakota waved as Trask rolled down the window. “Good to see you, Trask. You ready for our game next weekend?”

  Trask smiled in that laconic way of his. “I think the question is are you ready for what I’m going
to dish out?”

  Dakota loved it when a gamemaster handed out threats. It promised a lively game. “I can handle it.” Dakota opened his trunk and hauled out a box. He shoved it toward Felipe. “Here, make yourself useful.”

  Felipe took the box with a grimace. “Is Brenden going to yell at me if I walk this in with you before vendor setup?”

  “Fuck Brenden.” Dakota hauled out his luggage carrier and loaded the rest of the boxes onto it.

  “Ahhh, it starts already and it’s only 7:00 a.m. Don’t you think the Brenden-Dakota War should wait at least until the main doors open?” Felipe shifted the box in his arms. “You two are dysfunctional. I don’t get it.”

  Felipe never had. Then again, it wasn’t like he’d ever hung around them when there wasn’t a show. They weren’t always trying to strangle each other. He just wanted to strangle Brenden a little more today. “This is special circumstances. Go ahead and put the box on the top. You’re right. He’ll pitch a fit, and I don’t need to add more fuel to his mood.”

  “Seriously, what is it?” Felipe’s dark eyes were baffled. “Because certain people believe it’s a lot of unrelieved sexual tension between you two, and I’ve got to say that lately, I’ve been wondering if they were right.”

  Felipe’s words hit him like a lightning bolt. Didn’t he wish that were true. Dakota couldn’t fathom Brenden hiding any feelings like that toward him. The only emotion that Dakota seemed to engender in Brenden lately was annoyance and sometimes a little affection.

  Dakota snatched the box away. It seemed to him all the damn sexual tension was one-sided and always had been. It had been worse than normal lately, ever since he’d imagined Brenden giving him that searing look in the bathroom mirror. Dammit, he wanted it to be real, or at the very least to know for certain he suffered from an overactive imagination and unrequited lust.