by Daryl Banner
“Shit, it’ll be late as fuck by then, and I’ve got an early morning with florists and other crap.” He places a hand on my shoulder. Every cell in my body zeroes in on those five warm fingers of his. “I appreciate dinner. If I’d known you were paying, I wouldn’t have gone for that overpriced bisque.”
“Nah, it’s no problem!” I can feel pulse waves of energy coming from his warm hand. My own are thrust into my pockets.
Spontaneously, he grabs me and pulls me in for another hug, trapping my arms to my side. “This is so fucking unreal!” he exclaims over my back. “I can’t believe you and I are in the same city again and standing in front of each other!” He pulls away and gets a look at me. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” I tell him—biggest understatement ever.
“Aww, look at your face. You’re pissed I gotta head off early, aren’t you?”
My eyes go wide. “I … what?”
“Alright. Fuck it. Y’know what?” He pulls his phone back out. “My sis can handle a single night on her own. Can’t my needs come first now and then? I haven’t seen you in years! I’ll cancel.”
Before I can even process a thought, my hand slaps onto his phone, stopping him.
Skylar looks up, startled.
It doesn’t fully hit me that I’m kind of holding his hand. “You … You don’t have to … to …”
“What?” Sky swallows. He’s tensed up at the gripping of my hand on his phone—and his fingers, which were a second from tapping Lena’s name. “I don’t have to … what?”
I want him to do it. I want him to put off his needy little sister and tell her he can’t help her right now. I want him to cancel everything and spend the whole night with me. I want to laugh at jokes with him until our guts are sore. I want to feel his body next to mine as we sit next to each other and stir up all of those old what-if feelings. I want to tell him my secret. I want to tell him …
I want to tell him everything.
But instead, my heart—as usual—puts my bud’s needs in front of mine. “Your sister needs you. Go and help her out. I’ll … We’ll …” I swallow hard. After weeks of anticipating his arrival, this is in no way easy to say. “You and I can hang out another night this week. Whenever you’ve got time. Don’t worry about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I force myself to say. “Yeah, really.”
A beige sedan pulls up to the curb. The pair of us turn to it—Skylar’s ride, ready to take him away.
Sky looks at me. “Damn. You’re the best. I don’t know whether to hug you or kiss you.”
Fuck, those words … “Tell her I said hi, alright?”
He gives me another huge hug, putting his full weight into it. I close my eyes, feeling every bit of my old buddy as he embraces me. My heart is—for this fleeting moment—totally at peace for the first time in years.
His mouth is near my ear when he suddenly asks, “Was there something you were about to say earlier? When my sister called?”
Every string in my body is thrummed by that unassuming, softly-spoken question.
“It can wait,” I finally manage to answer.
The strings he thrummed continue to reverberate even after he lets go, pockets his phone, then gets one last look at me. “Text me those DJs, alright? I’ll let you know the moment I’m free. This is just a pause to our night, Brett! This ain’t over!”
“See you soon, Sky!” I shout as he slips into the car. Then it takes off, carrying my guy away.
I stand on that curb until the car is out of sight.
Just that tight hug and his lips near my ear …
Well, it left me with a frustrating parting gift.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to myself as I squirm with a tightly-contained boner in my pants.
A moment later, I’m on a subway train, staring ahead at my sulking, warped reflection on a metal surface. The train rocks me side to side as I grip the bar and hang on. I barely hear someone beat-boxing behind me, or the shouts of another whiny kid in the back, or a burst of mirthful laughter.
My every thought is Skylar Haas, his sweet face, and the way his body felt against mine as he hugged me. Thank God for the tight jock I’ve got on, since I keep sending blood straight to my dick whenever I think of Sky touching me in any way.
It’s animal, how badly I want him.
And it’s cruel, what just a thought of him does to my already aching heart.
Half an hour later, I push through the doors of Piazza Place and trudge up the five flights of stairs to my apartment. When I enter and shut the door behind me, the stark silence fills my ears. I toss my keys on the kitchen counter, drop onto the couch, turn on the TV, then pull my cap over my face and pray that sleep will find me.
It doesn’t.
An hour and a half later, my phone buzzes with a text. I thrust the cap off of my face and stare down at the screen excitedly, wondering if it’s him.
It’s Connor instead: I left you two lovebirds a six pack of cold beer in the fridge, plus a couple bags of chips—in two flavors!—and cheesy puffs in the cabinet. Not sure what you guys like, so I figured I’d stock you up for your big night with everything. Take a breath and play it cool! Don’t friend-zone this one! And don’t play hard-to-get. You know there is such a thing as playing TOO-hard-to-get. Also, I made your bed and put away all your clothes you didn’t end up wearing. Seriously, I should be paid housekeeping fees.
I smirk, then text him back: Thanks, roomie.
He shoots me a thumbs-up in reply.
And with that, I push myself off of the couch, yank two beers out of the fridge, pop open the two bags of chips and the big cheesy puffs, then gorge myself in front of the TV. After downing the beers and half of the chips, I unzip my pants and let out my aching cock. After tossing my hat back over my face, I jerk off with a vengeance, picturing my sexy buddy with every breathless, fevered stroke.
I’ve got to convince Skylar I’m not the loser he thinks I’ve become.
[ THE EASY LIFE ]
Bailey’s Bistro & Books is surprisingly empty today.
Brett stands behind the counter in his hot pink apron and cap, staring at the cluttered shelves of books and the empty chairs and tables where customers usually sit with their coffee to read a book. Thoughts of Skylar swarm his mind as he mindlessly wipes the counter over and over and over.
4
“We got it easy here.”
I lift my eyes from the counter. My coworker Quinton stands next to a bookcase, a tall stack of colorful books in his bony arms.
I squint at him. “Easy?”
“Yep,” he mumbles. It’s a miracle he can carry all of those heavy books without folding in half, for as skinny as he is. He wiggles his nose, bouncing his glasses in place. “This might be the easiest job I have ever had. By the way, your counter’s clean.”
I stare down at my rag.
“In fact,” he goes on, “you’re probably another scrub or two away from tearing a hole through the space-time continuum.”
I toss my rag at the sink with a sigh. It misses and drops to the floor, which I then glare at.
“What’s with you today?”
I look back at him, snapping out of it. “Hmm?”
“Your mind is—” His stack of books tips away from him. He loses control for a terrifying second before regaining balance. “—somewhere else.”
I pull off my hat, whip around the counter, and drop into a chair. “Do you think I’m a loser?”
“A loser?” He sets his stack down onto a table, then begins filing the books away one by one. “I don’t really know you well enough to say.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound like a no.”
“Did someone call you a loser?”
I rub at a discolored spot on the table. “Maybe I never saw myself brewing coffee day in, day out. Maybe I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”
“You’re great at your job, Brett. You make the best macchiato, like, hands down. Wha
t’s this silly one doing here?” he mumbles, setting a book aside.
“So is that all I am? A great macchiato maker …?”
“Take this all with a grain of salt. Really. I’m not your boss. I’ve never served coffee a day in my life and would never. Books are my thing. Bagels are my thing. Slaying the Horde with my max-level Night Elf Druid is my thing. Coffee is your thing.”
“Is it, though?” I notice I’m drumming on the table with my fingers. I stop and fold my arms. “I wonder if maybe I’m not challenging myself. You know. With my life in general.”
“That’s why you’re asking if you’re a loser?”
“Yes. Maybe. Partly.”
Quinton struggles to squeeze one of his books between two others. For a moment, it sounds like sex. “Why sweat it? You’ve got a job that pays you enough to live, yet doesn’t stress you out. You’ve got all of your spare energy to throw huge house parties. That Halloween party last year was crazy and my boyfriend and I still talk about it, by the way.”
“Oh. That party.” I chuckle distractedly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that violated a few fire codes.”
“Don’t they all? Anyway, who cares if things are easy for you? You’ve got a great boss who—Jesus, is this book gonna fit or not??—adores you. And also might have a thing for you.”
“Bethany has a girlfriend,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but she still has a thing for you.”
“Please stop shipping me and my lesbian boss, Quinton. I know you’re bored, but damn.”
“Very bored,” he groans, resuming his work.
5
I give Quinton’s words a lot of thought the rest of the afternoon. By the evening when I meet up with my landlord and buddy Dante at the Weights & Mates gym for a quick workout, my brain is in full-blown assault over my life.
“I mean, what if that first job my dad got me had worked out?” I ask after finishing a set of bicep curls, dropping my weights to the floor. “What if I was making five figures a month by now?”
Dante, half Black, half Italian, and full Hulk, pays my question no mind as he continues to grunt through a set of squats. The muscular man’s thighs are the size of my head, and with every squat, his skintight yellow compression shorts look like they could bust apart. He always looks so intense when he works out, like he’s furious about something very specific and private on his mind.
I wasn’t expecting an answer, by the way. I’ve basically been talking to myself for an hour. “And hey, if I look on the bright side, maybe I would be totally miserable working a 9-to-5er. Some people aren’t built to just be a cog in the machine, right?”
Dante sets down his dumbbells, then grabs his (enormous) bottle of water and starts chugging.
I look at him. “You get it, right? Considering—”
“Considering I’m a fetish photographer when I’m not collecting your damn rent?” Dante smirks, making his eyes sparkle with secrets as he gazes at his jug of water thoughtfully. “Yeah, I understand all about alternative sources of income.”
I lean against a nearby weight rack. “Don’t lie. You’ve had fun with some of your clients down in that basement studio of yours.” I lean in. “Or should I say … dungeon …?”
Dante flicks his eyes at me. “I never cross the line with a client. You know that.”
“Oh, I know. ‘Don’t mix business and pleasure’ and all that. Hey, lighten up! I was just teasing.”
“And you wanna know what I think about you and your spiraling out over this ‘dreamy’ frat boy of yours?” He lets out one dry chuckle, sets down his jug heavily, then faces me with his sweat-glistening face and critical eyes. “You care too damned much what everyone thinks.”
I frown. “No, I don’t.”
“Oh, yeah you do. I’ve seen you around your roommates. Even your new one. Connor. Your ass can’t put on a damned pair of socks without needing someone else to tell you if they look good or not. Don’t lie. Even the cushy job you got right now was someone else’s decision.” With an amused huff, he starts another set of squats.
“Huh? … You mean my job at Bailey’s? No, it wasn’t! I’m the one who chose to—”
“You don’t remember … mmph …” He grunts between each squat. “… coming to me … mmph … crying when you lost that job your daddy got you? Mmph. I’m the one who knew about a quaint gay bookstore … urgh … with an adult toy section in the back … umph … that was hiring.” He pauses his set to shoot me a look. “Your boss Bethany used to be a client of mine.”
I open my mouth to say something, then squint and ask something else. “Wait a sec here. You photograph women, too?”
Dante snorts at me. “Of course I do. Clients.”
“But … Wait, she used to be your client?”
“Yeah, ‘cause it seems my work did the trick. She’s got a girlfriend now, don’t she?”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“As far as your life crisis goes, if you really want my advice—and you won’t like it—I think it’s time your needy ass starts making your own decisions. Don’t keep leaning on me, or Connor … or even Lex and Omar, who never give good advice about anything anyway. You’re a big boy, Brett.”
I watch Dante finish out his set of squats, lost in thought. For as badly as I want to argue with him that he’s wrong, I find myself thinking back on my days with the frat boys and how much I relied on my brothers’ constant approval. The months that followed my departure from the university were some of the worst of my life, and I had no idea what to do. I was aimless, lost, and without a plan.
And then my dad pulled a string and got me a job offer here in the big bad city.
Has my life really been at the whim of others’ decisions all along? How have I not seen this?
“It’s almost time for my consult with Caysen,” Dante points out as he wipes his head of sweat. He stares down at me, sitting on my bench. “You mad about what I said? You look pissy.”
“Nah.” I give him a quick smile and a shake of my head. “You’ve got a point.”
“Of course I do. And it comes from a good place. Hell, I coulda kicked your ass out of 501 two months ago before Connor came along, but I care about you and gave you another shot. Hey, there’s a good sign,” he adds with a humorous lilt in his voice. “You’re the one who said yes to Connor for a roommate. Look at how that worked out. Trust yourself a little more, bitch a little less.” With that, he gives me a wink, then saunters off toward the front desk to meet with his trainer—a puffed up gym bunny in a tank top and tight shorts named Caysen whom everyone knows, apparently.
I bite my lip and stare pensively ahead.
Then I smell something foul and give my pits a sniff. Yep, that smell’s me.
It’s in the locker room after a quick shower that a plan starts to take shape—a plan to win Skylar over. I’m not going to use Connor or Dante or any of my pals from downstairs as crutches anymore.
My next reckless action will be purely my own.
Standing with a towel around my waist in the middle of the suspiciously dimly-lit locker room as I drip dry, I tap a name and put my phone to an ear.
He answers. “Brett!”
“Sky!” I greet him. “I know you’re likely busy with Lena, so I’ll get straight to the point. I’m gonna take you out tonight and show you the city. It’s gonna be a night of blowing off steam, seeing the sights, and having a fucking blast.”
“Oh, man! That sounds amazing, and … shit, I want nothing more than to do all of that, but I’ve got my sister and her Maid of Honor here with me. I’ve got to help them pick out a few—”
“Bring them along,” I tell him.
I hear a note of surprise in Skylar’s voice. “I … Wait a sec. You want me to bring them with us?”
“Well … unless you have something better to do,” I reply in a teasingly snarky tone.
My plan is coming together exactly as I hoped, by the way—sister, included. Even after all these years, I know Sky
so well. Family is everything to him.
After a few words to his sister, he comes back with, “Sounds like we’re hitting the town tonight.”
“I’ll text you an addy. Meet me there at ten.”
I hear his smile when he says, “You’ve got it!”
[ THE BIG NIGHT OUT ]
The city is bursting with life, colorful lights, and unmatched excitement—and the sad quartet of Brett, Skylar, his sister Lena, and her Maid of Honor Maria are not.
6
So the big night out I planned doesn’t start off too well.
“Bowling?” groans Lena—a round-cheeked and pointy-nosed version of Skylar. Maria, her Maid of Honor, keeps to her side, and her large brown eyes stare suspiciously at everything, as if she is about to be leapt on by cat-sized spiders.
“But it’s a retro-style alley!” I point out excitedly. “They even serve fries and milkshakes, and all the servers are on roller skates!”
Lena’s less-than-enthusiastic smile says it all.
After half a game, I step aside with Skylar. “I don’t get it. She loved it when we took her bowling with us back in the day,” I point out, confused. “I thought she’d have a great time doing this.”
Skylar shrugs. “She likes different things now.”
I study Lena pensively as I reconsider what we might do next.
Cutting our game short, I take us seven blocks east to a place I just know Lena will love.
Until she doesn’t. “Flowers …?” she mumbles as she pokes a straw into her colorful drink. “Why are there … flower petals … in my drink …?”
“It’s the whole thing with this place!” I happily exclaim—yet again playing salesman to another dumb idea of mine. “Floral cocktails! Yours is a mix of rosewater and berries—I think—with actual rose petals floating on top! Look, your straw even has a curly vine!”
Skylar, Lena, and Maria all stare at me.