Rent-a-Boyfriend

by Celia Fay

  "Thanks boss," she chirps.

  The girl flounces off into the distance but I stay there, leaning against the wall.

  Late at night, I go out to the corner of the street with my guitar. It is only October but the temperature has already dropped. I set the stool down, leave the guitar case open and rest the instrument on my lap. My frozen fingers take a while to warm up and get moving.

  When I have too many things on my mind, I like coming here and singing the songs that Skye is too happy to sing. There is rarely an audience, but the cliché of being alone with my thoughts is fine by me. When someone does stop to listen, I like to think that maybe we’re communicating and sharing the same worries, thoughts, something.

  But if they do stop, listen and leave without giving any change, then never mind all that and fuck ‘em. I don’t need the money but it is common courtesy.

  I sit there, I strum and I think.

  I’m lost in life,

  I’m lost in you,

  I’m lost in this blue desert we call a dream.

  Aden has always made fun of me, saying that I’m too much of a delinquent to be such a nerd. And I never know what to say to that. Because this guy that I randomly met in middle school is the reason why I’m both a delinquent and a nerd.

  He had brought me to the “dark side” and then told me to get educated so my life can stop sucking. I guess he likes contradictions and oxy morons.

  But I owe almost everything to him, so I just complain every now and then when we’re both drunk.

  Aden had offered me a bunch of jobs and I had tried a few before managing this slightly shady, slightly classy bar. It is mostly a night job and I spend my days taking online classes and other random shit. I wanted to get a head start on life after high school, but I guess I’m going back to make everything up now.

  So many things have changed since high school graduation. I graduated with just one thought in mind—get the hell out of Lakeview and get as far away from Glendale as possible.

  And in New York, I was with Luke. In college, he turned into a good student all of a sudden and practically worked himself to death. But we were both happy together. He matured and I became more free—freer, if that’s a word. It was fucking bliss.

  Then he got the chance to study in England. So I met him my senior year of high school and he left me his senior year of college.

  We made an agreement that if we ever meet again...

  But it has been five years and I haven't seen him again.

  I've never left New York in these five years and I haven't even moved from the tiny apartment. I guess I'm still waiting...

  Have you changed,

  Or have I changed?

  You know it all,

  But where are you now?

  Footsteps near and stop in front of me. Cool, I got a listener. But I keep going, singing while staring at a small dot on the ground.

  How many more days?

  How many more nights?

  How many more winter and spring days,

  Before I can stop waiting and you’ll be before my eyes?

  As I strum the last bit of the song, the footsteps sound again and feet appear in my vision. I stare at the leather shoes for a long time. Even after the guitar string stops vibrating and the echoes fade away.

  “Hey.”

  I look up at the voice.

  I blink.

  Yes, it’s real. He’s real.

  “Remember our agreement?” he asks.

  Yes, the agreement that, if we meet again, we can start over and be friends again. And if we happen to both be single at the time, then we can be something more than friends.

  I nod. “Of course.”

  The man cracks a smile and I realize that he’s a man now—not some guy who looked like he was still going through puberty, even in college.

  “Hi, I’m Luke,” he says.

  “Kris.”

  2: Catching Up

  I invite Luke to my bar that night. Ignoring my pounding heart and panicking mind—are there seriously fucking butterflies in my stomach?—I lead him to the building.

  “It’s right around the corner,” I tell him.

  “You own a bar but you busk right outside of it?” Luke’s voice is so familiar and yet strange. Like how I’d feel if I suddenly went back to Glendale now. It’s somewhere that had been home for a long time, but it was a long time ago.

  “It’s too loud and there are too many people.” I shrug and side-eye him. My eyes fall on his haphazardly done tie and I stop walking momentarily, giving him an once-over. A plain black jacket, a button-up shirt tucked into plain black pants and the leather shoes I had seen. “Why do you look like an office worker?”

  He smiles wryly. “There’s a lot to catch up on, huh?”

  “No shit,” I mutter, shoving him.

  It was actually just a light push, but Luke stumbles forward dramatically. His laugh rings under the night air. I shake my head in exasperation. But like damn, is this really happening? I want to go crazy and dance and sing and tell the whole world how happy I am now.

  Hell, if I get drunk later, I might actually do that and embarrass myself. Fuck.

  “Ooh, is that your bar?” Luke suddenly says, grabbing onto my elbow. A neon sign for ‘Morning Star’ flickers a few feet away. “Why morning star? Party till the sun comes up?”

  I shrug as I lead him to the entrance. “The name of the boss. His last name.”

  “I thought you’re the boss.”

  “Nah, I’m just the manager.”

  When I push the door open, a wave of sounds crash into my face. After all these years, I’ve finally become accustomed to the noise. Sometimes, I even like it and I can get loose. But not today.

  Today, I’m nervous and my thoughts are a mess. The commotion inside the bar makes me want to scream.

  My employees raise their eyebrows at me as I lead Luke to a secluded corner. I guess they’ve never believed me when I said I’m gay.

  Luke leans in close to me and whispers-shouts, “Your place is awesome! You should open a club next.”

  I send a judging look at him and he returns it with his typical smile—the kind where his eyes crinkle up and he’s definitely going to get laugh lines in a few years. When he does his typical laugh, it looks like his jaw is going to dislocate and it sounds like someone’s wiping down the windows. I hope he can laugh like that tonight.

  Finally getting to the corner, I drag him into the seat. He plops down. Resting his elbows on the table, he stares up at me.

  “What,” I mutter. “And what do you want to drink?”

  He ignores my first question and answers, “Fruit juice. Or ginger ale.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Still a lightweight?”

  “No!” Luke protests indignantly. “First of all, I was never a lightweight. Although I did get destroyed by teenage girls in Germany—”

  “Their drinking age is fifteen, right?”

  “Yeah, something like that. But anyway, I don’t want to risk getting drunk and forgetting everything that happened tonight.” He trails off, staring deeply into my eyes. I can’t look away and I stop breathing. My heart probably stops too. “But also, I have to work tomorrow morning.”

  Just like that, the spell is broken. I roll my eyes and scoff. Calling someone over, I place the orders—my treat, of course.

  I realize belatedly that Luke is still staring at me. So I stare back at him.

  “Surprised you haven’t gone bald yet,” I comment after a beat of silence.

  His lips twist into something that is a pout, a smile and a frown put all together. “I dyed it a couple more times in Europe. But I need a normal color for work now. I don’t think they’d believe that I naturally have pink hair,” he says, touching the locks wistfully.

  I try to imagine him with baby pink hair and shiver, quickly getting rid of the image.

  “Hey, you’re still like bald though.”

  Running a hand through my hair, I raise a
n eyebrow at him. “It just grows slowly.”

  “You’re telling me that your hair grew like one inch in five years?” Luke retorts, incredulous.

  Skye prances over with a ginger ale and two cocktails in her hands. “Here you go,” she practically sings. “The cocktails are on the house.”

  My eyebrow that hasn’t come down yet arches even more. “Shouldn’t you be singing or getting out of here?” I ask. “And I’m the manager.”

  “I was leaving,” the girl defends herself. “But V said you found a date, so I had to check ‘im out. And we all decided to treat you two. There’s food coming later.”

  And she leaves before I can react.

  “What the fuck is wrong with my workers,” I mutter under my breath.

  “She’s cute,” Luke comments. He’s already sipping on the ginger ale. “Your workers seem to like you a lot.”

  “I guess.”

  “So we should catch up now.”

  “Yes.”

  But then the conversation falls silent. Because really, where do you start? Do you choose a specific day to start talking about? An event, a scene or a moment? Suddenly, as I look back on my life, I realize that nothing interesting has happened. Nothing worthy of talking about.

  I taste my cocktail and realize it’s non-alcoholic.

  “Hey,” Luke says, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Do you still contact Amber and Co.?”

  At that term, I exhale loudly through my nose as a laugh. “No, not really. Do you still do that bi-weekly thing?”

  “It’s more monthly now and sometimes I miss them. Ah, well Mark married another teacher at the school. I think he’s going to stay in that school forever and his kids are going to attend the school and he’s going to be that teacher, y’know?”

  He glances at me expectantly and I nod. “That sounds like him.” I don’t know if I should be sad that he didn’t invite me to his wedding.

  “He didn’t have a wedding though and I didn’t know he got married until I saw his wedding ring in a photo. Oh, Jackson got a boyfriend some time ago. He also stopped hating his dad.”

  I nod again. “Congrats to him.”

  “Amber’s still single but I don’t think she cares. And I’m not really sure what she’s doing but she has a few foster kids. And some more puppies.”

  Luke finishes the ginger ale and starts on his cocktail now. I wonder how long it’s going to take before he needs to go to the bathroom.

  “So where are they all now?” I ask.

  “Uh… Mark and Jackson are in California. Amber is…” He trails off, gesticulating, “… Somewhere.” I don’t question the vagueness—it sounds like her. “So what about you? What should I say about you when I tell them I finally found you again?”

  “I manage a bar in New York.”

  Luke stares. “That’s it?” I nod in affirmative. “You can’t just tell me that. I already know that!” he whines.

  “I don’t like talking about myself. But you can ask me questions,” I add in afterthought.

  “Hmm…” As Luke thinks about how to interrogate me, someone comes over with a platter of peanuts.

  “Is this the food that Skye was talking about?”

  “Yeah,” the guy answers. “We’re poor, boss.”

  Ignoring Luke’s snickers, I roll my eyes. “Me too. And I’m not the boss.”

  When the guy leaves, Luke’s first question for me is, “So who is the boss? How’d you get this job?”

  “Good question.” I pop some peanuts into my mouth. They’re salty as fuck and a little too toasted. The song changes so something chill and jazzy. A saxophone belts out an obnoxious cadenza. It honestly hasn’t sunk in that Luke is right in front of me right now. I should be freaking out. But I’m not.

  “The boss’s last name means ‘morning star’ and his first name is Aden.”

  “Oh,” Luke cuts me off. He steals a peanut from my hand and his fingers brush against mine. “Is he that guy who gave you that recording studio job?”

  I grunt in affirmative.

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “Nah. He’s my friend from middle school. He’s like my older brother. And anyway, he has a girlfriend.” I raise my eyebrow at him. “I’m not the only one with an annoyingly close best friend.”

  Luke throws the peanut at me instead of tossing it into his mouth. “But I’m gay and Crystal’s a girl so we won’t work out.”

  I try catching the peanut and – I fail miserably. It bounces off my shoulder and goes somewhere into the darkness.

  This is the end of preview to Take the Chance.

  If you liked it, you can continue reading it here.

  The book releases on 5th of February and is FREE with Kindle Unlimited subscription.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Celia Fay likes travelling and discovering new tastes, traditions, opportunities and people.

  Celia has visited 20 countries, and at some point the things she has seen and experienced asked to be expressed in writing.

  And this is what she decided to do!

  Celia Fay writes steamy contemporary romance novellas and interracial erotic short stories.