“He’s the same age as we were when we got the apartment,” Josh pointed out.
Alexis took a sip of her drink.
“Yeah,” she said. “But…you grew up here. I grew up in New York.”
“You think Fresno kids don’t grow up so fast, huh?” Josh said. “Hardened by the wicked ways of the world like we were?”
“I think they don’t know as much about…stuff,” Alexis said.
Freddy swept past, handing Josh another shot. He swallowed it without tasting it.
“What kind of stuff?” Josh said.
“Queer stuff,” Alexis said. “San Francisco can be a lot when you come from the red part of the state. Zero to a hundred, you know?”
“He came here for a reason,” Josh said. “I think he can handle it. Let it go.”
“When we were talking before,” Alexis said. “He was looking at you like—”
“Alexis,” Josh said. “Leave it.”
Alexis sighed.
“Fine, then I’m gonna go teach him things,” Alexis said, and disappeared into the crowd before Josh could use his impaired reflexes to pull her back.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath.
“Already?” a voice came from behind him, and he turned to see a pretty girl: brunette, long, wavy hair, a nose ring, and a flash of a tongue piercing when she took a sip of her drink.
“Already,” Josh said, easing into his warmest smile.
She smiled back.
“So early for that,” she said.
Her voice was rough, smoky, hot. This was so easy. Josh liked easy.
“Friends are the worst,” Josh said.
“I know, right?” she said.
She was leaning into his space. She was tipsy but not wasted. She was wearing a dress that looked good on her but wasn’t particularly skimpy. Her makeup was precise, like she did it this way every day. She was probably his age, give or take a year or two.
“Dance?” Josh asked, and her smiled widened.
“Only if we can be more than friends,” she said.
This Josh knew how to do. He took her hand, and they moved onto the dance floor. The song changed to something slower, more sensual, and he let his hand drift to her lower back, pressing their bodies close.
“I’m Josh,” he told her, even though she hadn’t asked.
“Rachel,” she said, and pushed her hand into his hair. “You’re cute.”
“Well, thank you,” Josh said. “So are you.”
There was an element of this that felt familiar. Almost routine. Rachel was like soft-spoken Drew, who was a little like tall, willowy, Susan, who was kind of like sassy V, who’d never given him anything but that initial to identify them with. They’d all been fun, and down for a good time, and not interested in anything more than that. It was perfect. They enjoyed their time together, and that was that. Nobody was disappointed. No misunderstandings, no confusion, no complications.
“Hey,” Josh heard, and he felt a soft hand at his waist and got a whiff of a spicy cologne. When he turned there was an attractive guy behind him, dark-haired, fine-featured, and smiling.
“Hey,” Josh said, and then they were all dancing together.
Josh could feel the effects of all those shots, the room going a bit blurry. He wondered, idly, where his friends had gone. He wondered about Patrick.
Patrick will be fine, he thought, as the guy behind him pushed up his shirt and spread his hand across Josh’s stomach. He inhaled and leaned back and thought: I’m good, I’m good, I’m cool now.
5
The floor of the club was vibrating.
Patrick felt off balance, which made no sense at all since he’d only had one shot of Alexis’s devil tequila. Not that he was an expert on what tequila did to a person, or in particular to him—he was really more of a stay-home-on-the-weekends-and-build-models-or-read-comics guy, and Oh God, what the hell was he doing here.
“Hello, Gorgeous,” Alexis said, suddenly very close and speaking into his ear, her fingers grasping at his arm. “You really are gorgeous, Gorgeous.”
“You’re drunk,” Patrick said, “and I’m gay, or did you miss that part of the earlier conversation?”
“I miss nothing, Fresno,” Alexis said. “But seriously, those blue eyes and those cheekbones! Unfair.”
Patrick wished she would stop calling him Fresno. It was a reminder of all the reasons he didn’t belong here in this nightclub of shiny people glittering in their tight dresses and tighter pants and heels and boots, hair perfectly ruffled or slicked back, laughing into their martini glasses and leaving lipstick prints around the rim, on cocktail napkins, or at the corner of someone else’s mouth.
“Don’t think so much,” Alexis said, and dug her fingernails into his upper arm.
He breathed in through his nose and watched Josh talk to a girl by the bar, already looking sloppy loose from the shots they’d done back at the apartment. His hair was a curly mess and his smile was white bright, a beacon in this dark, fluttering room of strangers.
Patrick had no idea why he thought Josh was anything but a stranger. Josh definitely didn’t know Patrick.
But God, Patrick wanted to know him.
“Shot?” Alexis asked, holding out a tiny glass filled with sharp-smelling liquid.
Maybe this was what Alexis meant by not thinking so much. He took the shot and swallowed it all at once, feeling it burn its acidic trail down his throat.
Three shots later and Patrick was pretty sure he should have said no.
It wasn’t that the world was spinning, which it was. It was that everything felt blurry and out of control and scary-beautiful, and Patrick couldn’t help thinking: I am in San Francisco now, I’m here, I can do—be—have whoever I want.
Right now, he definitely wanted to be the boy or the girl dancing with Josh. He had one of each draped over him, and yeah, Mike wasn’t kidding about Josh being a player. Josh was all opportunity right now, all openness and soft shoulders and free movement. He wasn’t a good dancer, exactly, but he was still gorgeous, and God, Patrick was so screwed. He was going to live with Josh now. How could he—what was he supposed to do? Stare and pray? What should he pray for? That Josh didn’t notice or that he did?
“How’s it hangin’, baby?” Patrick heard, and Freddy fell into his space, steadying himself on Patrick’s shoulder. Maybe not the best idea, given that Patrick wasn’t very steady himself.
“I never know how to answer that question,” Patrick said, and it was true. Weirdest idiom. Colloquialism. Whatever. Stranger than a lot of things his grandmother said.
“You are not drunk enough,” Freddy stated, and produced another shot out of thin air, it seemed, and—no. Patrick was saying no.
“No,” Patrick said, “no, I’m good, you have it.”
“I’ve had quite enough,” Freddy said, sagging against him. “Quite—I’ve had a lot.”
This was an astoundingly obvious statement, and Patrick was about to say so when he got distracted by Josh.
Josh, who was making out with a girl in the middle of the dance floor.
Patrick thought it was the same girl he’d been dancing with, but maybe not. The club was dark and the music was loud and Patrick was spinning. Josh cupped the girl’s cheek with one hand and pressed in, closer and harder, and Patrick didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but where he’d grown up, anywhere but where he’d grown up and where Josh had grown up. Anywhere he wouldn’t find his own want staring him in the face.
“Dude, are you all right?” Freddy asked, tugging on his sleeve. Patrick could make out the curve of his eyebrow in the strobe lights, the downturn of his lips.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m just tired,” Patrick said. “I moved today, you know.”
“I do know that,” Freddy said. “I didn’t help because I was playing disc golf, sorry about that, dude—but I know you’re all moved in. All ready to…hey, where are you going?”
“Home,�
� Patrick said, gently prying Freddy’s hand from his arm. “I mean—the apartment. I’m going back.”
“That’s not okay,” Freddy said. “It’s way too early to—”
“I’m sorry,” Patrick said helplessly.
He turned away from where Josh was still sucking face with the girl on the dance floor, his hand tight around her waist, her hand curled soft in his hair.
As he stumbled down the block back to the apartment, he was grateful they’d gone to a club so close by. He wasn’t sure he could have managed a longer walk, or, God forbid, public transit. Patrick had taken a look at the transit map they had pasted up in the kitchen for easy reference, and he went cross-eyed trying to figure out what were cable cars versus buses versus trains versus whatever. And that was when he was still sober.
It was awfully quiet in the apartment, especially after the thundering music of the club. He wandered into his room and fell into his bed face-first. Soft. He was glad he’d made his bed before he left, that was a smart move. Smart smart smart.
He was asleep within seconds.
* * *
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
Patrick woke up with a start to the sound of his bedroom door banging open, a shaft of light cutting across the floor and hitting him right between the eyes.
“This is not my room,” Josh said, sounding almost certain. “But I—I came back to—dammit.”
“Josh?” Patrick croaked. The room was swimming. He’d heard it was possible to wake up more drunk than he’d been when he fell asleep, but he’d never experienced this before.
Basically, Patrick had never been drunk, period. Unless he counted that one time he had a few too many glasses of dessert wine at Christmas, which he really didn’t.
“Patrick,” Josh said, and sat down heavily on Patrick’s bed. “What’s up, man? You left early. I heard—Freddy said you left.”
“I did,” Patrick said. “I was really tired.”
“You gotta work past that, though,” Josh said, tilting his head to one side and widening his eyes. “I didn’t even see you dance.”
Patrick closed his eyes against the surreality of this moment. “You don’t need to see me dance.”
“But I do, dude. You’ve seen me dance. It’s only fair.”
“You should probably go to bed,” Patrick said. “I mean—in your bed. In the other room. Your room.”
“I—yes,” Josh said. “Yes, I—give me a minute, though. Everything’s a little…crumpled. Um. Fuzzy. Weird.”
Even through his haze of alcohol and exhaustion, Josh was still impossibly adorable. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his hair was all tousled and wild, and he was biting his lip and squinting like he was trying so hard to figure out—
“Your room is next door,” Patrick said. “I can take you there if you’d like.”
Josh nodded. “Right. Okay. But first—I had a question.”
Patrick’s heart flipped.
I want to ask you a lot of things.
“Yeah?” Patrick asked.
“Back in Fresno,” Josh said, “where you grew up, was it—like, was it hard? Being different there?”
That was not the question Patrick expected Josh to ask, and it was far too incisive for Josh’s currently intoxicated state. He swallowed.
“Yeah,” Patrick said, voice soft. “It was really hard.”
You have no idea, he wanted to say. You have no idea how hard it was.
Josh looked at him with blurry eyes.
“It’s going to be easier now,” Josh said. “I know it.”
Patrick wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe him completely and entirely and so much it hurt.
“I just wanted you to know that,” Josh said, and rose to his feet, shaky and slow.
“Are you going to be able to—”
“Pancakes,” Josh stated, spinning on his heel at the door and jabbing one finger in Patrick’s general direction. “In the morning, I will make apology pancakes, and they will rule.”
Then he turned and shuffled off, closing the door behind him before Patrick had a chance to reply.
6
When Josh woke in the morning, he thanked God for his miraculous ability to never get hangovers.
“Ohhhh,” he heard from the kitchen.
Ah, yes. Freddy. Freddy did not have this miraculous ability.
Josh pushed off the bedcovers and shivered. He hopped out of bed and pulled on a sweatshirt over his T-shirt and pajama pants. San Francisco was legitimately cold, even in the summer. Of course, it was really a case of geography, peninsula on the ocean, microclimates and—Lord, why am I thinking about this now? Josh wondered. Just my luck that today I will get hit by a car and die, and my last thoughts will have been about meteorology.
His phone screen lit up with a text from Alan: That play ain’t gonna write itself, friend.
Josh sighed. He needed to acquire other plans for today, and STAT.
He glanced in the mirror beside Kai’s bed and saw the purple-ish bruise at the base of his throat. Right. The club, check. The girl, check. That guy, check. The girl had been cute. He couldn’t remember her name. The guy…maybe not as cute? That was a little blurry. Patrick left early. He remembered that. Josh had gone home to check on him and found him asleep. Or…stumbled into his room by accident. Whatever. Either way, they’d had a conversation.
Fuck, Josh thought, rubbing a hand through his hair. What did I say?
Something about Fresno. He asked him about Fresno. God. Josh was such a dick. He’d lasted approximately twelve seconds into their lease term before he’d said something dumb.
Yeah, it was really hard, he could hear Patrick say. He could see the way he’d hunched forward.
Josh had wanted so much to reach out.
He should reach out.
I promised him pancakes, Josh remembered. That was a start. Only assholes didn’t apologize with carbs.
He cracked open the door and padded out into the hallway, careful not to wake Kai, who’d come in late the night before too.
“What up, Freddy?” Josh said when he arrived in the kitchen, possibly a bit louder than was strictly necessary.
Freddy looked at him as if his head was pounding with the same rhythm as the trance music at the club last night.
“I hate you,” Freddy said. “I am never drinking again. Seriously. Never.”
“You said that last weekend,” Josh said. “I doubt the truthfulness of this statement, amigo.”
“I hate you,” Freddy repeated, and slumped over onto the kitchen table, forehead pressed to the smooth surface. “I hate you, and I hope your brother’s band never takes off, and that you end up resigned to a life of children’s theater. Or the only work you can get is ads for herpes medications.”
Josh frowned. “That was way harsh, man. There’s no need to bring Isaiah into this.”
“Whatever,” Freddy retorted, but seemed too exhausted to come up with more damning statements to assault Josh with.
Josh busied himself assembling pancakes from the ingredients in their kitchen, which was easier said than done. Despite many house meetings, they had still not mastered the art of communal grocery shopping. Today the pickings were slim.
Patrick chose that moment to grace them with his presence, and Josh meant that seriously. He was giving off Elizabeth Taylor vibes, with those eyes and his slender elegance. Except he was also wearing red plaid pajama pants and a loose T-shirt, and his golden-brown hair was mussed, and he looked like an adorable sleepy panda.
Josh gave him what he hoped was a blinding smile.
“Patrick Maloney! So exciting to see you this morning.”
“How are you not more…”
“Hungover?” Josh finished for him. “I don’t really get hangovers.”
“Which is why I hate him,” Freddy said. “A lot.”
“You have to drink a ton of water,” Josh said, “and pace yourself.”
“You should write a self-help book
,” Freddy said. “It could be titled, I’m A Smug Superior Asshole and You Can Be One Too!”
“Ignore him,” Josh said to Patrick, thumbing in Freddy’s direction. “He’s a bitter old man. How are you feeling?”
Patrick rubbed at his eyes. “I hate you a little too.”
“Dude, already?” Josh said, pouting. “I’m making you pancakes. They’ve got peaches in them, and we have real maple syrup and bacon. That’s got to count for something.”
In spite of his aching head, Patrick was clearly hungry. He inhaled everything that Josh put in front of him with nary a comment about how Josh had worked hard to make one of them look like the Death Star and most certainly failed.
“I’m glad I didn’t take as many shots as I was offered,” Patrick says. “At least I’m not starting off my first morning in my new apartment puking in the bathroom.”
“You know who took all those shots you refused to drink?” Freddy piped up. “Me, dude.”
“Well, my liver thanks you,” Patrick said.
Freddy groaned.
Josh slid two more misshapen pancakes and a pile of bacon onto a plate and handed it to Patrick with a smile and a wink.
Patrick smiled back, and Josh’s brain telegraphed him only one thing: REACH OUT.
“So what I want to know is, this is your second day living in San Francisco,” Josh said. “Are you ready?”
Patrick blinked at him, as if he was wondering if this was code of some kind.
“Uh,” Patrick said.
“Say no,” Freddy mumbled. He still hadn’t raised his head from the table.
“Shut up, Freddy,” Josh said calmly. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” Patrick asked
Josh spread his arms wide, gesturing with his spatula like an MC to the greatest show on earth.
“The grand tour,” he said.
* * *
Patrick got dressed, downed a cup of Kai’s single-origin coffee, and let Josh lead him out of the house. Josh took a moment to admire Patrick’s jeans, which were not as tight as they could be but definitely helped show off his…assets. Patrick was well-shaped for a skinny thing. There was no crime in looking, right?
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