I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, “You are so full of love, and it drives me insane to see you doubt that about yourself. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, buddy, but you’re in love with him. Have been. For a while. Everybody sees it.”
“Really?” I ask, awed by how calm it makes me feel to give a name to this thunderous feeling in my chest.
“You know about the pool, right?”
“Yeah, but that was about fucking him.”
“And you don’t want to just fuck him, do you?”
I inhale the fresh air, the sounds of the city muted by the leaves. “No.”
I can almost hear him smiling at my admission.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were just about to quote Buddha at me.”
“When have I ever quoted Buddha?”
“I don’t know. You’re all gaga over your high school bully. Who knows what other disgusting habits you’ve picked up?”
Charlie’s laugh is a little too knowing. “Look, you’ve got a ways to go. There’s no rush. You’ve already done the hardest thing by admitting to yourself that you have feelings for him. That’s big. It’s something your shitty parents and the people who hurt him couldn’t take away from either of you. It’s okay to have something special in your life, Erik.”
“I swear, if you start quoting love sonnets like some self-help love guru, I will hang up on you.”
“I would never,” he chuckles.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I see you moved Minneapolis up on the schedule. Just letting you know we’ve got everything squared away.”
Grateful for the subject change, I go along with it. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Anytime. And, Erik?”
“Yes?”
“You deserve this.”
“Fuck off.”
“Love you too, brother.”
11
ANT
“No. Fucking…no, Ant. Put something else on. You look like a preteen,” Erik commands, fussing over me like an anxious auntie, plucking imaginary lint off my shoulder.
I’m wearing a short school-girl uniform with pristine white tennis shoes kitted up with trackers from Wolfe Athletics. Erik insisted on the trackers. Neatly folded over tube socks, a glowy, dewy face cream, and an innocent, wide-eyed look complete my transformation into an underage escort.
We’re in Luca’s bar in the building he owns. Apparently, this is where his escorts come when they’re hosting, and he’s got a penthouse suite with a private entrance he keeps for well-heeled clientele who require discretion.
To set things up, Luca and Ford made the rounds at a fundraising event Park Avenue’s company sponsored last week. Luca handed out invitations to johns who’d booked underaged kids from known traffickers. Given it was a children’s wellness event, it was gross that half a dozen men greedily accepted their invites.
When I changed the plans, Luca sent out a last-minute updated invite. Every single one of them accepted, a fact as convenient as it is vomit-inducing. Fewer threads to chase down.
