“Fuck. I do. The guys are picking me up in an hour. I haven’t even checked my socials since last night.” He fumbled and I could hear lollipop wrappers. “Holy shit, Charlie, I have so many new followers.”
“Get ready for work and I’ll meet you at yours.”
I pulled on a t-shirt and a random pair of black cargo pants I had a drawer full of, and ran out.
Trent was already outside, looking like he stepped out of aHunkscalendar—in work boots, shorts and a sleeveless shirt.
Then again, he always looked like a wet dream.
“Charlie!” He grinned and opened his arms.
I ran into them, then stood on tiptoes to kiss him. Over and over and over.
A long honk sounded and we both turned towards the curb.
“So that’s why you don’t have a girlfriend!” someone yelled from the open window of the van.
“Yes. This is my boyfriend, Charlie.”
A big dude with a red beard leaned over the window, his elbow sticking out.
I waved and took Trent’s hand.
“Yeah, okay. Now move your ass, or we’ll miss the delivery to the site.” He clapped his palm on the door and pulled out a cigarette.
I cupped Trent’s face in my hands. “Go. I’ll see you later. I have a day off today.”
“Oh, the recording is tomorrow! I’ll meet you then. You need sleep and I don’t want to take your mind off music tonight.”
“You wouldn’t—”
Trent kissed me one more time. “Thank you.” He skipped around the car and jumped to the passenger seat.
I leaned against the brick of the building and read more supportive comments. Immersed in the high of success, I flinched when my phone rang, showing my boss’s name.
“Hello?” I pushed off the wall and prepared to tell him I had a day off.
“What the fuck did you do?”
Oh shit, Kris was back from vacation.
“What do you mean?” Playing dumb never worked for me, but I was out of options.
“I have people here calling and complaining about the paper issuing an article about some alphabet mafia propaganda,” he snarled into my ear.
“It was a piece about an important project in our community.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Murray. We don’t tolerate our writers pushing their beliefs on our readers. You can pick up your stuff from the lobby tomorrow.”
I was about to say being queer had nothing to do with any belief system when his words registered. “What?”
“You’re fired, you weirdo.”
The call went dead, and I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, analyzing the conversation.
I’d known what I was risking when I sent that article, but I held hope until the last minute that I’d get to help Trent and keep my job.
The empty stomach churned. Losing my only steady income was a hit I wasn’t prepared for.
