In Greg’s quest to make one friend tonight, he knows Braydon isn’t looking for the kind of friendship he is. It was open flirtation. Which is fine. It’s flattering. Braydon is an attractive dude.
But ever since Stryker, Greg’s sexual confidence has been in the tubes. His stomach twists at the thought of being intimate with a stranger at this weird stage in his life. He needs to get his bearings in this new town and job before he can rebuild his bravado.
“It went well, I think,” Greg says. “The customers were all really kind, and I made some good tips.” When he counted out his tips a little bit ago, he couldn’t help but spy Julien from across the dining area looking a little grim. The floor staff—the servers and bussers and hosts—all split tips, but since Greg worked the bar solo tonight, he’s netting it all.
Part of him wanted, and still sort of does want, to offer Julien a cut. As the night went on, a lot of the diners were asking Julien for wine recommendations, and he was fetching, pouring, and checking in on every one of them. At most other places Greg had worked before striking gold on TikTok, the bartender did both the liquor and the wine.
He’s not offended by the overstep. It made his night easier and less lonely.
By the third time Julien slithered behind the bar to fill a drink order without speaking to him, Greg started taking closer note of his coworker, tracking as the muscles in Julien’s face relaxed and his posture righted. There was a suaveness to the way he found a bottle without needing to glance in the wine fridge, opened it without issue, and poured it with aplomb. Before he turned to go, tray in hand, Julien’s chest would widen, and the hanging pendant lights over the bar would glint off a circular pin attached to his shirt.
Perhaps Julien’s expertise had something to do with that shiny pin he wore like a badge of honor. Greg was wearing the man’s shirt for God’s sake but was too scared to ask a simple question about a tiny pin.
“Did you drive here, by any chance?” Braydon asks, hopefulness evident in his voice.
“I did,” says Greg, jingling his key ring which dangles from his pointer finger.
“Listen, I know we just met, but my car is in the shop, and I’d really like to save the money for a Lyft. Any chance you can give me a ride? I’m just across the bridge,” Braydon says.
That anxious stomach-twisting from before returns tenfold because when a cute guy asks him for a lift to a second location that usually means he’s hoping for a hookup. It’s only his first day. He doesn’t want any awkwardness between him and Braydon. But, he supposes, he’s damned no matter what. Either he gives Braydon the ride, overcomes the anxiety, and kindly turns him down, or he overcomes a different spice of anxiety, declines him the ride, and looks like a dick.
Ultimately, he leads Braydon to the lot where he parked his Toyota. “I’m just in a garage up the way.”
They make idle chitchat through the walk, the elevator ride, and the downward drive out of the parking deck. Greg puts on his favorite album—Carole King’sTapestry. It reminds him of his mom whom he’s been thinking about a lot since his life in New York sputtered out. Carole’s croons ofso far awaydredge up why he hasn’t reached out, what he can’t say, so he turns his attention back to Braydon.
“How long have you been working at Martin’s?” Greg asks.
“Like a year and a half. I go to the local university. I’m a junior studying theater,” he says. “Didn’t want to get an on-campus job, so this was the next best thing. The people at Martin’s Place are chill.”
Right as he says that, Greg pulls up to a stoplight. Beyond the windshield, Julien stands in a pool of hazy streetlight beside a tall metal LANTA sign. He’s got headphones on, his eyes closed, and he sways a little to the melody of an unheard song. Greg imagines Julien listening to the same song he is. Carole wondering about staying in one place.
He doesn’t ask Braydon if it’s okay before he pulls over in front of Julien and rolls down the passenger-side window. Braydon looks confused, but Greg doesn’t care. “Hey,” he calls out the window.
Julien shakes back to life. “Hello?” he says, raising a hand against the streetlight. The little ridges that appear between Julien’s eyes as he squints draw Greg in. They are two commas of cuteness embedded in a near-permanent scowl.
“It’s Greg,” he says. He flicks on the overhead light to reveal him and his travel companion. “Need a ride?”
Julien looks as if he’s about to accept the offer until his eyes shift toward Braydon who is waving at him, revealing a history Greg can’t quite decode. “Oh. No. I’ll get the bus.” There’s that terseness again. The same tone from when he declined the cocktail sample. He goes from hot to cold so quickly that Greg feels completely off-balance. The tools in his socialization arsenal are clearly useless on Julien, which makes his brain buzz with confusion.
“This is the westbound stop, though, right?” Greg asks as a last-ditch effort, putting on his hazards.Click-uh, click-uh, click.“I’m going to Allentown after I drop off Braydon. I can take you, no problem.”
Julien reaches into his bag and produces a neatly folded shirt. “I’m fine. But here’s this back. I got the stain out before it set. You should still wash it when you get home.”
Braydon takes the shirt and passes it to Greg. He’s heartened by the gesture. Julien may have caused the stain, but by no means did he need to go above and beyond to get rid of it. “Thanks. Appreciate it. A ride to repay you?”
As Greg jerks his thumb toward the back seat, he spots a bus cresting over the hill about to stop.
“You should probably go before the driver gets upset,” Julien says, iciness turned up a notch.
“All right. No sweat. Get home safe,” Greg says, trying not to make his slight disappointment noticeable.
“See ya,” says Braydon.
And they’re off again. Cruising away. “What’s his deal?” Greg asks, turning Carole down to a low simmer.
“Deal?”
“Yeah, why’s he so...”
