Greg: Want to get dinner tonight? My treat
He finally has a little something extra in his checking account after making his credit card payments this month.
Julien: Can’t. I’m on the schedule tonight.
Greg deflates a bit at that. Tries again.
Greg: How about lunch?
There’s this cute brunch spot on Main Street he’s been dying to try. Their IG feed is filled with mouthwatering pictures, and he has the urge to devour a chicken and waffle right now.
Julien: How about an afternoon delight instead?
Julien: And by afternoon, I do mean now.
Julien: Right now.
Pushy. Greg chuckles to himself at Julien’s sauciness. He could devour Julien instead.
Over the last few weeks, Julien has been keen to fuck around whenever the conversation turns more intimate, but that’s to be expected when you’re still sort of, kind of in a sex pact. It’s not like Julien’s a mind reader.
Greg has also been chickenshit about bringing up his feelings, worrying that by wanting more with Julien he’s doomed to repeat the mistakes of his past. Isn’t that what happened in New York? He wanted more and only ended up withmoredebt and loneliness. He can’t go back to that place, not when his negative balances are so close to evening out.
When he hits the bottom of the stairs, shoving on his shoes, Rufus appears from around the corner eating a banana, headphones on, head bobbing to an unheard beat. “Where are you off to this early?”
“I’m heading over to Julien’s,” Greg says, noticing his facial muscles curving up on their own. Whenever he says Julien’s name, it’s impossible not to smile.
“To film more TikToks?” Rufus pauses his music.
“Not...exactly.” Greg isn’t one for lies.
Rufus’s right eyebrow pitches upward. “You two seriously need to get together already.”
“I don’t even know if he wants that,” Greg says, bending down to fix his laces. They’re mostly fine, but he needs a reason to dodge Rufus’s eye contact. He’s pretty sure Rufus would see him start to sweat with worry.
“Cuz, you two are obsessed with one another. Why wouldn’t he want that?”
Because maybe Julien sees this as temporary. As only sex. As a means to an end. As frivolous and fleeting. But Greg can’t say any of those things, so he shrugs and then shrugs again, bigger this time for effect.
“You like him, right?” Rufus asks, sounding a bit like they’re schoolboys out on the blacktop at recess.
Greg does feel juvenile. Not that these feelings aren’t weighty or meaningful or thought through, but they remind him of first crushes and butterflies in your stomach, and God, he’s got it bad.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean we’d be good in a relationship.” He liked Stryker once, too, and their relationship was a Tilt-A-Whirl, constantly throwing him off his balance, and by the end he couldn’t stop throwing up. Literally. Before he packed up his car to hightail it out of New York City, he was sick no fewer than three times. Big life changes always made him queasy, kicked up his anxiety disorder.
“I worried about that with Jessica, too. I was afraid a label would ruin the spark of us having fun. But I learned that labels could make everything clearer and more comfortable. You know what you’re gonna get.”
Greg contemplates spirit bottles and how their labels show their brand name, their alcohol content, class, type, and designation. All that information is useful as a mixologist when coming up with a new cocktail. Without labels, he’d have to taste test everything; he’d be constantly drunk. What a nightmare that would be. Labels help him understand, utilize a spirit to its full effect. Maybe a label between him and Julien—even if it’s just “dating”—would clarify their places in each other’s lives.
“That makes sense,” Greg says, mostly to himself. “I’ll talk to Julien.”
“Today?” Rufus asks. Greg doesn’t fully understand why Rufus is pushing, but he likes having someone in his life that cares enough to be invested. “Jessica is dying for a double date with you two.”
“Maybe one day,” Greg says. “Someday soon.” He holds up his crossed fingers.
They stand in silence while Rufus finishes off his banana. As Rufus moves to throw out the empty peel, he says, “Don’t you have a man waiting for you right now?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah. See ya. Have a good day!”
