“Sounds good.” Julien can barely croak.
Greg starts back for the door. “You coming?”
“Be there in a minute,” he says, knowing full well there aren’t enough minutes in the world to make this situation better.
Twenty-Five
GREG
After a tense, upsetting week at Martin’s Place, Greg goes back to Manhattan to apartment hunt. The whole time, he feels like Goldilocks in the early parts of her story. One place is too big and expensive, one place is too small and seemingly infested with roaches, and even after scouring apartments with Anika and Josh all day, nothingjust rightmaterializes.
When he meets Stryker for dinner at a fusion restaurant that serves foam and caviar and foie gras, Greg wrestles with a pit in his stomach. A pit that only grows deeper and wider whenever he thinks about his room in Rufus’s house, the coziness of the space, the comfort of hearing Rufus smashing the buttons on his Xbox controller downstairs.
Is this...homesickness?
No, it can’t be. Allentown wasn’t home. Home is where you’re wantedandneeded. Julien made it clear Greg wasn’t needed.
The opposite is true here where, earlier in the week, Stryker sent via text:I need you to come with me to this restaurant opening in Tribeca. Free meal. All I have to do is post.
Need.See? Emotionally reserved Stryker Storm could say it. Why couldn’t Julien Boire?
“So, basically, I’ve been arguing with them in my DMs about my rate,” Stryker says, leaned back in his chair on the other side of the table, one leg crossed over the other. His suede purple loafer dangles off his heel, nearly tripping an oncoming maître d’. Greg is distracted by this, sensitive to these things now that he’s worked in a restaurant. He knows the trappings of the trade, and Stryker seems blissfully oblivious to the potential chaos he could cause. “If I’m going to do that many videos promoting flavored butt scrub, then I need to be paid above scale. It’s nonnegotiable.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Greg nods, snapping back to the conversation. And not just because he’s pretty sure he saw the same brand of butt scrub in Julien’s bathroom, which leads to unwelcome thoughts of places Greg’s tongue has been and will never go again. “That makes total sense.”
“See? Thank you.” Stryker flashes his teeth. “This is why I missed you. Anika and Josh told me I was being overly ambitious, but I’ve got a brand going. I can’t just start peddling something new that goes entirely against that brand. You know how it is.”
“Sure, yeah,” Greg says, recalling a time when conversations like this with Stryker excited him. He felt a bit like a Jedi in aStar Warsfilm, deciding the fate of an entirely new empire he’d have a hand in building from the ground up. Now, he just feels vacuous.
“Speaking of which, we have to get you back to posting daily so you can pick back up some of those brand partnerships. I’ll be sure to include you in my post for this place.” Stryker’s got his imaginary business hat on. Greg can hear it in his voice. The way he can code switch from intimate to professional within an inch of a single syllable. “The agency I’m with might be looking to take on a few new clients. Let me send a text while I’m thinking about it.”
“Oh, you don’t really need to do that.” Greg doesn’t like owing anyone anything.
Stryker glances up from the screen of his brick-like gold iPhone as the bustle of the restaurant blurs around them. “It’s already done. It was no trouble.”
“Oh.” Greg once again finds himself borrowing Julien’s buffer word. “I meant more that I’m going to be working at Bar Deco and readjusting to city life. I’m not sure I’ll have the time. I don’t even have a place to live yet.”
“Of course you do.” Stryker sets down his menu with a flourish, traps Greg with his penetrating gaze. “With me.”
There was a time when Greg would’ve fawned over this declaration. His whole life would’ve felt like it was leading to this moment when a man he cared for deeply invited him to live together, to make ahometogether, but they’ve barely been at this table ten minutes, and Stryker is already monopolizing the conversation, steering Greg’s life in a certain direction.
Maybe it’s the direction it’s supposed to go in. Maybe I need to smile and say thank you.
“Do you mean that?” Greg asks, unable to be sure.
In their previous relationship, Stryker was resistant to moving in together. Maybe it was too official, too serious. Greg never quite understood and was too afraid to ask. Now, he’s less afraid to ask difficult questions when he has to because of how vulnerable he was able to be with Julien.
“Absolutely, I mean that. I know I let a good thing go once. Storms don’t make mistakes twice.”
Greg lets that sink in while confusion wraps around his heart. He’s half elated, half uncomfortable. Storm isn’t even Stryker’s real last name. It’s Hogdorf. Hogdorf doesn’t have the same social media savvy ring to it as Storm does, though.
Is that really what matters in this moment? Stryker is offering him a fresh start and space in his apartment to call home.
Greg is about to exclaim his thanks for everyone in the restaurant to hear when they are politely interrupted by a middle-aged white woman with medium-length straight brown hair, pointy glasses, and a thin-lipped smile. On the lapel of her crimson blazer, Greg spies a circular pin that he knows all too well, except this one has a red rim and a gold interior. The words etched onto it are different, too. Where Julien’s said Certified, hers says Master. Greg’s heart squishes with uncertainty.
“Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Angelina Kovaski, the house Master Sommelier. Can I interest you in tonight’s selections?”
Stryker is quick to say yes.
