A persistent buzzing from my phone pulls me from sleep. I feel groggy and disoriented, as though I haven’t slept at all. It takes me longer than it should to locate the noisy device, and longer still to focus on the number calling me. It’s a New York number, which has my pulse quickening. With no coordination whatsoever, I stab at the screen to answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Mr. Bishop?” A woman’s voice that I don’t recognize comes through the line.
“Yes, this is Harlan Bishop.” I scoot so I’m sitting against the headboard. I still have no idea who this is, but my anxiety is soaring. I try and fail to rub the sleep from my eyes, dragging my hand down my face. The stubble on my cheeks has me adding shaving to my list. It takes forever for me to grow facial hair, and it’s patchy at best, making me look like a pubescent teen trying to appear older. I’m less picky about body hair, but I’m diligent about my face.
“This is Mariella Sanchez, the attorney working on your visa with your manager, Shawn.” Any remnants of sleep are gone asshe introduces herself. I’ve been attempting to be patient with this process, but I’ve been desperate for her call.
“Ms. Sanchez, yes, I remember you,” I say, trying to keep the nerves under control. I don’t know that I’ll survive bad news from her, so I cross my fingers that she tells me what I need to hear.
“I wanted to reach out to let you know your work visa has been approved. You’ll be able to return to Brooklyn in August for Lust & Lace,” she tells me. My stomach swoops, and my pulse kicks up at her words. This can’t be real.
“Oh, wow. I...I can’t thank you enough for this! Is there anything I need to do?” It’s taking every ounce of self-control I possess not to jump up and down. The wild swing in emotions from the last few days has me reeling.
“Not right now, Mr. Bishop. I’ll be sending some documents to sign, and we’ll just need an address for you when you return, so we can log the paperwork appropriately. I’m terribly sorry for the extensive delays in this process.” I hear her typing, and I can’t help but wonder how many hundreds of dollars Lust & Lace is going to be billed for this phone call.
“Thank you again, Ms. Sanchez. I’ll keep an eye out for the paperwork, and I’ll contact you once I have my living arrangements figured out.” I end the call and scream for my best friend, who comes charging into my bedroom.
“Harlan, what’s wrong? Who died?” Pen is scanning my room and me, and when she doesn’t find an emergency, her eyes narrow. “Jesus Christ, what is going on?”
“It was the lawyer. I’m going back to Brooklyn.” I can’t disguise the elation in my voice as my best friend squeals and tackles me to my back.
“You’re coming home, bestie! Fuck yes!” She’s practically choking me in her excitement, but all I can focus on is ‘home.’ Brooklyn is home. But it’s more than that. Darío was my home,so if this celebration is bittersweet, I can’t help it. I hug her back tightly, letting myself feel the genuine joy that has been lacking recently.
“How about takeaway from that Indian restaurant that you love for dinner?” I ask, knowing that she’ll jump at the chance. We order from there at least once a week. More if the hours are long in the office.
“Yes, perfect! Lamb jalfrezi, please,” she says, as if I don’t know her order as well as my own. “We can share the pilau rice and peshwari naan.” I have the food delivery app open and choose my normal chicken tikka karahi along with Penelope’s food. My stomach grumbles as I enter my card details.
“I’m going home.” I smile softly and snuggle into Penelope’s chest while we wait for our food. When I think about contacting people to let them know, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Darío is second only to my best friend. How would he react if I sent him a text? The way we left things in San Francisco didn’t feel as final as the morning I left for the airport.
“Will talking about your weekend ruin the vibes?” Pen asks as she strokes my back. “We don’t have to, but I know you need to talk things through sometimes.”
“We can talk about it,” I hedge. “Nothing has changed, obviously. There were no big declarations, and I wished him well with his new boyfriend. I want him to be happy. More than anything else, and no matter how much it hurts me, I want him to be loved, Pen. There’s no one who deserves it more.” I think about Oliver and how kind he was. He also deserves to be loved well. I just need to figure out how—orif—I can give that to him.
The rushof cold air when I open the door to the doctor’s office is a welcome reprieve from the oppressive August heat. With any luck, I’ll lose the cast and be able to resume light activity. The last time I saw the doctor, I was told not to expect to hit the field any sooner than early September, but I’m less and less hopeful. I still have a lot of pain, and while I’ve tried to downplay it, the X-ray today will tell the whole story.
It’s been a long eight weeks, but I’ve been keeping up with my cardio and spending time in the gym a few days a week, working my legs and core. None of that is going to matter if this fucking hand isn’t healing, though.
The waiting room is empty, and the only sound is the news playing on the television mounted to the wall near the reception desk. As the news anchor drones on, I take my phone out to scroll social media. Not for the first time, Harlan comes up as a suggested friend. I’ve refrained from looking at his profile since I unblocked him, but curiosity wins today. I’ve not heard from Penelope since before Harlan was in San Francisco.
The first thing I notice is his new profile picture. It’s clearly from a professional shoot with Lust & Lace. He’s in a tight black T-shirt that says ‘Real men wear lace’ in hot pink. I’m honestly surprised this picture hasn’t been reported since the hot pink lace shorts he’s wearing are hardly covering anything at all. My dick makes its interest known as I take in the black knee-high lace stockings he’s wearing. His makeup is impeccable as always, the dark liner making the cerulean blue of his eyes pop. His friend Wes is with him, wearing only a jockstrap, standing directly behind Harlan, with a possessive hand flat against Lan’s abs. Wes is fucking beautiful too, but in a different way than Harlan. Where Harlan is a bright light, Wes is dark and broody. At least that’s how he appears in photos. In real life, he’s soft and gentle. They look beautiful together, so L&L features them in campaigns often.
After I’ve ogled his profile picture for too long, I turn my focus to his bio. My breath catches.
@its_harlan
Brooklyn – I’m coming home, babes!
Lust & Lace
<3 Oliver
I try hard not to focus on the clear indication that he’s in a relationship with Oliver. It’s a pretentious name, and I wonder if it belongs to the man he was with in San Francisco. The thing that has my stomach sinking, is his location. I knew it’d happen eventually; it was the goal from the moment he got the extension denial. His most recent post, from only three days ago, is a picture of drinks lined up on a table with a caption that says:Two more weeks in this rainy city before I’m back where myheart is. He has hundreds of comments, but I scroll through a few of them anyway.
@oliver.knight – so proud of you, sweetheart. Can’t wait to help you get settled.
@wes_knows_best – Excited to have your ass in my lap again. Bets on how long before Shawn tells us we can’t shoot together anymore? Seriously, though. Let me know when you’re back stateside. Miss your face!
@lucky_penny – @wes_knows_best I already talked to @shawn.lustnlace and you two will never work together again. Sorry, boys.
