giant.
Do his eyes light up? Does his expression change?
I nod back there, and he shakes his head.
Come on, I don’t know how to do this.
When I set my empty glass back on the tray, he spins and walks away.
I get a view of his back, and his ass. It’s his ass that grips my attention now.
Something about it being half-covered like that, just barely covered, is doing something to me, something I don’t like, something I don’t want to happen. It’s all I can do not to grab it. I know I can’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I want to.
He’s the only man in the room that I find interesting at all, and I know it’s only because of the scar, because he’s imperfect, and I should probably think about what it says about me that I’m so instantly focused on him, but thinking is for later; thinking and feeling are both tasks on my to-do list that aren’t going to get done tonight.
There’s no flirtatious swing in his hips. He’s not on offer.
That makes me want him more.
None of these other men interest me. They’re too easy.
The only thing I ever want is what I can’t have.
I start to follow him.
2
Finn
I didn’t want to go to the club tonight. I’d sworn it off. I kept telling myself, no more. Saying I had to get a real job. Jimi had been calling for two days, asking if I’d show, promising to slip me a little extra.
Yeah, I know what you mean by a little extra, and no.
You’re misunderstanding me, he said. We just need waiters. I’ve got all the asses and cocks I need.
Bullshit. The minute I show up you’ll be all, oh look, we’ve got plenty of waiters, you’ll have to walk around and flirt with the CEOs.
Sorry kid, you know the rules: No uglies bothering the customers. We do need a waiter though.
Uglies. Asshole. Jimi had a way of finding you at your most vulnerable, talking you into things you didn’t want to do.
The last thing I wanted was the club. I’d spent the day on a job-hunting app, just in case my last job interview wasn’t good enough. It had to be good enough. I hate the club, I hate everything about it, and I couldn’t go back.
As usual, it wasn’t my decision.
“Fuckers!” Polly yells, slamming the front door hard enough that the glass rattles. I’m still upstairs, flicking through job listings on my phone, but clearly I’ve got to go calm things down. Polly’s prone to breaking things accidentally when he gets like this. Accidentally.
“Paul, hush, you’re going to wake up the neighbors,” I say, coming down the narrow staircase, avoiding that one place where the runner is rucked and you could trip and fall. Polly’s trying to get his coat to hang on the rack, but he’s mad and too rough, and he ends up shoving it at the rack, letting it fall to the floor.
“I don’t give a fuck who I wake up. Let everybody wake up. Is there coffee?”
“There’s coffee.”
“Would you get me a cup? I feel like I’ll break the pot if I try to pour myself one. I’m so… They fired me, Finn.”
When you share a house with four men in various states of employment, news of a firing chills the air.
“Get in here,” I say, dragging him to the little kitchen and pushing him into a chair. “Fired? What for? They love you.”
He shakes his head. His hair has gotten too shaggy lately. I’ve been meaning to give him a trim. “They don’t love me. They don’t love a fucking thing other than money.”
“You’re charming on the phone. Unlike in real life.” Coffee keeps my hands busy. Talking keeps my mind busy. I don’t want to think about covering rent for him this month. He and I are the only ones in the house with steady incomes.
Well, if you count the club as steady. The tips could be fantastic…especially if you weren’t an ugly, as Jimi would say. Still, they beat any other place in town. Some of the guys at the club really cleaned up. But that money was running out. Jimi knew it, of course. He knew all about my situation here, about how tenuous it was. That’s why he kept calling.
Polly accepts the cup, dumps in more sugar than is strictly healthy, and stirs with the little spoon, which he then hands to me and I wash and put in the dish drain, because after the