3. Logan #3
That play was just business. There were zero feelings present when I kissed my male costar.
But I’m not going to mention Daniel. I’m not telling a stranger about how the only other man I’ve been with was my best friend in the world, who used to secretly pull me close in locker rooms, backstage at plays, and anytime he drank enough to ask me to sleep over.
I’m not ashamed of what I used to do with him. Not even a little. I just can’t talk about Daniel right now, and no one asked to hear a sob story about my dead old friend, anyway.
“What happened with your girlfriend?” I ask him, bringing the conversation back to his own life. “Did you get in a fight downstairs or something?”
He finally splits his gaze from me.
He looks back out toward the city, shaking his head slowly, and I watch the way the neon light shines on different areas of his black curls.
“Ex-girlfriend, now. And can it be called a ‘fight’ if it’s me confirming she’s cheating from an Instagram picture?”
“I suppose not.”
“She chose a guy who always smells like a vape shop when I pass him at parties, and probably has a mediocre cock.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll live.”
“Still doesn’t mean you deserved that.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I might have deserved it. You know those threads online where people ask if they’re the asshole? I think I was the asshole. I didn’t cheat on her, but I was difficult. I want things I can’t have.”
“How so?”
He shrugs. “It’s just who I am.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
He suddenly makes eye contact, the spotlight of his attention directed right at me again.
“You barely know me. How do you know I’m not difficult?
You’ve been out here acting like you’re about to charge me an hourly rate for therapy when you don’t even know my name.
I drink too much. I live at parties. I’ve never done coke, like she was so obsessed with, but I’ve certainly done plenty of other things in the past. I’m just… not good. Know what I mean?”
He searches my face, his lashes flicking up and down.
I let his words hang in the air for a moment, because he’s wound up like a tight spring.
“Okay,” I finally tell him, calmly. “You’re difficult. Happy now?”
He nods. “Thanks.”
I exhale. “All I meant was that if your girlfriend cheats while you’re at work, I think she’s the asshole.”
He stares out at the street. I can see the lights reflecting in his eyes.
My mother has always told me I’d make a great diplomat, and I see it sometimes. But usually my mother is referring to fights about things like pizza toppings, not unhinged young hotel workers who seem like they’re about to blow.
I feel like I’ve been slowly trying to defuse a bomb up here.
“So what’s your name, then?” I ask.
“Fuck off. This isn’t—”
“Just tell me.”
He breathes out. “Chase.”
“Nice to meet you, Chase.” I say, holding out my hand to shake his. “I’m Logan.”
“You’re so… proper,” he says. “Do you do Shakespeare plays or something?”
“Not recently, but a long time ago,” I tell him. And I’m not elaborating about my career. “Why were you saying you wanted things you can’t have?”
“I told you. It’s who I am. For example, I want to smoke that cigarette I threw away.
I want better friends. I want to start painting again.
I want to find somebody nice tonight to fuck because if I don’t come, I’ll go buy another pack, and the cycle continues.
I can’t stand the idea of being in my bed alone again. ”
“You’ll find someone else,” I assure him. “You should have no trouble with that.”
He cocks his head to one side. “You think I could get anyone?”
Yes. I do.
I pull in a long breath, a cresting wave of sadness filling me slowly, the tide rising again in the vast, dark ocean inside me.
You're young… and completely free.
There are no expectations on you, and your wonderful, attractive, chaotic life, where your strongest need is for nicotine or just a good fuck.
“Yes. I think you could have anyone you want.”
“Doubtful.”
I puff out a breath. “Chase, if you weren’t straight, I’d have already offered to get on my knees for you.”
Something lights up behind his eyes. Since the moment he walked out here, some portion of him has been faraway, detached, like he doesn’t quite know why he’s bothering to talk to me. He’s been intense, but removed.
“I don’t believe you.”
I shrug. “It’s the truth. And I had too much Scotch to keep it in right now, so I apologize.”
But now his gaze burns like the engine of a rocket, pointed straight at me.
“I don’t fuck men,” he says.
“I’m not telling you to. I’m just saying that you could have anyone you want, regardless. I can’t imagine anyone would turn you down.”
He’s silent for a while as the wind whips at his hair.
“I still don’t think you’d do it,” he finally tells me.
Just more proof that you don’t know me at all.
“I should probably leave,” I tell him, taking a step away.
I’m surprised when he reaches out and grabs my forearm, gently pulling me back.
“Just stay up here for a minute?”
It’s hard to tell if it’s a request or a demand. But something in me isn’t capable of denying him.