Chapter 2 - Evan #2
Oh, wow. I wasn’t expecting that. For three years in college, Hunter and I were practically inseparable.
Then, suddenly, senior year, he went wild, and I guess he expected me to go along for the ride.
I was the first and only guy he’d ever been with, and I guess that wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t so much that he wanted to open the relationship itself—he just wanted to experiment with new partners.
On me. With me. Near me. And it wasn’t just that.
He made an Only Fans account where he documented and profited off our exploits with strangers.
It was one of those things that started off slow and then snowballed until I was the frog boiling in a pot of water.
It left me feeling unwanted, inadequate, and wanting the fuck out.
I need to change the subject. “Um…are you seeing anyone?”
He shakes his head. “Not with work the way it’s been. I’m a mess, honestly. I did come out, though. Shocker, no one was surprised.”
“Being bi is—”
“Evan, I think you and I both know I’m not bi.”
“Oh.”
He gives me a rueful grin. “I guess it was my way of easing myself into things.”
“I totally get that.”
“So you made a fucking app?”
I grin. “It’s more like software, and it’s still a work in progress. Isaac might have oversold it a little.”
“But you’re gonna finish it, right?”
“Well, yeah. Probably not by myself, but my roommate can do almost anything with a computer.” I get a vibrating feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of Deacon.
I may be fucking Isaac, but he’s not a serious prospect.
What we have is casual and fun—a way to blow off steam.
Deacon however? I’ve had a crush on him since I interviewed to be his new roommate.
In terms of attainability—he’s as far out of reach as Isaac but for totally different reasons.
For one—he might be straight. For another, we’ve been living with each other for months, and he’s never even checked out my ass.
He’s not interested, and it’s lowkey devastating.
“Well, it sounds like something we could really use,” Hunter says.
I squint my eyes at him. “You’re not flirting with me, are you?”
He laughs. “By complimenting your software? I don’t know. Is it working?”
“I don’t know.” I sit back to take him in again. Yes, he’s different but still all too familiar. I’m not getting butterflies or anything, but I am flattered. I’m glad we did this. It feels healthy.
“Well, if you’re free at all coming up…I’ll be around until next Thursday. And LA isn’t that far.”
My lashes start fluttering again at a ridiculous rate. I rub my eyes to make them stop, surprised at the swell of emotion surging up my chest. “Thanks.”
“It’s wild to me that you’re still someone’s assistant,” he says.
“It’s more of a mentor-mentee situation. He’ll promote me eventually. That was the agreement when I took the job.”
“If you’re as good at workforce management as it sounds like you are, I could use someone like you. Glenda’s not my biggest fan.”
I grin. “You haven’t tried your charm on her?”
Hunter laughs, and it lights up his whole face again. “Falls a little flat. I’m just saying, if you get sick of waiting for a promotion here, give me a call. Maybe you could help me keep my dad’s legacy from going up in flames.”
I frown. “Is that an actual offer?”
He stares at me. “Yeah.”
Okay, well that gives me butterflies. Four Points Freight has a ton of potential.
It was a solid company before, but it could grow and expand into something Hunter and his late father would be proud of.
It’s not exactly a job in tech, but it’s the kind of opportunity that could change a person’s life if they know how to leverage it.
“Wow,” I say softly.
He holds up both hands. “No strings. But I do mean it. We might be able to do great things together. And honestly—I could use a fresh start at that place.”
I nod, understanding. A legacy must be a lot to live up to. If his company were in San Francisco, this would be a no brainer.
Still, it’d be stupid to turn him down outright. God only knows when Isaac is planning to promote me. “I’ll definitely think about it.”
He looks shocked. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really.” I check my buzzing watch and see that it’s time for the finance department’s weekly update, which I always attend to take notes for Isaac. “I need to get back to the office.”
“You still have my number, right? I have yours, assuming you haven’t changed it.”
“I haven’t,” I tell him. “Also, you know where I work now.”
“True.”
I stand, and he does the same.
I try not to cry when he hugs me goodbye, which is to say—
I tried.
I like to leave the office early on Friday.
While my roommate and I work at the same company, we don’t go in or leave together.
He prefers to work earlier hours—showing up at the office at seven and leaving by four.
I keep Isaac’s hours, obviously, which is more of a nine to five gig.
I managed to ease my boss out of the office at four today, though, to get ready for his date.
I even withheld my usual Friday afternoon BJ to keep him horny and moving along.
The man is an animal, but he’s also..lately…
kind of vulnerable? I’m not sure that’s the right word to use for a man like Isaac who’s all power, intelligence, wealth, and prowess, but there’s been a definite vibe shift over the last few months.
In the beginning, I fell hard for his particular alpha male spell, but I quickly realized I wasn’t his type.
I’d call Isaac a serial dater. And the men he dates?
Architects. Investment bankers. Runway models.
Not fresh out of grad school assistants ten years his junior like me.
I had to put my expectations in check quick after the first week when I realized that whatever was going on in the office wasn’t going to translate to anything out of it no matter how much I liked him.
I distinctly remember the date he had the weekend after we hooked up the first time. It was with a man named John Buckingham. A corporate lawyer with one of the most impressive LinkedIn profiles I’ve ever seen. I got the message. I was good enough to fuck, but I wasn’t what Isaac was looking for.
Granted, at the time, I was still a cam boy and hooking up with Grindr guys on weekends, but as I’ve gotten more serious about my software, and sex with Isaac has turned into a regular thing, my life has gotten a lot smaller.
Work. Software. Deacon.
So, yeah. I want to see my roommate before he disappears for the weekend, and Isaac clearly needs to find a man who’s worth all he’s got on offer.
On the train home, I give my mom the weekly phone call she expects from me. I know she’d prefer daily, but once I finished grad school, I told myself to start cutting the umbilical cord.
She answers the phone crying.
Oh God. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffles, and I go through my mental rolodex as to what the cause could be.
I check the time—I’m not late with my call.
I rerun our conversation from last week when I told her about the latest bug in my scheduling software, and she told me she was sure I would figure it out because I’m so smart.
Frowning, I look at the date on my watch. Ah.
“Hey,” I say gently. “Take a deep breath. Talk to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “It just caught me all of a sudden. I was watching the news, and there was a commercial about some drug for psoriasis, and it had a beautiful bride in a sleeveless gown, and I just—”
“I get it, Mom.”
“I promise I haven’t been like this all day.”
This would have been my parents’ twenty-eighth anniversary.
She never remarried. I don’t know what my father broke in her, but I can only imagine it’s something similar to what Hunter broke in me.
I don’t mourn my relationship with Hunter the way she mourns the loss of her marriage, though.
But, like her, I haven’t tried to find anything to replace it, either.
“I have plans with the girls tonight and everything,” she’s saying.
I give her some encouragement. “Good. That’s perfect. Did you get your nails done or anything?”
“I did.” She sniffs again and seems to get herself under control. My shoulders relax out of the stiff hold I had on them since she picked up the call. “A facial, too.”
“Amazing,” I say.
“Oh, and I meant to ask if you have plans for Easter weekend.”
“Easter?” It’s February. “Is it early this year?”
“April eighth.”
“Uh, no. Nope. No plans.”
“I’d love for you to spend the weekend. Do you think you can manage it?”
I bite my lip and wince. It’s still sore. “Let me look when I get home, and I’ll let you know.”
“Has your father already asked?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“Then, what do you have to check? Surely your boss doesn’t expect people to work over Easter weekend.”
“No…”
“Then it’s settled. You’ll spend it with me.”
“Of course.” I nod to myself and make the mental note even as I begin to prepare the inevitable conversation I’ll need to have with my father to explain why I can’t see him that weekend and try to come up with a compromise.
“Perfect,” she exhales.
Being an only child of divorced parents is a little like being constantly stretched on a rack with the purpose of being split in half.
Their guilt over divorcing when I was five manifested itself into aggressive love and possessiveness from both ends, both of them wanting to reassure me it wasn’t my fault, and they loved me no matter what.
One would assume since I’m now an adult and custody is no longer an issue, this “pick me” pressure would have let up some, but old habits die hard.
No one values my time and my presence quite like my mom and dad do.
It’s just that I can’t be in two places at once, and they can’t be in the same place together.
The balancing act is fucking exhausting.
“How are you doing your hair tonight? What are you wearing? Where are you going?” I throw the barrage of questions at her to keep her from crying and torturing me anymore.
She switches into a brighter mood and tells me about her plans. By the time we hang up, the train is at my stop, and I’m craving a stiff drink.