28 Ian
Ian
“Time for trivia!” Ollie’s voice is so shocking, Ian is almost knocked back.
They’re nervous. This is all a terrible idea.
Some hot guy with a woman on the phone offering him obscene amounts of money to steal a drive from someone who has already been around one murder—which was probably committed by said hot guy—in a house they don’t know while a bunch of people are over, including their law enforcement ex and some hookup they’ve been blowing off.
They are never judging Brandon’s bad choices again.
Okay, that’s a lie. But they’ll try to be more sympathetic, because they’re realizing right now how easy it is to just make a bad choice in the moment because it feels like you have to, like your body will burn up if you don’t, and then suddenly being stuck with it.
At least when you key a car, it can be repainted.
Ian’s not sure what kind of damage tonight will leave, but they’re pretty sure it won’t be fixable with some paint and a buff.
Ian doesn’t know what’s going on with the trivia categories, maybe something to impress Safiya, who looks way too cool for Ollie, frankly. Thankfully, Nicole chooses porn stars, so they don’t all embarrass themselves immediately.
“Which twink couple has shared scenes in only two films— Naughty Stepbrothers: Volume 17 and Heart Throbber —but met on the set of Open-Him-R: An Oppenheimer Porn Parody , where they had no scenes together?” Ollie reads.
“Not lesbians,” Nicole says.
“They’re in there, I promise,” Ollie says.
Victor shifts next to Ian. It’s weird how familiar that feels, from the old days when he would come to these parties and they’d get competitive, desperately trying to outdo the others, annoyed at their own losses, stoking some kind of flame they’d take to bed afterward with such strength that Brandon made a rule that they’d go back to Victor’s place after game nights.
“Oh, oh,” Victor says. “I know this one. One of them is Justin Justins. And the other is…” He shakes his head, squinting.
Ian smiles—Victor almost has it. “Starts with an s ,” Ian says. They don’t even think about it; it’s just out like an old habit.
“Oh, Stephen Hole!” Victor finishes.
“Correct!” Olly says. “You get to pick the next category.”
“Yes!” Victor does a fist pump and slaps Ian on the back, just like old times.
There’s even a moment when his hand rests there, in the middle of Ian’s back, and drifts lower before Victor seems to realize and pulls it back.
“Well, let’s go with Guns, then. I know about weapons and lifting.
” He flexes, grinning. Ian laughs to cover the cauldron of feelings they’re having from all this.
They go through another question, Ian trying to lean away from Victor and more into Tom, who smells mildly like cheese. Which isn’t bad. But Victor smells like sweat and that weird smoky cologne he always uses, and it’s not the same.
“What is the approximate street value of one gram of cocaine?” Ollie reads.
“One hundred fifty to two hundred dollars,” Tom answers immediately, not even shifting next to Ian. Ian looks at him. They would not have taken Tom for a cocaine user. But surprises can be fun. Not that Ian has touched the stuff. Well, not after the third time. But they don’t judge others.
“Correct,” Ollie says softly.
“What did you say you do for a living?” Victor asks. Ian watches Victor’s hackles go up, that suspicious look in his eye, competitive, protective. Seeing it feels like a lighter flicking on in the dark, their pupils needing to adjust.
“I’m in marketing,” Tom says, smiling.
Victor narrows his eyes. Ian bites their lower lip. “Marketing what?”
Tom nods. “My newest account is Dudches”—he points at Victor like he’s selling him on something—“an anal-douching kit for bros.”
Ian did not know that. They’re all for anal hygiene, but this is the least-sexy thing they’ve ever heard.
Victor is glaring even more. Ian feels their blood tingle, the urge to kiss Victor rising.
Or slap him. This has to stop. And besides, they have something they need to do.
Maybe. Sort of. They tap their foot slightly, nervous about that.
Victor leans into them, thigh on thigh, and their foot stops on its own.
“So,” they interrupt, turning their attention away from Victor’s sexy glower. “Jon! Where have you been staying since you checked out of Brandon’s hotel?”
“A few cheap hotels, wherever I could get a reservation,” Jon says with a shrug.
“He’s staying back at Hotel Brandon tonight though,” Brandon says proudly.
“Oh, so your stuff is here?” Ian asks. Perfect. “I didn’t notice.”
“I don’t have much,” Jon says.
“Tom, you pick the next category,” Brandon says. Looks like he doesn’t like the attention on Jon. Which Ian understands. The more you interrogate a bad decision, the harder it becomes to justify. That’s why Ian doesn’t want to look at Victor or Tom right now.
There’s another question, then back to drugs, when Tom announces the price of ecstasy this time.
Maybe Tom is more fun than Ian thought? Like, he seemed sweet, but if he can hook Ian up with a little ecstasy, he could be more fun.
But Victor is glaring again, which is somehow an even more potent drug, and besides, Ian knows what they need to know.
It’s time to try to find that zip drive.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” they say, then make a quick exit.
Outside the rest of the house is dark, light from the game room cutting white lines in black velvet.
It’s a good look. Ian pads down the carpeted stairs, then over to the hidden door to the den.
They’re not entirely sure why they’re doing this.
The money? Maybe. That can’t be ignored, as much as they wish it could.
It’s life-changing; even if they split it with their friends—and they probably would—it’s a huge amount of money.
They could all buy an apartment together and throw wild parties.
They could have a club downstairs. It could be so many things, so many opportunities opening up.
And then there’s the thrill of just ending all this drama.
Handing off the zip drive and being free and clear.
Safe. All their friends safe, too. If they can believe the woman on the phone, anyway.
But all this madness that Brandon has swept them into, Ian could sweep them out of.
That plus a shitload of money? Hard to look away from.
So they might as well try, right? At worst, they find nothing and then someone kills them trying to get to Jon tonight.
Or maybe Jon walks in on them and kills them.
Or maybe they find it and turn it over to Heart-Eyes and they all get killed anyway.
But if they’re going to be dead in any scenario, they want to go out trying to do something.
Anything. Or maybe fucking Victor, even though they know that’s a bad idea.
Maybe Tom? No, the bloom is off the rose with Tom.
He’s cute and nice, but there’s no spark, not like there is with Victor.
Maybe Ian needs a little rage, a little brokenness to want someone.
Maybe they should go to therapy. If they survive.
The den isn’t big, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find Jon’s stuff.
The sofa is still pulled out into a bed, though it’s way nicer than their futon.
It’s way nicer than Ian’s normal bed, they think, sitting down on it.
It’s nicely made—Brandon always does that, a hotel thing—and nothing is under the sheets.
They open a few cabinets but just find wires, books, notepads, photo albums filled with pictures of a wealthy white couple in exotic locations, smiling like they came with the frame.
Well, that and pictures of food. Just them and food.
Very weird. Ian almost wants to go through all of them because of how weird they are, it’s like art, but they shake their head, putting them away.
Next, they check the bathroom, but aside from Brandon’s toiletry bag, nothing’s there.
It’s just a bag, right? Where would he put it? Did he try to hide it? If he did, then the zip drive must be in it.
There are suddenly voices outside, muffled through the den door. Shit. Ian looks around, wondering if they need to hide. Maybe they can just say they got turned around and decided to use the bathroom in here? Maybe no one will come in.
Just in case, they dive under the bed. It’s tight, that weird geometry of collapsing legs and springs that makes the space under the bed more awkward than being on top of it. It feels like being under some kind of bridge. But there’s a bag that Ian doesn’t recognize as being Brandon’s.
Outside, the voices continue but don’t get closer, so Ian shimmies to the bag like a worm and unzips it.
Clothes, some with tags still on, all very basic-looking tees and pants.
All black briefs—a classic for the unimaginative gay.
Ian checks the side pockets and finds a phone.
Weird for him not to have it on him, but maybe he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t like screens mixing with social time.
Or maybe it’s a criminal thing. He left another phone in his hotel room, after all.
Ian feels around the rest of the bag, but there’s nothing else aside from a receipt for the clothes.
He must have a wallet, but that could be on him.
And the zip drive must be on him, too, or hidden somewhere else entirely. So much for easy money.