2. Milo

"One pumpkin spicelatte for the cutest employee of Silver Linings," I say as I hand Rhett his iced coffee and he takes it all too eagerly.

"You're an angel, and I haven't seen you today," he replies.

"What are you talking about? I'm right here." I wave my hand at him for good measure.

Rhett glares at me and shakes his head.

"Ah. Gotcha. Come on, Nia. We're invisible today," I tell my little ten-year-old honorary goddaughter, and we dash for room fourteen before Rhett's boss, Madelyn, sees me and hounds me about the late payment.

Blanche is inside, and surprise, surprise, so is Madelyn.

"Dammit," I let out under my breath, and Nia giggles.

"Mr. Bryce. What an honor. I've been meaning to speak to you. You've been ignoring my calls."

"I've just been very busy," I tell her, even though I have been ignoring her calls and haven't been busy.

The past couple of months of work have been very dry. It's not my fault I forgot my queen's accommodation payments for the next year were up.

"So am I, but I still found the time to call?—"

I dry-cough and look at Nia, who's hopefully my saving grace, and Madelyn bites her tongue, straightens her uniform, and approaches us.

"Please come see me before you leave. Our waiting list is getting longer, and if you can't…afford our services anymore, I'm afraid she'll have to go."

A little bile burns in my throat, but I bite my tongue and nod at the head nurse.

Whatever happened to Ethel. She was always so nice and lovely. Ever since she passed away and Madelyn stepped up to the role, visiting my queen has been marred with her attitude.

Madelyn steps out, and we finally have the room to ourselves.

"What was that about?" Nia asks as she puts her backpack down by the door.

I ignore Ms. Know It All, or in this case Ms. Wants to Know It All, and head to the table where my queen, Blanche, is having lunch. Mashed potato, carrots, and peas with grilled chicken that looks drier than a popcorn fart.

So much for premium services!

Although I wouldn't put it past führer Madelyn to sabotage my grandma's experience to get back at me for my late payment.

Silver Linings is no joke. It's one of the best care homes in the city and their price tag reflects that to a T. Which is why they don't do installments or payments or any of the "bullshit poor stuff." You pay for the year or you're out. Even if the resident in question passed away days after getting through the doors.

Bunch of bullshit!

"Hello, queen," I tell my grandma and wait for her acknowledgment before I continue.

Depending on her reaction, I'll go for a wave, a kiss, or a hug.

Her eyes narrow when she looks at me, but her cheeky smile penetrates through her confusion.

"Oh, hello there," she says in her crackly cute voice.

Just the wave it is.

I shake off the sadness and take a seat opposite her. Maybe she'll recognize me by the time we leave, and I can move beside her, but for now, there is no need to put her on edge.

"How are you doing today, Mrs. Bryce? Are they treating you well? Is Madelyn being kind to you?"

Grandma nods, fork dangling between her fingers, and reassures me everything is fine, which isn't anything but polite conversation. They could be torturing her day and night, and she'd never complain.

Obviously, I know they aren't. Führer Madelyn rarely tends to the residents and everyone else is a sweetheart. Like Rhett, although he doesn't count since I knew him before Blanche moved here.

"Has Rhett been by today?" I ask her, and Nia wastes no time collapsing on the couch by the window and turning on her game console while wearing her headphones.

"Who?" Blanche asks and looks around the room in confusion.

"Rhett. Your boyfriend?" I remind her.

Her confusion turns into a smirk.

"He's very bendy," she tells me, and I bite back a laugh.

"He looks bendy."

"He walked me home last night, and I may have let him in for a night of passion and pleasure."

"Oh, you cheeky devil," I tell her, eyeing Nia.

She looks blissfully ignorant, although, considering the kind of life her mom and I lead, I'm sure she knows more than she lets on, as careful as we both try to be.

"Are you talking about me again?" Rhett enters the room, and Grandma looks at him all flustered and scandalized, making her pale white skin turn rosy red.

"It is true. I can't keep a lie, lover. You know how to please a woman."

Rhett fans himself.

"I very much doubt that," he stage-whispers as he takes the seat next to mine.

I look up at him. "Did she send you?" I ask.

"Never. I'm here for my beautiful queen and nobody else."

He offers Grandma his hand. She takes it in hers and gives it a solid squeeze, their skin tones and tightness clashing like day and night.

"Will you ravish me again tonight, Georgie?" she asks him, and Rhett takes a bow.

I used to get creeped out by my queen's reminiscing about my grandad when she first started slipping, but it has gotten easier over the last few years.

Although I do wonder if she's always been this salacious or if it came with the Alzheimer's territory.

Sometimes, I picture her and her girlfriends back in the seventies, talking about their husbands and fiancés like a historical spin-off of Sex and the City, my grandma being the Samantha of the group, and it makes me laugh.

Rhett glances at Nia.

"You on babysitting duty today?"

"School pickup."

"Dang. And I was hoping we could go out after."

I raise an eyebrow and sigh.

"I know. I know. You're broke, and it's broad daylight outside."

I laugh but don't correct him.

Broke isn't exactly the truth, even if I'm behind on my payment with Silver Linings. I can still pay my rent every month and have more than enough for groceries and stuff. It's the hundred grand for my queen's home I'm missing.

So, no, I'm not broke by any normal standards. Work has been dry, but not that dry. No matter the time of year, queer, rich people are always in need of escorts, whether it's for a smoke-and-mirror function or a night under the sheets. But I've lost two of my regulars in the past four months, and it doesn't bode well for my finances long-term. I know it's too late for Marlon—may he rest in peace—but Stefan could come back. Maybe if his new husband drops dead or they need to spice things up in the bedroom.

"How about this weekend?" Rhett asks.

I sneak a glance at Nia and purse my lips.

"Honey?" I wave to get her attention, and when she removes her headphones, I turn to my queen. "How about a little walk with Nia, Blanche, huh? Stretch those legs?"

Nia puts down her game without complaint and saunters toward us, offering her hand to Blanche.

"Oh. Sophie. I didn't see you there. Georgie, why didn't you tell me Sophie was in the room?" Grandma flicks her hand toward Rhett, and he apologizes.

Blanche stands and, hand-in-hand with Nia, leaves the room for a little casual walk around the scenic backyard.

It frustrates me that she doesn't always recognize me, but it offers some comfort that she sees her husband and daughter in other people, at least.

"What's up?" Rhett asks once we're all alone.

"Nothing. Sierra's got a job this weekend, so I'm looking after Nia."

"Gee. No wonder you're broke. You spend more time babysitting than Daddy-sitting."

I roll my eyes and shrug, even though it's true.

"It's not like I had to turn down any jobs for it."

Rhett takes out his phone and hums.

"Well, I'm also open this weekend, so if anything comes up, you know Mom or I will happily take care of her."

I am very much aware. They've saved our hinds more than once when Sierra and I have found ourselves in a pickle.

Nia's mom, Sierra, and I met through our first agency for a double booking that never materialized. Sierra and Rhett met after we joined Elite, and they were booked for a straight couple's first queer shared experience and became fast friends. Rhett only works for Elite part-time, unlike the two of us, but that hasn't stopped us from bonding.

That's how my queen came to live at Silver Linings and how we've become this little weird, unconventional family.

"I can only hope, but it's not looking likely. When can we go back to the cold winter months when everyone is in need of extra cuddles?" Winter is our busiest time of the year, after all.

"Amen, sister," Rhett mumbles before he melts all over his chair.

"What?"

"Him!" he answers and points his mobile screen at me.

I look at the man in the video and roll my eyes.

"You and your crush," I huff.

"He's my McDreamy!" Rhett hugs his phone as if he's hugging Keaton Sinclair himself.

He's an attractive man, for sure. His salt-and-pepper hair is only second to a pair of striking gray eyes, but…I can't help but feel a bit sick whenever I see his image plastered all over social media or news outlets.

He's just so fake.

"What's the latest update then?"

"The guy stood him up." Rhett bites back his tongue.

What a tragedy!

I don't say anything aloud for fear of further insulting Rhett and his crush.

If only it was just Rhett though. It seems everyone is talking about him lately.

Since he created his account on Instagram and TikTok and started sharing his journey to find love through Cinderfella a month ago, the whole queer Northern Hemisphere seems invested in the billionaire and his dating woes.

Rhett shows me his phone, and the video plays again with the sound up.

"I know putting yourself out there and getting rejected is all part of the game, but some days it hits harder. But you know what? I'm not giving up. I trust the process and I trust the app I created. I just gotta kiss some frogs first, I guess," Keaton Sinclair says, wearing a dark-blue tank top, muscles visible and bulging all over the bottom frame while Central Park interchanges with the gray sky in the background.

Fake!

"Awww, he's so cute. He's breaking my heart," Rhett says, clenching his chest.

I nod in agreement while I think how staged the video looks and how fake the words sound.

It's like he's got a script and an agenda. Everything is always perfect, not a hair out of place. The scenery is always some romantic New York spot or a thirst trap in his bed with a comforter covering his naked torso while he cries about being single.

I just…I don't buy it.

He acts as if Cinderfella is the matchmaker from heaven when it's nothing but a hookup app.

Besides, I'm sure there are far easier ways for people like him to get laid.

Like Elite.

The concierge to the wealthy.

Anything you could ever want is at your fingertips with Elite Connections. As long as you have the dough.

In fact, it's far more common to meet these rich people through Elite, whether it's to live a fantasy or have a real, spicy encounter, than it is to find them lurking in a hookup app.

Rhett—and Sierra—often go through Keaton's videos and get carried away listening to his masculine, husky voice narrating his "terrible" life.

"One day," Rhett says. "One day, I'll find him on Cinderfella, and it will be a true fairy-tale love story."

"Ew. Those are too clean for my liking," I tell him instead of what I really want to say. That there's no chance in hell he'll ever meet Keaton.

At least, not through Cinderfella.

"Well, duh. A true fairy-tale love story with a healthy dose of blowjobs and orgasms."

I laugh, shaking my head.

"Keep dreaming, my friend. Keep dreaming. It won't be long before he flashes a new boy-toy to the camera and says, ‘I've found my forever after,' only for said boy-toy to be an equally wealthy, equally straight-acting man with model looks."

"God! You're so bitter when you're fasting."

"I'm not fasting." I grimace.

"Then go out and get some D because you sound like my brother, all doom and gloom."

"Which one? Maybe I want to sound like one of your gazillion brothers."

Rhett gives me the finger but doesn't specify which of his hunky siblings he's referring to, and before long, Blanche and Nia return from their walk. It's time for us to go back home.

"Is Madelyn still out there?" I ask Nia, and she gives me the all-clear.

I sigh in relief, and with little fanfare, we make our way out and back into my car.

One of these days, I'll be able to walk in here without the constant threat of my grandma's eviction hanging over my head.

One of these days.

I just need a few high-paying gigs. That's all. A couple five-figure gigs, my queen will be sorted, and I'll be back on track.

When we get home, I shoot a message to Gracie.

Me: Anything?

It's times like these when I regret signing an exclusive deal with Elite because while waiting for the millionaires to order a lover, I could be a sex toy for a plethora of willing, middle-class gays.

I don't expect much. Or what happens next.

My phone rings, and Gracie's name flashes across my screen.

"Hi-hello?" I answer the call.

"Drop dead and call me gorgeous because you won't believe what I've got for you."

"A gig?"

Gracie laughs.

"Not just a gig, sweetheart. The gig of a lifetime."