4. Tracy

4

Tracy

After lingering over dinner with Vee and his housemates, I boarded a bus to take me back across town. It was empty on a Sunday night.

About two minutes into the trip, I gave in to curiosity and pulled up Instagram on my phone—not that I had an account, because this definitely wasn't my thing. But I had access to my employer's account, so I used that to log in.

A quick search produced Ever's page, where his entire life was on display. The majority of his photos were taken at the gym, which figured since he worked in fitness. There were pictures of him with friends and clients, including a few famous faces, but no sign of any boyfriends, past or present. Not that it mattered…

I scrolled back to February to see if he'd posted anything about his hookup from hell—in other words, me. He hadn't mentioned it, but there were several pictures from his trip to San Francisco. That weekend, he'd purchased a building to house his new gym. It was a boxy, three-story structure, which used to be a department store in the 1920s. He seemed excited as he took his followers on a video tour of the gutted interior and talked about his vision for the space.

After the tour concluded, I clicked on his most recent video, which he'd posted a couple of hours ago. He was holding the camera at arm's length and turning in a slow circle to show off the apartment behind him as he exclaimed, "Hey fam, welcome to my new home for the next couple of months! Isn't it awesome? Shout-out to my buddy Roger for letting me crash here until my place is ready. As I mentioned before, I'm having an apartment custom-built on the top floor of EverFit, my brand new, state-of-the-art fitness center, which will be opening in San Francisco this spring. I can't tell you how excited I am to be here in this amazing city, and to be one step closer to my dream of creating the Bay Area's hottest, most cutting-edge fitness destination. It's going to be so much more than a gym. It's a revolutionary approach to health and fitness, and?—"

I paused the video when it started to turn into a sales pitch and studied the smiling image of my new roommate, which was frozen on my screen. He came across as bubbly, energetic, and extremely positive. Frankly, it seemed exhausting.

When I got home a few minutes later, Ever was shirtless, splayed out on the couch, and sound asleep. His socks and sneakers were strewn across the floor, and his phone was still in his hand.

As I retrieved a blanket, I frowned at the additions to the apartment. The formerly pristine space was dotted with random, colorful pet beds and toys. Also, the stuffed cactus had "bloomed," and he'd moved it in front of the windows. It now sported three round, hot pink perches for the cat, one at the top of each of its posts. My guess was that they were meant to look like cactus flowers. Like it wasn't tacky enough before.

After I covered Ever with the throw blanket, I hurried out of the room. He probably already thought I was a weirdo, so I didn't want him to wake up and find me hovering over him.

When I reached my bedroom, I sighed and rubbed my forehead. There was a plush pet bed on my dresser. It looked like a cartoonish shark with its jaws wide open, so the cat could curl up in its mouth. But instead, Phil was nesting right in the center of my pillow and staring at me with those huge, alien eyes.

"Come on. Really?" He went right on staring at me. "Your room is at the other end of the apartment, and there's a king-size bed in it. Ever's not even using it, so you could have the whole thing to yourself."

What was I doing, reasoning with him? Like that was going to work. I gave up and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Not surprisingly, the cat hadn't budged by the time I returned. I decided to wait him out rather than convincing him to leave, so I put on my reading glasses and took a book from the drawer in the nightstand. Then I sat on the bed, leaning against the wall for support.

I'd been reading for about five minutes when I felt a gentle tap on my thigh. The cat was standing right beside me. He tapped me again with his paw, as if he was testing his footing. A moment later, he hopped onto my lap and tucked his feet under himself.

I ran my hand over his T-shirt and down the exposed part of his back. Even though his gray fur was patchy, he felt incredibly soft. He shifted and got more comfortable as I petted him. It showed a lot of trust when he shut his eyes and started purring.

"You're pretty cool, Phil," I told him. "I have no idea what to make of your owner, but you and I are going to get along fine."

The next morning, my back was stiff and sore as I got out of bed. This wasn't a surprise. Phil had slept in the center of my mattress, so I'd had to contort myself into a C-shape around him.

I got dressed in my workout clothes and went to fill one of my water bottles. When I reached the kitchen doorway, I stopped short and whispered, "Damn."

Ever was standing at the messy counter, beside a very fancy blender. He wore nothing but a pair of tight, red shorts, and I couldn't help but check him out. Anyone would have, literally anyone—young, old, gay, straight, it didn't matter. That body didn't just draw attention, it demanded it.

He turned to me with a smile and asked, "Did you say something?"

"No. I mean, yes, but I was talking to myself." Wow, really? Apparently I couldn't help but be awkward around him.

He took it in stride, though. "I finished my blueberry-kale smoothie, but I have plenty of ingredients to make another. Would you like one?"

"No, thanks. I just need to grab something from the cupboard in front of you."

Ever moved over, but in the wrong direction, so he was even more in the way. I was acutely aware of his proximity as I reached around him to grab a bottle. Was it my imagination, or could I actually feel his body heat without touching him? Then again, maybe I felt warmer because the color was rising in my cheeks.

I quickly stepped away, and as I filled the bottle at the sink, he asked, "Are you on your way to the gym?"

"Yeah."

"Would you mind if I tag along?"

"You can if you want to, but I'm not sure it's your kind of place."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it's no-frills, and your gym in L.A. looked pretty fancy."

The smile was back. "Do you follow me on Instagram? I'm guessing that's where you saw it."

"No, I don't. A friend of mine showed me some pictures last night when I mentioned your name. I had no idea who you were." In my quest to not come across as a creepy stalker, I might have driven my point home a little harder than necessary, so I quickly added, "I'm sure I would have heard of you if I used social media, but I don't."

"At all?" He clearly didn't know what to make of me when I shook my head. After a beat, he changed the subject with, "Right. Well, give me two minutes to finish up here. Then I'll grab my stuff, and we can go."

I went into the living room while Ever cleaned up and said, "Good morning, Phil." The cat was dressed in a red T-shirt with a white heart on it, and he looked as disgusted as ever. He was sitting right next to one of his many cat beds, on top of a long, wooden cabinet which Roger had called a credenza. If I didn't know better, I'd think the cat was deliberately shunning the bed, to make some kind of point known only to him.

As I scratched his ears, I told him, "By the way, you're a massive space hog. If we're going to continue to be bunkmates, you need to pick a side." Then I realized I was talking to him like he was human. Not even twenty-four hours, and I'd already turned into one of those people. I'd have to be careful, or next thing I knew, I'd be buying us matching outfits.

When Ever came into the room, I had to press my lips together to hold back a laugh. He'd put on a red tank top with a white heart on it. No way was that a coincidence.

He told Phil, "Hang tight, buddy. I'll be back in a couple of hours." Then he turned to me and said, "He was pretty chill this morning, so I brought up a few more boxes from my SUV and ran a quick errand to grab some groceries. He didn't destroy anything while I was gone, so that must mean he's settling in. I'm super stoked about that."

"You thought he might destroy stuff?"

"I thought there was a possibility. Phil usually lets me know when he's upset. Obviously if he'd harmed any of Roger's furniture, I would have paid to fix it."

While he was talking, he put on a red zippered jacket. "I'm planning to walk to the gym, and it's probably cold out," I told him. "You might want a pair of sweatpants."

"No worries, I'll warm up as soon as we get moving."

"Suit yourself."

I took a backpack from the coat closet and tossed in my water bottle, and he picked up a gym bag on the way out the door. I wondered where he'd been planning to go if I hadn't let him join me.

As soon as we got downstairs, Ever paused on the sidewalk and took out his phone. "I need to do a quick good morning post. Do you want to be in the photo?"

"Nope."

I stepped back while he held out the phone and smiled for a selfie. Then, as we started walking, he began typing rapidly with both thumbs. I had to ask. "What are you writing?"

"I'm captioning the photo and adding my tags. Hashtag workout time, hashtag no excuses, hashtag let's do this, and so on. I'm all about motivating my followers to live an active, healthy lifestyle, and I try to lead by example."

"You're going to hate my gym. It's not very photogenic, and there are very few mirrors."

He chuckled and said, "You think I'm totally vain, don't you?"

"No. I just noticed a lot of selfies taken in gym mirrors on your Instagram page."

"That's the best way to get a full body shot, unless someone else takes the photo for me. And those shots are important, because my body is my best advertising."

"I get it."

"No, you don't, because you don't use social media. But this is what made me. Ten years ago, I was working as a bodyguard and a personal trainer and feeling like I was never going to get ahead. Then I met Jeff Judge through one of my clients. You know who he is, right?"

"Yeah, that Australian actor who did all those superhero movies."

"Exactly. I convinced him to give me a shot as his trainer, and we hit it off. Then he did me a huge favor, which made my career—he posted about me on his social media. Suddenly, it all exploded. I went from eight thousand followers to sixty thousand in a day. By the next month, I hit a million, and the jobs started pouring in. Suddenly, I had more clients than I could handle, so I took a chance and opened a gym. Then I hired the best people I could find to work with me. The rest is history."

"Now you have millions of followers. Do you really need more?"

"It's not only about upping my numbers, it's about keeping my existing followers engaged," he explained. "If I didn't post consistently, people would lose interest. With fitness influencers, there's always someone younger, hotter, and more fascinating waiting to take our place. If I want to stay relevant and get people excited about my new fitness center, I need to keep posting and generating content."

Even though I said, "I see," I really didn't. His whole world was completely alien to me.

When we rounded a corner of the building, Ever murmured, "Oh wow," and reached for his phone again. We were at the top of a hill, and the view of downtown from here was undeniably impressive. He took a picture of the city's skyline, then turned around and snapped another photo with himself in the foreground before asking, "Do you want to be in a shot?"

"Go ahead and assume my answer is no across the board."

"Are you sure? If I tag you, you're guaranteed to get a ton of followers. A good-looking guy like you could hit 50K without even trying."

"Why would I want that?"

My question baffled him. "The same reasons anyone would—money, fame, sex…"

"What do those things have to do with posting my photo on social media?"

Ever was still staring at me like I'd sprouted a second head. "Lots of followers means offers of sponsorships and endorsement deals. I usually turn them down because I don't want to dilute my brand, but there's a lot of money to be made there. The fame part is obvious. And in terms of sex, don't you want a lot of hot guys sliding into your DMs?"

"I can't overemphasize how little I want any of that." When his expression fell, I quickly added, "Not that there's anything wrong with it. I'm just a private person, and what you're describing is basically an introvert's worst nightmare."

"No, I totally get it." He put away his phone, and we started walking again. After a while, he broke the silence with, "Tell me about yourself, Tracy."

"There's nothing to tell."

"Sure there is. What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a program assistant at a transition shelter for LGBTQ-plus young people."

"What does transition mean in this context?"

"Our residents are eighteen to twenty-two years old, and before coming to us, they were either unhoused or in foster care. When kids age out of the system, they often end up struggling to afford housing. The shelter provides a bridge of sorts, from their teen years into adulthood. It gives them a chance to go to college or learn job skills, while living in a stable, supportive environment."

He glanced at my profile and asked, "Were they homeless or in foster care because their families disowned them?"

"Some were disowned. Others ran away from bad situations."

"Does the shelter need volunteers? I have a lot of time right now, and I'd love to help out."

"Possibly. I can put you in touch with Darwin, our volunteer coordinator, if you want."

"I can hear the hesitation in your voice, but I swear this isn't about a photo op. These kids have a right to their privacy. I wouldn't try to plaster them all over social media to make myself look like a super awesome humanitarian."

I stopped walking and turned to him. "I know, and I didn't mean to sound skeptical. But I hear the same thing almost every time I tell someone about the shelter, and very few people actually follow through. If they show up at all, it's maybe once or twice before losing interest. What our residents need more than anything is stability, so take some time to think about it. Be sure you're willing to make a commitment before you agree to volunteer."

"I get what you're saying, and I'll definitely give it some thought and check out the shelter before making any promises. But part of putting down roots here in San Francisco is finding ways to give back to the community. That's always been important to me."

"Well, like I said, I'll put you in touch with our volunteer coordinator, and you can go from there."

"Thanks. So, should we keep going?"

Ever made a sweeping hand gesture to indicate continuing down the sidewalk, and he looked confused when I told him, "We're here."

"We are?"

"Yeah, this is my gym."

I pointed to the warehouse beside us, and he muttered, "You're kidding."