Thirteen

GREG

Greg Harlow stands behind the bar, a couple weeks later, stirring a cocktail with joie de vivre.

He doesn't even know why that's the first term that comes to mind as the ice and alcohol swirl around inside the rocks glass to the beat of a tune only he can hear. Maybe it's because Julien's last name is Boire, which is French as fuck, and French kissing has been on his mind as of late.

In terms of their sex pact, they haven't quite made it as far as kissing. They may never make it that far. He is okay with that. If he gets to keep witnessing Julien's beautiful mouth dropping open and his toes curling in ecstatic orgasm, then he can't complain about the way things are going.

He especially can't complain because happy hour is packed. "Butter Me Up bourbon old-fashioned for the gentleman." Greg pours out his special concoction—one he's been mastering for a full week. This new recipe included roasting cubed butternut squash and then infusing his bourbon with it over time. Once it was strained and bottled, all he needed to add was some maple flavoring and the bitters. Delicious.

Julien was the first to try it. No, he didn't drink it. Greg didn't expect him to, but Julien sipped, tasted, and spit. He commented on the flavor profile. They even made notes together.

This is unusual for Greg. He's never let anyone in on his cocktail creation process, but their collaboration in the bedroom yields such spectacular results that he couldn't resist seeing what else they could shake up together. Greg caught all of this on camera, of course. At night, before bed, he'll replay those joint TikToks on a loop, getting goose bumps over their banter and how incisive Julien's critiques are.

"I saw you and the wine guy making this one on my TikTok For You page and knew I had to come in and get one right away," the bald Black man in the denim jacket says to Greg before taking a sip. Greg takes immense pleasure in the way the man's eyes light up with pleasure at a single taste. "Damn, that's good."

"Thank you," Greg says.

"Let me try," says his partner, a white woman no taller than five foot zero who has one knee up on the barstool. When she sips, she gets the same look in her eyes. "Worth the hour-long drive for sure."

"You drove an hour to be here?" Greg asks, incredulous, leaning in closer to hear better. Not to pat himself on the back, but this place is crowded for a Thursday night.

Over the last three weeks, he's watched attendance along with his TikTok views soar. Now he never posts without Julien, and he's noticed the comments section has grown chattier.

Who's the tall guy? What's his @?

This is TOOOOOOOO CUUUUUUUUUTE!

Their chemistry is goals

It's giving shaken NOT stirred ;)

*Indecipherable emojis*

*Decipherable emojis* *Mostly eggplants*

Everybody knows...everybody knows...he fucks you, wrote another, referencing an old viral TikTok sound. Greg didn't bother deleting it because it was completely true. He was fucking Julien with regularity. Maybe not with his penis exactly, but he is opening his eyes to all the different ways two people can have sex—no erection necessary.

"We did," says the Black man, who introduces himself as Andre. "We consider ourselves cocktail connoisseurs."

The woman—Magda—punches him lightly in the arm. "He's exaggerating. This is part of our job."

Greg grows nervous, pretends to blot his forehead with a rag. "Jeez. Didn't know I was about to be graded."

"We're very easy to impress," Andre says before a hearty laugh.

"Speak for yourself," Magda says. "He is. I'm a stickler. I like my cocktails more traditional, but this? This is something I can get behind. That maple flavor. Mmm-hmm. It's like Thanksgiving in a glass. Heaven. Get me one of my own, please."

"Coming right up." Greg gets to work. "What do you two do?"

"We've already said too much," Andre says, a speckling of humor with a dash of mystery. "But seriously, compliments to the creator."

When Greg is finished, Andre and Magda cheers and drink.

"I can't take all the credit," Greg says, grabbing Julien as he comes out from the back with more infused bourbon. "My coworker Julien came up with the idea for the maple. Really brought the whole thing together."

Julien smiles. "You forgot the candied orange peels." He reaches under the counter for a mason jar and fastens the garnish to the customers' glasses.

"You two think of everything," Magda says with a telling smile. "This place was not even on our radar until last week. Clearly, we're late to the party." She swivels around. People are chatting and drinking while music plays.

Across the way, Rufus has a DJ booth set up. "It's a hobby of mine," Rufus said to Greg one night as he was texting Julien about ways to improve happy hour while waiting his turn for the Xbox. He's so techy that this made sense. "I'd do it for free. I just want the experience. I have all the equipment."

Greg and Julien agreed, which turned out to be a good move. Rufus is solid at this. He's playing the right mix of upbeat pop tracks to keep everyone bopping along while they drink.

"How's the food here?" Andre asks.

"Delicious," Julien says. "Chef Marco is very talented."

"If the food is anywhere near as good as these drinks, you're going to need to roll me out of here," Magda says, shimmying her shoulders with excitement. "I've decided. We're staying for dinner."

"Will we need a reservation?"

Greg is about to say no, when Julien swoops in with the much cooler "I think we'll be able to squeeze you in."

Greg isn't even aware that he does it because it comes second nature to him, but he places a hand on Julien's lower back. Instead of shifting away, Julien presses into it, tilts his head, and smiles at him. Greg wants to paint that smile as a mural on his bedroom ceiling.

As the happy hour portion of the evening winds down, drinks are still flowing freely and liberally. So much so that people are leaving behind nice chunks of change as tips, which will leave them with a solid split at the end of happy hour.

Greg is relieved. He's finally going to be able to start paying down his credit card bills. Getting back on his feet. He might even be able to set some of this aside to purchase one of the hollow strap-ons he's been eyeing on the sex toy websites Julien sent him.

It's not that he isn't enjoying the anal play they've already been having. The cock ring is helping him get and maintain an erection that's more sensitive than before, but he still hasn't found his full confidence. He fears if he rolls on the condom and enters Julien (something Julien would never say he wants so as not to put pressure on him), his boner will be DOA, which will frustrate him. Kill the mood.

Online, he found an eight-inch toy in a body-safe silicone that comes with a jockstrap harness. All Greg would need to do is slide his cock (no matter how hard) in the hollow end of the toy and he'd be equipped to peg Julien, fuck him with his whole body the way he's wanted to since that first night.

At the very least, using the strap-on will remind him of the sensation, the hip thrusts, and it might even inspire him to slip off the dildo, on a condom, and inside Julien without the fear that he's going to lose his erection or his fresh sexual assurance.

Greg is starting to feel like his old self again except with a twist. And like the twist of the orange rinds he's affixed to the cocktails he's been serving, it's all thanks to Julien.

JULIEN

Greg is the one to thank for the thick roll of singles Julien is taking home tonight, and he can think of over a dozen ways he'd like to repay him—both in and out of the bedroom. With clothes and without.

Julien is so happy with how well the last several weeks have gone that he could kiss Greg. He won't. That would be way too intimate for their sex pact arrangement and would likely only complicate their working agreement, but that doesn't stop him from fantasizing about it until Aunt Augustine nudges him aside to get to her office.

"Whoa there, Mr. Moneybags, look at you." She breezes past him, voice full of gibes. "That DJ kid was good tonight. He played lots of Whitney Houston. Just the way I like it." She hums a snippet of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody."

"That's Rufus. He's Greg's cousin. I met him when I was over there last week."

Aunt Augustine doesn't look like she even attempts to mask her smirk. "Over there last week, were you?"

He is not about to air his dirty laundry to his aunt, so he says, "We were filming TikToks. You know the ones that keep getting us these bigger and bigger crowds?" He's saddling his sassy high horse and riding it off into the sunset.

Aunt Augustine is unimpressed. "Never thought I'd see you so jazzed about TikToks. Are you sure there isn't anything else going on?" She winks a knowing wink that winds him up. They've always been open about his love life, but this, what he has with Greg, is different. He's safeguarding it. Even from the most caring people in his life.

"I think I would know better than you," he says, sounding defensive.

She holds up her hands, backing off. "Okay. All right. Don't tell your dear aunt who dropped everything to raise you and provide for you. It's fine."

"You know guilt trips don't work on me." He raises a shrewd eyebrow.

"It was worth a try. Thought Greg might be softening you up."

"The only thing Greg..." he trips slightly over Greg's name since he's most used it while lying on his back, body quaking "...is doing is securing me the bag for my advanced sommelier course." He happily paws at his wad of bills. "This is exactly what I needed to pay for my SKA."

She offers him a maternal smile. "That's wonderful, Julien. Remind me what the SKA is again?"

Julien's never annoyed when Aunt Augustine has to ask for clarification around sommelier jargon. Unlike Uncle Martin, she listens the first time he mentions something and simply gets bogged down in restaurant business, losing the information in a jumble. Uncle Martin doesn't listen, period. But no parent figures can ever be perfect.

"It's the Sommelier Knowledge Assessment. It decides whether my application will move forward for one of the two hundred seats in the class," he says. For a moment, he realizes how wrapped up he's been in his sex-tracurricular activities with Greg and how he hasn't been dedicating as much time to studying. He needs to get back to that.

"Two hundred isn't many," she says unhelpfully. "I was already so proud of you for becoming certified. Are you sure you wouldn't want to take more time before you move up?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's now or never. I have momentum. I need to keep it." There are cogs in his chest that turn at various speeds. The one dedicated solely to his sommelier training is never not at a full sprint. Winding and winding. He's not going to crap out on this. Becoming a sommelier is his ticket away from the memories, toward seeing the world. Visiting all the places he's only read about in books or seen in photos on Instagram. The higher his status, the more desirable a hire he'll be at a luxury tropical resort, or an urban Michelin-starred restaurant. Places that are inaccessible to him from where he currently stands.

"I understand, but slowing down for a second is okay. You're young," she says, sitting.

"But I'm an adult."

"Yes, but even adults need breaks. I just mean I'm worried you'll burn yourself out between work and studying and other things." She seems about to mention Greg again, to insinuate something Julien wishes she wouldn't.

It's sex! It's great sex! But it's not a relationship or marriage or a mortgage or whatever else. His primary love is wine, and his major passion is becoming a sommelier. He's not letting her opinion or the restaurant or a guy stand in the way of the eventual one-hundred-and-twenty-grand-a-year salary he could have once he becomes a master. And he will become a master. He doesn't care that the odds are not exactly in his favor.

As if Greg also knew Aunt Augustine had intentions to say his name, he appears in the doorway, knocking. "Hey. Sorry to interrupt. Julien, did you, uh, still want that ride home?"

Julien feels the blush come on immediately. "Yeah. Thanks."

Greg nods, keys jangling in his fist. "Okay. No rush. I'll be outside whenever you're ready."

Julien waits until Greg's footfalls dwindle to look at Aunt Augustine again. She's grinning, but not saying anything. He's not sure how he feels about that. "I'm fine," he says finally. "Thank you for caring and for looking out for me, but I promise. I've juggled more plates than this before, and I haven't dropped one yet."

"Okay. All's I'm saying is, it wouldn't hurt if you swap a few of those fine pieces of china out for paper plates," she says. "Lighten your load."

He bobbles his head noncommittally. "I'll think about it. Hope you have a good night."

"I'd say the same to you," Aunt Augustine calls after him. "But I'm more than certain you will!"