Fourteen

GREG

Greg expected Julien would be uber competitive, yet he's still tickled by the way Julien lines up his petite putter behind the lime-green ball, one eye closed and tongue sticking out just a tad from the left corner of his mouth. Deadly serious. Julien clearly has no idea he's holding up the entire staff of Martin's Place, who shift around behind them impatiently waiting for their turns at glow-in-the-dark indoor mini golf.

Greg has noticed that Julien will disappear into a task or sensation with such tunnel vision that it's not until he appears out the other end of it that he realizes he's been gone from the plane of existence other human beings live on.

Greg loves it. Secretly. He loves the way Julien can tune into something so ardently. He has even come to love the nights where—after sex—Julien will completely ignore him at the kitchen table of his apartment, enraptured by his studies for the SKA, which Greg is almost certain he aced last week, though Julien is tight-lipped and modest about it.

Now, Greg admires Julien's ass in his fitted gray chinos as he lightly swings back. The ball goes sailing down the green, over a hill, under a windmill, and misses the hole by a small margin before coming to a stop.

"Impressive," Greg says.

"More like endless," Braydon says with an extra helping of his usual sass. "Out of the way slowpokes, mama is going to show you how it's done."

Mama does not, in fact, show anyone anything other than sheer overconfidence. His red ball lands in the sand trap.

Greg doesn't understand why Martin and Augustine insisted they come here—"staff bonding" was their official statement—or why they're all playing in one large group. It takes ages for everyone to take their turns. The parents of the family of four behind them in the course are trying desperately to entertain their children who seem set on climbing on every fixture with a DO NOT CLIMB sign. They either can't read yet, or they genuinely don't care.

On Julien's second turn, he knocks the ball in, scoring two points for the round. He's winning to no one's surprise and everyone's chagrin. Everyone except Greg, that is.

"I didn't know you were some sort of mini golf savant."

Julien laughs at that. "We did a lot of outings like this when Aunt Augustine and Uncle Martin got custody of me. I think it was their way of distracting me from all the life changes. I didn't make friends easily, so this was a good way to pass the time. Sometimes they didn't even play. I'd putt against myself."

"That's incredibly cute," Greg says before realizing how that sounds and who all is standing around them. This has been happening often over the past few weeks. He will slip up—say something un-fuck-buddy-esque—and Julien will blush, and they will both pretend that whatever is happening between them is still firmly about sex.

And it is. For the most part. It's been two months, and Julien still hasn't even kissed him. Not even the night when Greg strip-quizzed Julien for his SKA. Every right answer meant Greg took off a single article of clothing. Let's just say Julien had never performed so well before in a study session.

"What about you? What did young Greg get up to?" Julien asks as the rest of the staff finish their turns at hole number seventeen. They've been at this awhile.

"I went off to boarding school at around thirteen. Everything was structured and STEM-based, which I disliked. My brain isn't wired for that," Greg says. "I didn't fit in with my classmates, but luckily we had clubs. The first club I found my footing in was an outreach club where we went to local senior living facilities and got paired up with buddies. My buddy's name was Chet, and he had served, but he wasn't one of those fanatics or anything. He was down-to-earth and honest and taught me to play backgammon. He's the first out gay person I really connected with. He inspired me to join the not-very-well attended GSA at my academy."

"Surprised they even had one there," Julien says, not judgmentally.

"I know. Me, too. But I guess they were trying to keep up with the times or something." Greg pauses momentarily as a kid holding a hot dog in one hand and a bun in the other runs between them, his mother rushing after, shouting nonsense. "Gosh, I really don't usually talk about the academy with anyone."

"Why's that?"

"People either don't understand or don't care."

"I care," Julien says plainly, which makes Greg's heart balloon inside his chest. "So you didn't stick with it?"

Greg shakes his head. "That was never my plan. My dad wasn't happy. My mom took on my dad's emotions without question. I graduated, cut them off, and started fresh." He still thinks about his parents from time to time, wonders what they say about him when they're asked if they have children.

He calls his mom once a year on her birthday. She usually sends a card on his. His dad never reaches out. He's mostly made peace with that arrangement. He wishes, against all logic, that families were like cocktails, always made of complementary ingredients. His family felt more like a whatever-is-around kind of concoction that leaves a sour, filmy taste in your mouth. Impossible to swallow.

"That must've been difficult," Julien says. Their stories might not be the same, but their wounds probably feel similar. To have parents who can't play their roles in your life.

"It was, but it gave me the motivation to make something of myself." Being a TikToker isn't exactly making something of himself in Greg's mind, but it netted him money, a following, and this new position at Martin's Place. "I moved to New York and didn't look back."

Though, if Greg is being honest, which he mostly is, life in the Lehigh Valley has slowed down his pace quite a bit—his video output, his social life. He's been reflecting more. In quiet moments, he wonders about the other paths his life could've taken, the other relationships he possibly could've had.

"Why did you leave New York aside from Martin's offer?" Julien asks, and Greg hears it, but conveniently, the staff finishes hole seventeen, and everyone gets their game faces on for their final swings.

By the time they're all convening in the small party room Martin and Augustine booked them for lunch, Julien has forgotten all about his question, which is a major relief. Greg is willing to share about his sex life, his anxiety, his time at the academy, but something about telling Julien about his debt makes him itchy all over.

Credit card debt isn't like student debt. He didn't learn anything for the burden. Instead, he bought bottle service and booked five-star hotel rooms and acted like a total ass who didn't think to save a cent. With Julien, Greg wants to be seen as calmer and more settled.

Which is why after the pizza slices are passed around and paper cups are filled inexplicably with champagne, Greg's mood rises ever more steadily.

"I know we've been skipping the staff outings in December for the past few years because money has been tight," Augustine says, standing at the front of the small room with dark walls and funky carpeting. "But we wanted to treat you all because we've gotten some exceptional news."

"That's right," Martin adds. "Last week, I got a call from an editor over at a prominent Lehigh Valley publication letting us know that Martin's Place has not only secured a spot on the year-end best restaurants list..." cheers ring out in the room "...but we've also landed the number one spot in another category. Julien, Greg, would you mind coming up here?"

Greg walks behind Julien to the front of the room. When Julien turns to face forward, their eyes meet. They both crack smiles. They know what's coming, and they're a pair of kids on their way to Disney World for the first time.

"After only a couple months, thanks to these two fine gentlemen," Augustine announces, "Martin's Place is the number one happy hour spot in the Lehigh Valley!"

Greg barely hears the uproar. He's too busy soaking this in. Number one happy hour spot means financial security for Martin's Place. It also means job security for him. He looks around at all the kind faces—his coworkers who have become friends, his bosses who have become like mentors, and the man standing next to him who has opened his eyes and body to so much.

Finally. This means I can make a home here.

JULIEN

Thank God. This is my ticket out of here.

Julien knows how greedy that sounds, but it's not like he's saying it out loud.

Martin's Place securing these small victories means an influx of patrons in Q1 of the following year. At the end of Q1—SKA results pending—he'll be flying out to Texas to take his advanced sommelier course. The following year, he'll sit the advanced sommelier exam. It's only a matter of time before a master must spread his wings and go out on his own.

Some of the guilt Julien has been harboring over wanting to leave the Lehigh Valley swirls down the drain. He doesn't need to feel dirty for wanting more than this. Wanting away from the place where his upbringing took a major detour. If business security comes of his work now, he can be free to leave later with very little resistance.

Snapping back to the moment, he soaks in the applause of his coworkers. Even Braydon is standing and clapping for them, and he's wholly unimpressed by everything.

Julien hugs his aunt and uncle, and then, very publicly, he hugs Greg.

Greg doesn't half-ass a hug. Every hug Greg gives is like that one outside Studio Artiste. It's fierce, warm, strong. Everything a good hug should be. Everything Julien has never had.

But he refuses to harp on that. Or the fact that their sex is mind-blowing or that their conversations are more revealing than their sex. He never really understood "pillow talk" until Greg. Now he could stay up until three in the morning, waiting for the sheets in the dryer, sitting robed with Greg, talking about new cocktail recipes or the best wine regions of the world or movies they want to nostalgia-watch together.

"We did it," Greg says, pulling away, bringing Julien back to earth. "No more worrying."

"I know." Julien sighs, relieved.

Greg's right. No more worrying. He doesn't need to worry about Martin's Place. He doesn't need to worry about his SKA, which he thinks he did well on but doesn't want to jinx the results. And he definitely doesn't need to worry about whatever is transpiring between him and Greg because they agreed to the terms of the pact. Nobody gets their feelings hurt when a contract is up, right? This is like that.

"So," Uncle Martin says, clapping his hands together. "Let's do a toast."

Uncle Martin gives a speech that goes on too long (classic) and then lets the staff loose to either continue eating and drinking or play another round on them.

The rest of the staff turns their attention back to their pizza, but Greg must be too amped to eat. He chugs back his champagne, grabs Julien by the elbow, and says, "I want a rematch."

"Are you a glutton for getting your ass handed to you or something?" Julien asks.

"Sounding mighty confident there, Julien Boire," Greg says, so close their chests almost touch. "Sure you aren't scared I'll make a comeback?"

"Fine," Julien relents. "But I'm bringing my pizza with me."

They sneak away with smiles on their faces and playfulness in their hearts.