Twenty

GREG

It's not like we really need you anymore.

That's what Julien said, but what Greg heard was: It's not like I really need you anymore.

On the drive to Manhattan, cruising down 78 at a sensible sixty-seven, Greg couldn't even bring himself to put on his playlist. All he could do was replay that conversation over again in his head. A TikTok stuck on perpetual loop, no scrolling away possible.

It sucks knowing that Julien's feelings have not advanced past the sex pact. He thought the holidays, the paint-and-sips, and the bareback sex solidified something substantial between them beyond shared orgasms and happy hours, but he had been wrong. Again. He had thought his connection with Stryker was substantial, too. ED and maxed-out credit cards had blown that to smithereens.

Hours later, when the New York City skyline appears as he's approaching the busy Lincoln Tunnel, he tries to hack back into that optimism he saved in a special folder in his mind when he arrived in the Lehigh Valley, the kind that he slowly started putting in the trash can the more he got to know Julien.

Not that Julien had made him pessimistic or grumpy, but Julien, among other things, showed Greg that feeling his hard feelings wasn't going to plunge his life into total darkness. Being chipper all the time and the life of the party had already done that.

But luckily, there's still some leftover, ready to be downloaded like Greg's favorite songs on Spotify. Inspired, he uses voice commands to queue up an upbeat playlist and cruises into Manhattan, determined to leave his heartbreak on the New Jersey side of the tunnel.

He mostly succeeds because he's too busy trying to reorient himself to the grid work and the noise of New York City. It hasn't even been that long and he didn't even move that far, but somehow it feels like he's traveled to a foreign country. He half expects the person selling hot dogs on the street corner to be speaking Italian.

The sounds are different—more grating—and the smells are more pungent, but he doesn't let that put a damper on things. He loved this city once, and he could learn to love it again.

He treats himself to coffee from a French café in midtown he used to rave over. He walks through a park, which is more asphalt than grass but still has its charms. He feeds his leftover croissant to a group of stalking pigeons who need it more than him. Laughing to himself, he takes a photo of them and uploads it to his TikTok story with the caption, That's just how the croissant crumbles.

He does not think about Julien.

At the interview, Greg steps through the front door of Bar Deco, a favorite haunt of his old friends, and does not think of all the differences between this establishment and his current place of employ. He ignores the fact that this place is always awash in purple, blue, and pink lights, even when there's no dancing happening. He barely bats an eye at the fact that there are twelve disco balls hanging from the ceiling at varying heights. And he most certainly does not take note of the wall with the gold-and-black geometric patterns and the light-up Bar Deco sign that is one hundred percent an IG photo spot for free publicity.

It doesn't matter if there's no hominess here. It's a job. A place to work. What is it Julien said? Better pay, better tips. You only came out here to get out of debt, which this will help you do. That's great. I'm glad you're going.

He still can't wrap his head around the fact that Julien was glad about that. Was Julien growing bored of him? Was their sex becoming monotonous?

Gah. No. He is not thinking about Julien.

"Greg Harlow, happy to see you back in these parts," says Alaina Sosa, a tall tan brunette woman with legs for days who can't be much older than thirty-five. She appears in the empty bar as if by magic. "Come on back. Let's chat."

At a high-top table, Alaina pops out her phone and pulls up Greg's TikTok feed. She holds it low enough that he can see the screen as well, and he marks the transition from his old life to his new life in the slow scroll. Well, maybe his new–old life, depending on how this conversation goes and how badly he wants to get back to New York City after Julien's dismissal.

"I'm really impressed with what you've done here," she says, stopping on one of the videos of Greg and Julien in front of the green screen. It's a silly one. He remembers exactly the date and the time, what Julien smelled like standing beside him—clean linen and honeysuckle.

"Thanks," he says, rubbing a hand along his stubbly jaw. Forgetting to shave is expected when you're still disoriented over the way you left things with your crush.

"I'll give it to you straight, the job is yours if you want it." She smiles at him, tight-lipped but welcoming. Sort of. "If you can work this magic." She points at her phone. "And this magic." She gestures to his face. "For us here, you're going to be swimming in money, my friend."

My friend.It's been eons since he has considered anyone in New York City his friend. None of his old crowd even checked up on him when he moved to the Lehigh Valley. Not that he told anyone he was going. Basically, he packed up and fled, which now that he considers it is kind of cowardly and not at all consistent with the sense of confidence he's cultivated at Martin's Place.

The thought of Martin's Place makes his heart take on an unusual beat. In a private chamber somewhere, he holds Martin, Augustine, Chef Marco, and even Braydon. Jessica and Rufus have their own tangential one. These people he's grown to care for over the last six months, besides Julien, could be confused or hurt or resentful over his departure. He doesn't want that.

But he does want money.

If he can't have Julien, he can at least expunge his debt as quickly as possible.

"I sent you the starting pay, but here's a ballpark for what our more talented and handsome bartenders make in tips. The yearly picture." Alaina slips him a bar napkin with a figure scribbled on it.

Greg feels his eyes bulge when he takes in the number. "Really?"

"Really."

"Damn."

"I know." She takes the napkin back. "Does that mean you'll think about it?"

Greg doesn't realize at first that he's nodding.

"That's what I was hoping for. Take a few days with it. The position just opened up. I remembered you applied for us way back when, but you know how it is with these coveted spots. Nobody wants to give them up."

"Can't believe you even held on to my application this long," he says with a laugh.

"We always hold on to the ones we like," she says. "Then a couple months later, you were coming in here with that group of big spenders, and then—poof—you vanished. Until the other day, when I saw this on my For You page and wondered, ‘What's a guy like Greg Harlow doing in Pennsylvania?' So, I figured I'd give it a shot. See if the email was still working, and here you are."

"Here I am," he says, and it doesn't feel wrong. He doesn't exactly like the way Alaina denigrates Pennsylvania, but he can look past that. Ever since the academy, he's used to starting over, reinventing himself. There's an opportunity to look at this through the rose-colored glasses of a new beginning instead of an ending.

He can't predict the future. He and Julien might've been a disaster, over and done within a month. Just because they had good sex and Greg helped Julien study wine and Julien helped Greg come up with cocktail recipes and they always wanted the same kind of takeout didn't mean they were meant for each other.

The universe doesn't work like that.

But the universe does test you. Why else would he have been shipped off to the academy? Whenever he's faced with these kinds of decisions, he always takes a beat and chooses the option that is hopefully going to bring him the most joy. In this moment, sitting in this cushy chair in this expensive bar that's less glitzy during the daytime, he can't quite pinpoint which way he's leaning.

"Can I expect to hear from you by Wednesday?" Alaina asks.

Greg nods again without thinking. "For sure."

On his way back to the parking garage, each step spurring a new thought—start over again or stick it out?—Greg receives a message notification on TikTok. Usually, he doesn't see those unless it's from someone he follows and that person follows him back.

When he looks more closely, it's from Stryker. Strange that he'd forgotten to unfollow Stryker, but when he moved, he rarely found himself scrolling through content absentmindedly like he did when he lived here. He's been too busy.

Curiosity wins out.

Stryker: Are you in Manhattan? We should meet up!

Suddenly, he doesn't know how to feel or what to do. He's only paid for a few hours of parking in the pricey garage. He doesn't want to go out of his way for a man who unceremoniously dumped him. That would be a major step backward.

But we should meet up? That's not like the Stryker from six months ago. Stryker Storm never put out an invitation. Stryker Storm waited for the party and the people to come to him. Sitting in a VIP booth alone with buckets of ice and numerous bottles as a power move. Not planning anything for his birthday so somebody inevitably threw him a surprise shindig. Refusing a brand partnership on IG for months until the company caved and sent him a bunch of free merchandise he didn't need and never used.

Greg's changed. He feels it. Has Stryker?

It's that question and the intense interest that comes with it that causes him to type back: Sure. Where at?