Guys on the Bottom - Guys Book Three

by Darien Cox

  “You look different,” Angelo said, finally finding his voice.

  “Most people look different in glitter makeup,” I said.

  Angelo gave me his patient psychiatrist stare. “That aside, you look well. Healthy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you still living at your mom’s?” Corey asked.

  I sighed, trying to maintain my unaffected persona. He meant nothing disparaging by the question. I had been living with my mom while attending school. But it didn’t work out. “No. I’ve got a place.”

  “Why did you quit school?” Corey asked. “And I thought you were trying to stay away from bartending.”

  “What do you want me to say, Corey?”

  Corey flinched at my tone. He was certainly used to fighting with me, but not me snapping at him. Our arguments used to largely entail him snapping at me while I begged and whined and pleaded for reassurance because he’d made me such an insecure basket-case.

  “Why you being so defensive, Zach? I was just asking what you’ve been up to. Christ! Gimme a break. It’s not like I did anything bad to you.”

  That was true. He hadn’t done anything bad to me. But I’d done bad things to him, and that was why I was defensive. That, and the fact that I felt like a big giant failure right now. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with bartending. I made a lot of money doing it. It was that bartending at my old job had led to me being lured in by the wrong kind of people. One in particular had preyed on my insecurities and led me down a destructive path. A path that lost me not only my dignity, but the gorgeous blond man sitting in front of me.

  But that part of my life was over, and this place was different. I doubted I could get in much trouble in a club where giant trees laughed and showered confetti leaves down on the clientele every hour on the hour.

  “So?” Corey said. “It’s been a long time, Zach. Tell me what’s new.”

  “This,” I said, gesturing to my ensemble and doing a little twirl. “Okay, Corey? I moved out of my mom’s because I was afraid I’d murder her or she’d murder me. I had to quit school because she wouldn’t pay for it anymore. So now I’m back serving drinks for a living, like I was before, except with…” I glanced down the bar at Jamil. “With fucking unicorns and shit.”

  “Pegasus,” the older guy said.

  I scowled at him. “What?”

  He swirled his Scotch in the glass, then his pretty eyes lifted to mine. “Jamil is dressed as Pegasus, not a unicorn.”

  “Okay, whatever, man. They’re both horses.”

  “Zach,” Corey said, a warning in his voice. “This is my uncle Duncan. Duncan, this is Zachary. Sorry, I should have made introductions first.”

  “Duncan Stengel,” he said, and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Corey’s uncle? Explained why the guy had those pretty, oddly-colored eyes. And probably explained why I felt strangely drawn to him even though he was in an age bracket I wouldn’t normally take notice of. He was a fucking Stengel, and clearly hotness ran in the family.

  I shook his hand then glanced at Corey. “Thought all your relatives were in Long Island.”

  “I’m from there, yes,” Duncan answered. “But moved to Boston some time ago.”

  “Oh. Well, nice to meet you.”

  I excused myself to tend to another customer. I’d been hoping I was done conversing with my ex, his boyfriend, and his uncle, but of course I had no luck. Angelo waved me over, wanting another drink.

  “Why are you all dressed up?” I asked Corey as I set down Angelo’s drink. “Someone die?”

  “Duncan took us to the opera this afternoon,” Corey said. “It’s Angelo’s birthday.”

  “Oh. And you decided to come here after?” I chuckled. “Fancy.” I gestured around with my hand. The décor at Mythic was bizarre, indoor trees with sprawling branches lit with fairy lights, vines hanging from the ceiling, glowing mushroom fountains, and of course the costumed wait staff.

  Corey eyed me seriously. “Zach—”

  “Happy birthday, Angelo,” I said. “Guess the honeymoon’s over. No more nice romantic dinners for you. It’s shit food and fairy creatures, bro. Welcome to the comfort zone.”

  Angelo gave me a small smile, but looked nervous.

  “Zach,” Corey said. “Stop talking.”

  “You said you wanted me to talk. So why’d you bring the birthday boy to this dump?”

  Corey flinched, groaned, and downed the rest of his scotch.

  One of the waitresses, a thin redhead dressed as a dragonfly, came by and greeted Duncan with a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, you!”

  “Hello, love. Nice to see you.”

  She moved off, and Duncan looked at me, that amused smirk back on his face. “I’m going to save you from yourself before you go on, Zachary,” he said. “I own Club Mythic. This dump is mine.”

  My intestines churned, and for a moment I thought I was literally going to shit my leotard pants. “You…” I huffed a laugh. “I work for you?”

  Duncan nodded. “I suppose you do.”

  “Of course I do,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “The universe hates me that much.”

  Duncan’s brow lifted. “Pardon?”

  At that point, I completely gave up. Sighing, I rested my palms on the bar and leaned in to Duncan. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Am I fired?”

  His smile widened. “Absolutely not.”

  A relieved-sounding breath leaked out of Corey.

  I was surprised, but decided not to look a gift Pegasus in the mouth. I straightened and gave Duncan a nod. “Then I’d better get back to work.”

  I moved off and busied myself with other customers. My cheeks were hot and flushed with embarrassment. I’d just called Club Mythic a dump in front of the owner. And he hadn’t fired me. Maybe my luck was starting to change.

  But then I focused on the other info I’d just received. I was now working for Corey’s uncle. Corey’s fucking uncle. It was bad enough that I couldn’t show my ex how successful and independent I’d become since our break-up, since I was obviously neither of those things. But now the money that put food on my table was being provided by a member of Corey Stengel’s family.

  So no, my luck was not starting to change. It remained as shitty as ever.

  Chapter Two

  The place I lived had been advertised as a ‘single’ apartment, but however you spin it, it’s a fucking room. On the fourth floor of an old brick building in Jamaica Plain, I had one window overlooking a busy street, a sad kitchenette that looked like it belonged in a popup camper, and barely enough space for my bed and a small sofa. There was a group bathroom down the hall, but I’d opted to pay extra for a unit with my own shower and toilet, because no matter how poor I am, I refuse to take a dump with other people around.

  The only saving grace was a set of slanted skylights, a worthy tradeoff for having to trudge up three flights of stairs. There was a claustrophobic elevator in the building the size of a broom closet, but after taking it once I determined to never do so again. It was rickety, made unsettling groaning noises, and smelled like cabbage and beer farts.

  I set my free weights under the skylights and did my morning strength training, small window open because though it was barely summer, we were already experiencing a heat wave. There was no air conditioning, but the super told me I wouldn’t be charged extra if I wanted to get my own, like he was doing me a big solid. Morning sounds drifted in from the street below, the city coming alive with cars and voices and barking dogs.

  Sweat poured from my skin as I worked through my routine. My life may have fallen to shambles recently, but I refused to neglect my health—it was the one thing I could still control. After this I’d head out and jog down to Jamaica Pond to run a few laps. I’d taken to doing so early in the morning even when I didn’t have to bartend nights, a habit formed when I’d been trying to avoid literally running into Corey after we broke up. Corey was an evening runner, and he didn’t
live far from the pond. At least last I knew. He could have moved in with Angelo by now.

  The few friends I still talked with—the ones who hadn’t started avoiding me when my obsession with Corey made me an embarrassment—kept reminding me I could always leave Boston and live somewhere less expensive. But I couldn’t even think about leaving Boston without sinking into a depression. Maybe in the past I would have. But since moving to the Jamaica Plain area several years ago, I’d felt like I was home, like I belonged for the first time in my life. Now I was like one of those homing pigeons or something, got anxiety when I was away for too long. Last year, before falling out with my mom, she’d taken me to Florida during my spring break from school. It was enjoyable, but by the end of the week I was done with palm trees. I wanted my traffic and bagel shops and crowded sidewalks back, and didn’t fully relax until the airplane tilted toward Logan and I saw the curve of the harbor below through the window.

  Finishing my weight work, I headed out for my run. As I jogged along the water’s edge, I calculated how much money I could save each week if I kept working at Mythic, subtracting rent and bills and food and having any semblance of a social life. The equation kept telling me a social life was out of the question, which I was kind of okay with. My right hand had become my only lover while I was trying to focus on school, and the hand and I were still monogamous.

  I told myself I was saving up so I could go back to school, but the truth was I was merely going through the motions now. My intent had been to get a business degree, but I’d chosen the major simply because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I figured business was generic enough that it would give me some wiggle room while I decided. I knew I should have goals and dreams at this point in my life, but found myself woefully devoid of passion. Nothing seemed to make me happy anymore.

  But I was trying. Trying to stop moping around about my bad luck. It was just money. I could make more. Sure, my mother had disappointed me, hurt my feelings, and pulled the rug out from under me. But I wasn’t a kid anymore. I was still a couple years from thirty, but I could see it glimmering in the distance like a nasty, taunting goal post. I was supposed to be doing something with my life by now. I was supposed to care about something. I hoped if I went through the motions, the answers to these questions would magically appear at some point. Fake it ‘til you make it and all that.

  After finishing my laps, I used one of the park benches edging the pond to stretch my legs, barely noticing the guy who sat at the next one down, lacing up his running shoes. But once I’d finished stretching out, I gave a cursory glance, because he had nice legs and was wearing shorts. I got caught looking as he glanced my way, brunette, big dark brown eyes, nice build. Shit. It was Doug Crandall—one of Corey’s best friends. A man who’d patted my back while I sobbed uncontrollably on his front porch the night Corey and I split for good.

  I tried to duck away, but no such luck.

  “Hey, Zach!”

  Why? Why were Corey and his friends and relatives haunting me suddenly?

  Wincing, I turned back around. “Hey, Doug.”

  “This is so weird,” he said, approaching with a smile. “We were just talking about you last night.”

  “Let me guess. Corey mentioned he saw me.”

  Doug’s smile wilted, probably because of my tone. “Well…yeah. Stewart and I had a late dinner with them for Angelo’s birthday. He said they saw you at happy hour. You’re working at Mythic?”

  “I am.”

  Doug’s grin reappeared. “And you didn’t know Corey’s uncle owned it.”

  “I see you lot still like to gossip.”

  “Come on. It’s kind of funny, Zach.”

  In spite of myself, I laughed. “I guess it is.”

  “Are you gonna quit?”

  Quit? The thought hadn’t occurred to me. Should I quit? Did Corey think I should quit? “What do you mean? Just because the owner’s related to Corey?”

  “Did I say the wrong thing?” Doug winced. “It’s just I haven’t seen you in so long I figured you’ve been going out of your way to avoid Corey. Figured you wouldn’t want any connection to him.”

  “Why? Does Corey go to Mythic a lot? I’ve been there three weeks and that was the first time I’d seen him. Or his uncle. Doesn’t strike me as his scene.”

  “No, he only went because he was with Duncan. He doesn’t hang out there.”

  “So…did Corey say I should quit?”

  “No!” Doug’s eyes widened. “Shit, I’m getting myself in trouble here, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t look so scared, Doug. I no longer worship at the altar of Corey’s penis and I don’t fly off the handle like I used to.”

  “Corey didn’t say you should quit. He said he thought you probably would quit because you treated him like a communicable disease when he sat down at the bar. And Duncan is his uncle, so diseased by association.”

  I tried not to smile, but did anyway, shaking my head. “His presence took me by surprise, what can I say?”

  Chuckling, Doug nodded. “If it’s any consolation, he was just as surprised to see you. He and Angelo both mentioned you look good though. You do. Been working out?”

  “Yes.” I rolled my eyes. “Guess that’s the big news, huh? That I’ve aged out of my boyish charm.”

  “Zach, it was a ten-minute conversation, we didn’t sit around gossiping about you all night. You seeing anyone?”

  “Why, so you can report back to Corey?”

  “No, asshole. I was going to ask if you wanted to come by and have dinner sometime. And bring a guest if you wanted.”

  “Gimme a break. Stewart hates me.”

  Stewart was Doug’s boyfriend. He’d also been Corey’s boyfriend when I started dating him. They were in an open relationship at the time—and Stewart had begun seeing Doug on the side already—but I suspected Stewart viewed my liaison with Corey as cheating, open relationship or not. Stewart and I had many verbal, sometimes edging on physical brawls back then, usually when too much alcohol was involved. Corey and I started getting ‘serious’ before he and Stewart split, and that broke one of their open relationship rules. They were allowed to have sex outside the relationship, but not to date someone else.

  “Stewart doesn’t hate you. You’re not the only one who’s moved past things. Stewart has too.” Doug smiled. “He’s got a whole list of new people to hate now, and you’re not on it.”

  I liked Doug, he was an okay guy and had always been nice to me, but our pasts were too overlapping, separated by only two degrees of ex-boyfriend cock. And that aside, I’d once shoved Doug into a parked car while in a rage over Corey, and injured him pretty badly. Doug, it seemed, was more forgiving than most people.

  “That’s nice of you,” I said. “But I think it’d be too awkward.”

  “Okay. Well, invitation stands. I gotta get my run in now. Nice to see you, Zach.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  I watched Doug jog off down the path, a twinge of envy sinking my mood. For a second I’d actually considered accepting his invitation, but it was no doubt an act of pity on his part, and I had my pride. I missed being part of that group. Before things went south, there was always fun and laughter. That Doug and Corey and Stewart could all move past their shit and play happy couples with Angelo now irritated me. Because I could never be part of that. I was Zach—the bad guy. My past actions had created trouble for all of them. All this ‘water under the bridge’ talk was nice in theory, but my memory of being a pariah in that group of friends was still fresh.

  I stopped at the farmer’s market on the way home and picked up some groceries. Showered, ate lunch, read for a while, then tried to take a nap. It was Saturday, and I was on the schedule at Mythic later, so I wanted to be fresh and frisky and make lots of tips. But the nap idea didn’t pan out, my brain working overtime regurgitating my interaction with Corey last night. I’d probably have had better luck putting it out of my mind had I not run into Doug at the pond
.

  Two years spent purging Corey Stengel from my system. Two years nursing my wounded dignity and working on my self-confidence. Now suddenly it was all being thrown in my face again. Doug’s question about me possibly quitting Mythic edged into my thoughts. But it wasn’t one of Corey’s hangouts, him being there was an anomaly because he’d been out with his uncle. I’d likely not have to see him again. Shit, I’d worked there three weeks and hadn’t even known who owned the place, and based on Barry’s nerves the night Duncan was there, he didn’t show up often either.

  Besides, quitting would make me look like a flouncy baby who actually gave a shit. I refused to let it affect me. And going back to Immunity? Working in that dance club setting where every other guy I served a drink tried to get in my pants? No. That’s how I’d gotten into trouble in the first place. I determined to tolerate the makeup and fairy wings for as long as I was able. It was about making money, and the fact that a Stengel owned the place didn’t have to matter if I didn’t let it.

  At least that’s what I told myself until I went into work later that evening. It was still pretty early, so while fairy lights twinkled in trees and fountains streamed and dragonflies flitted around serving drinks, the club was far from full yet, so I easily spotted Duncan Stengel seated at a cocktail table with Barry as I headed for the back room. The sight of Duncan took me by surprise, even startled me, and the backpack I’d brought slipped off my shoulder and thumped on the floor as I passed by his table.

  Duncan and Barry had been hunched over discussing something, but they both looked up at the sound of my grand entrance. Barry was in his motorcycle boots and a black tee with an American Flag on the front. Corey’s uncle looked just as handsome even though he wasn’t wearing a suit this night. In dark jeans and a gauzy white shirt that reminded me of something Corey would wear, light brown hair a bit less neatly styled, Duncan stared at me with those pretty eyes of his, though his amused smirk of last night was missing. His brows were raised in surprise, probably because of the loud bang my pack made hitting the floor.