The memories of a beautiful blonde with an infectious laugh who was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, who could have been someone’s wife, someone’s mother, haunted his every waking thought just as much as she haunted his dreams. But that was a secret he kept to himself because if Michael knew he still had nightmares about Amanda and the accident, he’d demand Chris start seeing Dr. Shwarma again. Truth be told though, he actually kind of missed his sessions with her, and he made a mental note to call her office on Monday and make an appointment.
Colton sniffled, his grip on Chris’s hand tightening. “Oh my God, Chris, that is probably the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. How could everyone just push you out of their lives like that? Your parents, your friends? I don’t understand.” And then the waterworks started.
Chris reached for him, pulling Colton close, fighting back tears. “It’s okay, Col. I messed up and I own that. Besides, I’ve still got Michael and Max, and now you.”
Colton snorted, extricating himself from Chris’s grasp, taking the napkin Michael held out to blow his nose. “Do you have a picture of her? Of Amanda?” he asked.
Chris nodded and reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out his wallet to remove the almost worn-out snapshot of him with Amanda on his back after they won the State Championships in 2009.
“Oh wow, she is beautiful, isn’t she? Almost pretty enough to turn a gay boy straight, I’d say,” Colton joked, laughing when Chris shoved him playfully. He saw Michael reaching for the folded-up flyer from Club Berlin that was sitting underneath his wallet a few seconds too late, his best friend snatching the piece of paper before Chris could.
“What’s this?” Michael unfolded the piece of paper. He read the words, his head snapping up, angry eyes boring into Chris. “What the fuck is this, Chris?” Michael demanded.
Chris reached for the paper, but Michael jerked his hand away, refusing to let it go. “No, tell me why you have this. You can’t possibly be considering this?” The question hung in the air, thick and stifling.
Chris placed his hands on the table, palms down, and glared right back at his friend. “It’s just an idea, Michael. Don’t get all worked up, okay? I haven’t decided if I’m even going to do it yet.”
Max plucked the flyer out of his boyfriend’s hand and looked it over, reading it out loud:
“All Cocks all-male model website is looking for new talent, blah-blah-blah. All Cocks INC. is just that, all cocks twenty-four seven for one of the industry’s leading all-male websites that is redefining the world of pornography with top-notch models and intriguing simulations of a graphic sexual nature between consenting adult males. If you are interested in auditioning for one of our openings, please call the number below to set up a one-on-one consultation. Note: While being a homosexual or bisexual male is preferred, it is not a requirement. At All Cocks INC. we take pride in employing gay-for-pay models as well.”
He didn’t bother to read the phone number, website link, and email address in small print at the bottom of the flyer out loud. Max whistled and shook his head, then grinned at Chris. Michael snatched the paper out of his hand and tore it in half. Chris didn’t even blink—he’d read over it and considered it so many times, the information was already committed to memory. Thankfully it was his back, not his brain that was broken in the wreck.
“Michael, I’m unemployed, broke, and all but homeless. If it weren’t for you and Max letting me stay here and the inheritance money from my grandfather, I’d be on the streets.” Chris tried to make his friend see his reasoning for considering this alternative for employment.
“Dammit, Chris, you can sleep on our couch forever,” Michael barked.
Max shook his head, murmuring, “Oh, hell no,” and Chris laughed out loud.
“Stop it, both of you. I’m being serious here. You are straight, Chris. You are not a bigot or a homophobe, but if you do this, you will have to have sex with another man. You realize that, right?”
Chris ran his hand down his face and sighed, trying to find the right words. “Look, I haven’t decided anything yet, okay? You’re right, I don’t know if I can, but I’ve been doing some online research, and there are a lot of guys that just model nude and jack off on-camera for these sites. It’s not as big of a payday as the sex is, but it’s better than nothing right now, Michael. Besides, I’m sure if I decide to take it up the ass, you can give me a few pointers.” Chris said the last part playfully, and Michael finally relaxed a little, laughing at him.
“No way! You can ask Max or Colton, but don’t come knocking on my door for a beginner class in Gay Sex 101,” his best friend teased.
Colton’s hand shot up in the air, his body vibrating; it was hysterical. “Oh, oh! Pick me, pick me!”
Chris knocked his hand away. “Cut that out.”
“Boo!” Colton pouted, sticking out his bottom lip.
Crisis averted, they finally dug into their now-cold burgers, washing them down with warm beer while Max and Colton tried to one-up each other with filthy gay sex jokes. Chris noticed Michael staring at the torn flyer a couple of times, and then looking in his direction. Hopefully Michael and Max would go straight to bed when Colton left, and Chris would have the time alone to weigh all the pros and cons—to decide if this truly was the right decision for him. It was a lot to think about, of that there was no doubt, but it was a choice Chris had to make for himself. Deep down he knew Michael would respect that, whether he liked it or not.
Chapter Four
Leave the Baggage
Shoving the apartment door open, Linc tossed his keys onto the bar, hoping he scratched the marble countertop. “Asshat, serves you right,” he cursed, grabbing the Minky blanket off the couch. It was something Lance had given him that he’d be taking. He couldn’t help it—the soft as satin, weighted blanket was the only Christmas present from his now ex-boyfriend that was worth a shit.
Coming home early from his vacation to surprise his boyfriend, walking in on him with one of Linc’s coworkers, Kory, bent over their couch, Lance fucking him from behind—well, that was a present he wished he could return. Linc closed his eyes, holding the blanket up to his nose and inhaling the crisp, clean smell of the laundry soap Lance used. Fucking hell, he wanted to turn back time to when they first moved in together. At the time, Lance was still attentive and loving, not a cheating bastard who blamed his wandering eyes on Linc’s job.
“Linc, for fuck’s sake, if you’re going to stand around sniffing blankets, I’m out of here.” Dusty dropped several empty boxes on the floor, glaring at him. One of his fellow models on the All Cocks site, Linc and Dusty had become great friends over the past year, spending time together at the house on the Sound. A mutual love of baseball, horror movies, and eighties music gave them lots to do and talk about.