Page 1 of Xtasy

CHAPTER ONE

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, A. I know you. We grew up together. Best friends since kindergarten. Surely by now you’ve learned that you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. Be honest. You won’t do it because you’re chickenshit.” Megan laughed. “Everybody’s got to be good at something, love. If you want to spend your entire life being chickenshit, who am I to question you?” Megan plopped the pamphlet down on the table—the one she’d brought home, suggesting Atlas give erotic modeling a chance.

Atlas rolled his eyes and tried to remember what exactly had been going through his head when he’d agreed to let Megan, his dearest friend that never ever knew when to shut her mouth and mind her own business, move into his apartment. Had he been drunk? Could he plead temporary insanity and have her evicted? No, Megan was right, he was terrified of confrontations, changes, or anything else that interrupted his normal routine. Anyway, he couldn’t be nearly as bad as she was letting on.

“I’m not chickenshit.” Atlas checked his watch. “Where is that stupid Chinese food? I’m starved to death and maybe, just maybe, you’ll stop griping at me if you have food in your mouth.”

“Should get here any minute,” she answered. “Tell me, did you order the chicken?” Megan batted her fake eyelashes and grinned at him.

Thankfully, Atlas was given a short reprieve when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of their dinner. He jumped up and made a dash for the door—anything to get away from Megan’s never-ending judging him over his, in her words, total lack of spontaneity or stepping out of his comfort zone. His best friend was crazy. He was the most spontaneous person he knew. Not.

“Thanks for the order, Mr. A,” the delivery guy said as soon as he opened the door. “I love Mondays and Fridays because I can always count on your order. My girlfriend lives in one of the lower-level apartments and I get to sneak in a few kisses, thanks to you!”

Ouch. He didn’t order Chinese every Monday and Friday…did he? He did. “Good for you, man,” he answered because the kid was so damn excited. “Hey, they didn’t forget the edamame, did they? I’m not crazy about it, but Megan loves the stuff.”

A look of horror crossed his face. “Uh…there’s no edamame,” he stammered. “You never order that, Mr. A. For the past two years, it’s been the same order. I bet the cooks never even checked it. I’m sorry, man. Do you want me to go pick some up and bring it back to you?”

“No, that’s okay. Shit happens.” Atlas looked back to see if Megan was listening. She seemed to be engrossed in whatever she was doing on her phone. Not to take any chances, he slipped out into the hall and eased the door closed. “Listen, Tanner, do I seriously order the same meal every Monday and Friday?” Surely, he didn’t? He remembered scouring the menu before placing each and every order.

Tanner laughed. “Like clockwork, Mr. A. We wished all our customers were like you. Same days. Same meals. Same time.” He laughed even harder. “Hell, your Prius is always parked in the same spot when I pull in for delivery. You’re the easiest customer we have! At the restaurant, they refer to you as a VPP.”

“Do you mean VIP?” Atlas asked in confusion.

“No, VPP—Very Predictable Person. We love those.” Tanner blushed before adding, “I mean, you’re a VIP, too!”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks. Here’s your tip. Go show your girl a good time but stay safe.”

“Dude, you and I are both in our twenties! We aren’t supposed to worry about staying safe, we’re supposed to focus on having a good time. Lighten up, Mr. A! See you on Monday!”

“Monday, my ass,” Atlas muttered as he grabbed up the bag and let himself back into his apartment. He was twenty-seven years old. He lived in a luxurious penthouse apartment in Kips Bay, Manhattan. His savings account was nice and plump. He had a cushy job. It might not be his dream job, but it paid all the bills with some padding left over.

His life was good.

Empty.

Fuck, his life was empty. Boring. Stale.

“What’s wrong with you?” Megan asked with a frown as soon as she looked up to see him standing next to her, bag in hand. “Please tell me they didn’t fuck up your General Tso’s Chicken, white rice instead of fried, extra soy sauce, and an egg roll.”

“Nope. They fucked up your order. And it makes me happy,” Atlas growled in frustration. “I bought the food, so you go get the plates. And stop picking on me. I think my feelings are hurt.”

“You think,” she snorted as she went to gather the plates. “Wine?”

“Yup, please.”

“Red or white?” She giggled. “Wait, I know. White!”

“Asshole.”

“Honey, my ass sees more action than yours, and I’m not a gay man! That’s what I’m worried about. You need to step out on a ledge. Shake things up. Hell, A, you haven’t had sex with anybody other than your own hand since you graduated from college. I can only imagine how bad a lay Trevor was, but you can’t let him ruin sex for you. When it’s good, it’s really fucking good. When it’s mediocre, it’s still good. Give somebody else a try.”

“Not discussing my sex life with you, Meg.” He forked out his General Tso’s onto the antique china his grandmother had left him.Fuck, he had antique china. What kind of man served take-out on antique china? He looked around his penthouse, trying to see it through someone else’s eyes. No, definitely not a bachelor pad. Hell, not even a cool gay man’s pad. He thought about those commercials where the man tried to train people not to become their parents. While he would never admit it out loud to her, Meg might be right. He was a total bore.

“You don’t have a sex life. That’s what I’m trying to work on!”

“I thought you wanted me to audition for a modeling job, not become a prostitute.” His eyes narrowed. “What exactly does this friend of yours do, Meg?”

“He takes pictures. Provocative pictures. Nudes. He’s had two gallery openings, one in San Francisco and one in Canada, and they were both smashing successes. I know you don’t need the money, but it could be like a little Boy Scout badge of success for you. Atlas Mosley, sex with only a handful of partners at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, goes for the gold by stepping out of his comfort zone and taking a walk on the wild side for the first time in his young life.”

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