Page 3 of Top Shelf
But when it was all over, he just…left. He didn’t look back, he didn’t offer his number. He slipped through the side door with his heavy limp and the soft sound of his cane tip clinking on the polished floor.
And that was that.
I was never going to hear from him again.
But a few days after the photoshoot ended, Cosmo added me to a group chat of nearly everyone who had been on set that day, and it almost felt like some kind of mentor program combined with a sibling group text. I scrolled the names, and my heart did a double take when I saw Quinn on the list, but after spending an embarrassing three hours looking at old messages, I saw Quinn had only replied twice. And both times were one-word answers.
So at least it wasn’t just me he’d gone silent with. And hell, I couldn’t blame him either. I wasn’t the most social person in a room—digital or otherwise—full of people.
I couldn’t bring myself to talk much in the chat. Or, well, ever. Every time I typed out a response or a question, I second-, third-, and fourth-guessed myself until I just hit Delete, closed the app, then buried my face in my pillow and silent-screamed until my lungs hurt.
But that didn’t last.
One night, in a fit of anxiety over what my life was going to look like after school was over and I was forced to step out ontoprofessional ice with, you know, cameras and shit watching, I word-vomited my entire relationship existential crisis. Minus the virgin thing because I wasn’t ready to come out aboutthatyet. But my fingers got ahead of my rational brain, and right after hitting Send, I prayed for some kind of helpful answer.
Or, if not, that they wouldn’t spend the rest of my life mocking me.
Me: So yeah, how do you even handle relationships when you’re so busy all the time? I mean, do I wait? Do I date? Does it even matter? Is all of this reasonable? How can I be with someone if I’m never around to spend time with them? If I’m being annoying, please ignore me.
Brayden: Don’t put yourself in a box, man. Your rookie year you’re supposed to be having fun.
Colton: You’re overthinking it. You’re never annoying, okay? And I will kick anyone’s ass who makes you think that. Got it, chat? Now, go crochet me a dragon.
Cosmo: Breathe, dude. Even if you do date, you don’t need to propose to anyone. It’s not that deep. Rookie years are for playing hard and having fun. Just like the frat house, right?
Me: I guess that sounds reasonable, yeah.
Except that didn’t help with my problem at all or answer any questions. I could have fun—yeah. That was easy enough. But meeting people? Dating? Having sex? It seemed like an alien world full of a language I didn’t speak.
Then, two minutes later, I had a private message from someone I never thought I’d hear from again.
Quinn: I’m in Boston soon if you want to get together and talk about this sort of thing. I know pretty much all there is to know about maintaining relationships while being an active player.
That’s when my heart nearly stopped beating in my chest. Quinn had been kind to me at the shoot and had spoken to me more than he had anyone else, but the idea that he was offering to spend time with me while he was here was wild.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the photoshoot ended. His memory had me in a damn chokehold. It was the way he’d leaned in close to me, and the way he not-quite but almost smiled at me every time our eyes met. And he didn’t make me feel like I was annoying at all. He even let me help him when he had to do a pose sitting down and had trouble getting back up.
He had a commanding air about him—like he would be really, really good at telling people what to do, and that made me feel all hot around the collar.
And in the pants.
I hoped to fuck I’d done my best not to show that during the shoot, and maybe I succeeded because otherwise why would this literal god of a man want to meet up with me and talk?
Haha, it most definitely wasn’t because of my shining, socially functional personality. It was very much likely out of pity, which I could deal with so long as he didn’t know that I’d gotten hard watching him take off his shirt and flex his pecs for the camera.
Christ, I needed to stop thinking about that.
Me: Uh. Yeah we can do that.
Quinn: This is my number. Text me so I have yours.
It wasn’t a request, and my mouth got all dry, and my crotch got all hot and uncomfortable. But I did what he said. It was very, very easy to do what he said. I waited with my heart in my mouth, resting between my teeth as I saw text bubbles pop up, then disappear, then pop up again.
Me: Hi. Um. This is me.
Me: Ferris, I mean.
Me: You probably knew that.
