Page 8 of Sweeter

“You seem like your hair,” he half-shouts.

“Curly?”

“No.” Will moves closer and the music swells, all bass and reverb guitar pushing toward the chorus, and my heart swells. It’s a cliché, but that’s how I feel, big and gold and expansive. Will wraps his arms around my lower back and heat zings between us. He’s warm in that way some people are. Like they carry sunshine inside their skin. He bends, his mouth near enough for a secret.“You seem like you do whatever you want but you always slip through things and come out perfect on the other side.”

It’s strange, but it makes perfect sense. Like poetry. Or art. I smile into his shoulder. “You’re an unusual tech bro, William Faulkner.”

He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“No, I like it. Promise.”

Will doesn’t look reassured. “So, no sugar babying?” he asks, clearly needing the conversation to push forward.

“No. I’ve never slept with someone I’m not attracted to, and I don’t think I can start now.”

Another pulse of energy moves between us and I know we’re thinking the same thing—what if youwereattracted to them? Now I’m the one who needs the conversation back on solid ground. I’ve got no problem with sex work or sugar babying, but if this beautiful, interesting guy offered me money to sleep with him, I’d freak out. I mean, isn’t it enough that he’s warped my brain?

“I told you my story. How about yours?”

“I can’t. I’ll sound like a whiny rich asshole.”

I pull him closer. His arm is so action man hard, I’m tempted to squeeze it. He still smells like the spit bucket at a vineyard, but it doesn’t matter. He’s officially the hottest guy I’ve ever touched. “Being mean to yourself doesn’t put cash in my Patreon. Besides, I’m a stranger, what do you have to lose?”

He smiles, a little warmth returning to his eyes. “Okay, since we’re strangers, you can have the compact version—five years ago, I’m a graphic designer living inMissouri, still friends with the people I went to school with, cute girlfriend, baseball on Fridays. A normal fucking life.”

I try not to lag on ‘cute girlfriend.’ “Then Hellfire?”

“Then Hellfire. Everything gets brighter. Louder. Felix and I are living in LA with twenty people working under us. My girlfriend’s gone, I never call my mom and I’m drinking all the time, but at least shit’s interesting, you know?”

I don’t, but I can imagine. Big parties, new friends, a bank balance that absorbs every punch you throw at it. How many times have I dreamed about that future? Making ceramics all day and soaking in pleasure at night. Jealousy pricks me, then I remember this is Will’s story and not one with a happy ending. “What next?”

“We sell the app and I’ve got no reason to go anywhere or do anything. Everything starts to feel pointless.” He gives a pained laugh. “Felix and I try to work on some new shit, but nothing sticks, so I did something dumb.”

“Get really into bongo drums?”

“Dumber. I moved back to my hometown.”

I wince.

“Yeah.” His smile becomes pure aluminum. “My friends called me ‘Buffet,’ my ex told anyone who’d listen that I’m a selfish asshole, and I couldn’t buy a coffee without my third-grade teacher asking for a loan.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, turns out you can’t shove a crowbar into the past and jimmy your way back in. So, I moved here because Felix moved here and I still kinda like snowboarding, but…”

“What?”

“You’re gonna hate this, but everything bores me.”

I gape at him. “You can’t be serious?”

“I told you you’d hate it.”

The battery acid in his voice says he’s not kidding but I can’t make the idea click. “Everythingbores you? Coffee on cold mornings? Movies? Sunsets? Peanut butter crackers? Birds chirping? The way little kids run?”

Will shrugs. “Eh.”

I want to slap him. I settle for a poke in the chest. “How dare you be bored by life! How is that possible?”

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