Page 41 of The Photograph

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“You fucking asshole.”

The thick-accented voice comes from behind Carlos, and suddenly his hand is no longer on me as he’s wrenched round by a rough-looking guy with a shaved head. I tuck myself away as fast as I can.

“Thought you could dump that shit on me and I wouldn’t notice?” the guy snarls, face like an impending tornado.

Carlos holds up his hands. “I don’t know what you mean, Salim.”

And suddenly there’s a gap, a space on one side of Carlos, opening up a path between me and the door and before I can overthink it, I bolt for it. Turning right as soon as I hit the corridor and shouldering through the only door I can see. Maybe I should have gone out through the bar given Carlos is in the restroom right now. I groan to myself. Will the mistakes of this night never end? On my left, an old guy is piling glasses into an industrial dishwasher.

“Is there a way out of here?” I say.

He jerks his chin at a door on the opposite side of the room, propped open to the night air, and my heart soars as I shoot across the floor, stumbling out into an alley with a strong stench of rotting vegetables and vomit.

“Hey!” I hear as the door slams shut behind me, and I jump over some trash and hurry past several dumpsters toward the lights of the main street at the end of the alleyway.

When I get to the street, I look right toward the bar first, and my heart nearly stops at the group of men standing around by the front door talking to the two guys I saw on my way in. Fuck.Don’t think, Alex, just go. I take off at a run. There’s a shout behind me, and my heart shoots into the red zone as I realize how hampered I am by my suit. I’ve never been so glad of all the track I did at school and running since.

I only dare look back when I’m two blocks away, but no one is following me, and I suck a huge breath in, jogging over the intersection as I scan for a cab, lungs bursting. And God, I’m the luckiest guy alive because a yellow cab light appears down the street. He pulls over for my frantically waving arm and I collapse into the back seat.

“Penn Station,” I say. I’m miles uptown but I don’t care how much it costs.I’m safe. I’m fucking safe.

The streetlights wash over the car in pools of dark and light as I stare out the window at the blur of illuminated shopfronts zipping past. When I glance at my watch, I’m shocked to see I was only in there an hour. How could all that have happened in an hour? Without a doubt, the worst hour of my life.

Could I be any more stupid? I just randomly met someone from Grindr. But maybe the whole scene works like this, and I’m just the odd fish out of water. And who could I have called tonight if this had gotten worse? I’ve always felt my family were close, but this … this wouldn’t generate any sympathy or understanding at all.

I can still feel the soft give of Des’s lips under mine at the club and afterward before I dived into the subway, thrilled. But isthiswhat he’s doing when he’s hooking up? My stomach hollows out and I sag back into the plastic seats as the storefronts blur into a meaningless jumble.

18

DES

When I meet Alex at lunchtime at Westville, my mind is a wild scramble of software, grumpy staff, and George.

It’s one of those wonderful end-of-April, heading-into-summer days in New York, warm enough to sit outside but without the grinding heat. Sunlight dances over Alex’s gleaming nut-brown curls, and I lean back a little in my chair on the sidewalk blowing out a long breath. The East River is glimmering beyond him, and God, I love working and living downtown. The thick bustle of trading during the day and the peace and quiet at night. No one really wants to live in this area, and that’s fine by me. I can go elsewhere for exciting nightlife and come back to my calm apartment in the evenings and at weekends. Wall Street on a Sunday is a bliss of empty buildings. I’m still bowled over that Alex works about ten blocks away from me and we can meet up, with him in his sharp suit that exposes his ankles. His very sexy ankles. One of which sports a tattoo.

But as my eyes scan over him, I realize he looks … vaguely sick?

“How’s your tech report coming along?” I ask, trying to pull my head into the game.

Alex studies me over the wire frames of his glasses. “It’s taking me too long. I’m surprised they haven’t hassled me more about it. Whatever, it’s nearly finished.” His voice is oddly clipped.

Why is he not meeting my eyes?“Is work okay?”

He nods and I chew my lip. “I went out to Crush again last night with some friends,” I add.

“How was it?” he says.

That’s it? No surprise or ribbing about going two nights in a row?

I study him for a second. Is this the right time to tell him about George? Initially, I’d thought they’d meet at some future unknown point, but now I don’t want to do that. And I clearly wasn’t thinking, like,at all. I would have said George was a close friend, but is he? His view of our relationship seems completely different from mine.

My gaze lands on the tumble of Alex’s hair and his cherry lips … They were soft and warm like velvet over mine when we went to Crush. And the idea of tangling my tongue with his, of pushing him back on a bed and … Goosebumps break out across my arms. How much am I enjoying taking this slow? Despite everything and my occasional bouts of horniness when I’m drunk, it’s ridiculous how good this feels. But I do need to stop thinking about his body, his clothes, his … his …every bit of him.

“Turned into a bit of a nightmare, actually,” I say.

“Did you hook up?”

---