Page 45 of Steam

“Are you kidding? Is that a joke?” The man is smiling, gently stroking his hip. “Booting you out would’ve been the worst mistake of my life. I’m incredibly lucky that you’re as pushy as you are.”

“Agreed,” Henry says.

“I’d like to go back in time to kick my own ass for risking it,” Logan says.

Henry laughs at that.

“Jesus, I wouldn’t take it that far.”

“I would,” Logan says seriously before cracking a smile.

Henry has no idea what to make out of this change of pace, the client going suddenly charming at the end of the night.

“Do you want something to drink?” Logan asks. “Something to eat? A towel?”

“You could point me towards a bathroom and tell me where to get a glass of water,” Henry says, “but other than that, I’m self sufficient.”

“The bathroom is right through there,” Logan says, pointing to the doorway. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

Henry pads to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

When Henry comes out, Logan is no longer in the bedroom. The soiled comforter has disappeared, and folded on the edge of the crisp bed sheets are Henry’s clothes. His sneakers are on the ground, and a glass of ice water sits on the nightstand.

* * *

Henry comesdown the stairs fully dressed, carrying the empty water glass. Logan is sitting on a bar stool waiting for him.

“You’re sure you don’t want anything to eat? You don’t have to eat it here,” he offers.

“You gonna pack me lunch in a brown paper bag?” Henry says, rolling his eyes. Logan shrugs.

Logan isn’t sure what to say now. He’d love to invite Henry to stay longer, but he knows Eric is somewhere below, waiting on his client. He’s got no idea what comes next.

“Can I call for you again, Henry?” he ventures, thinking about Max and Wyatt, the years-long companionship they’d shared, thinking about selfies in nice restaurant booths and more. If he’s lucky.

Henry smiles easily.

“Of course, Jesus,” Henry says. The boy crosses the living room, digging his hand into the pocket of his jacket. He returns to Logan and presses a card into his hand.

“You won’t have to go through Eric again, unless you want to,” Henry says. “Or unless you want someone else—”

“Yeah, no,” Logan says, cutting him off. “I won’t be calling anyone else.”

Henry puts on his coat and Logan looks down to the card in his hands.

It’s simple, heavy stock. All it says is “Henry Reese,” with a phone number underneath.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Henry Reese,” Logan says.

“Yeah,” Henry says. “A pleasure to meet you, Logan…”

“Miller. Logan Miller. So, what, do we shake hands now, or?”

There’s a moment of hesitation in the call boy’s eyes, a calculation.

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