Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“He’s great. But back to you. Are you fucking him?”
“Okay, we’re done here. I gotta run. I’m going to be late for work and—”
“That’s a yes.” Rory sighed theatrically. “Justin, what are you doing? If you’re romantically involved with the guy who’s tied to a project where you’re being asked to sell a piece of your soul, chances are he’s got something to do with it. I could be wrong. I obviously don’t know the guy. How are you gonna feel after you cash a check for a bogus love song? Sounds like dirty money and a big fuckin’ setup. Just like that night at Carmine’s. You walked out before she made a fool of you. You won’t be able to walk away from a song on a movie soundtrack. If it’s something you’re proud of, that’s great. But I know you. You get caught up in the moment, Jus. Make sure you know exactly what’s going on before you sign your name on something you’ll regret.”
“You’re a fuckin’ downer.”
“I’m a realist and usually you are too. What did Tegan say about it?”
I winced as I straightened from the wall and started down the street toward Vibes. “He doesn’t know yet.”
A cat meowed loudly from his side, no doubt saving me from a major lecture. “Even Buttons thinks you’re a dumb shit. Christ, Justin. Get your act together. Be honest. Brutally honest if you have to be. With Tegan, Johnny, Ky…but mostly with yourself. Figure it out before something goes sideways. Oh, and one more thing. Call Mom. I ran into Agnes, the checkout lady at the YMCA. She was dropping off her grandson for camp and asked if Mom was okay. She said she looks thinner than normal. Mom’s already too skinny. Will you check on her?”
“Yeah. Of course,” I assured him.
Rory changed the topic to a recipe he’d tried for Christian, who’d just come home from his evening class. I appreciated the lighthearted banter after his whammy of realness. But the second we hung up, anxiety ate a hole in my stomach. Gray, Tegan, a contract and a real shot for Zero…and my mother. Great. Just what I needed before working a five-hour shift where smiling was actually part of my job description.
I cranked an old Led Zeppelin tune and hightailed it down San Vicente to the heart of West Hollywood, LA’s gay mecca. Everything in this section of town was fabulous. From the rainbow-painted crosswalk at San Vicente and Santa Monica Boulevard to the rainbow Route 66 sign. There were dozens of chic bistros, gay bars, and clubs within walking distance, and many of them had an upscale ambience that seemed to suggest that this was where the A-list queer crowd hung out.
Vibes was nestled between a dry cleaner who charged an ungodly sum per shirt and a fancy ice cream shop where Instagrammers and Hollywood wannabees posed for selfies with bougie ice cream cones. That was SoCal for you. I supposed people who spent ten dollars on a double scoop wouldn’t blink at paying twice that to clean their designer duds. I never pictured myself living in WeHo. Yeah, I was bi, but I wasn’t fabulous. And some days, I didn’t think I was cool enough. But I loved the energy here. Under the glossy exterior was a sense of unapologetic pride that encouraged free speech and self-expression. It wasn’t gritty or raw, but living and working in WeHo was a good opportunity to explore and truly embrace the gay part of being bi. And it didn’t get much gayer than Vibes.
I nodded in greeting at the security guard and gave him a fist bump as he opened the back door for me. I could never remember his name. Ronny or Ricky or something. He was a big guy with short dark hair, a potbelly, and a birthmark covering one side of his face. We’d bonded over our Latino heritage on a cigarette break once. It must have been enough to seal a friendship, because none of the other bartenders got the nod and the fist bump.
I stopped by the employee break room to drape my jacket and T-shirt over a chair before heading into the club, bare-chested and ready to pour. A steady dance beat pumped through the speakers, getting louder as I moved along the darkened corridors to the main floor. A decent-sized crowd bopped to electronic music under a rainbow glitter disco ball, but I knew from experience that it would be a scene within a couple of hours. Thursday was an honorary weekend night around these parts.
“Look who decided to show up.”
Garrett softened his annoyed once-over with a flirty wink when I slid behind the bar. He was a beautiful African American model with short cropped hair, high cheekbones, and startling green eyes. He was six two, lean, and toned to perfection. Garrett was one of those weirdos addicted to spin classes and juice drinks. He claimed he only worked here to pay for his acting classes, but I had a feeling he was a victim of the LA lifestyle. Exclusive gym memberships, designer jeans, and BMW leases cost big bucks.