Christopher Mendez

---

“Why am I doing this?”

Nobody answered my question. Maybe they were confused and thought I was referring to getting my hair re-trimmed by people who were definitely not my barber. In reality, I was referring to the fact that I was getting my hair re-trimmed by people who were definitely not my barber for a photoshoot that would eventually end up in an ad campaign for QFindr—the world’s newest queer dating app.

And I wasn’t openly that queer. In fact, my overall lack of straightness had been confined to dirty thoughts for the past decade.

Raymond was too busy watching the stylist poke and prod his hair into a slightly neater version of the messy manbun he almost always wore. He winced a little with each pull, proving that he was as tender-headed as he’d been since that day fifteen years ago when I’d accidentally shut his hair in a door. Angel—well, Sharky back then—and I had bet each other that he’d started growing it out even longer out of defiance. We’d been right.

Sighing loudly, I shifted my gaze to Angel’s reflection. He was slumped against the wall and staring at his phone. Definitely not giving even half a fuck about my plight.

“Bro, why am I doing this?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Unhelpful.”

He flicked a quick glance at me. I was being neglected by the stylist and the makeup artist because they were both too busy oohing and ahhing over Raymond’s bone structure and lips. Way to make a guy feel like the fucking chupacabra. At least I had dimples.

“I dunno what you want me to say, Chris. Why’d you decide to do a photoshoot for a gay—”

“Queer,” Raymond cut in.

“Queer dating app?”

“Because money?” I asked, scrunching my face. “What do they call it? Gay for pay?”

“Oh honey,” the stylist cooed, a dude as tall as Ray but about thirty pounds scrawnier. “That’s gay porn.”

“Huh?”

“You know . . .” He nodded his bleached white curls at me. “When you’re straight but get fucked up the ass for—”

“Whoa!” Angel protested, just as I raised my hands and said, “Dial it back there, man. I don’t get that candid until after sundown.”

Raymond of course found it hilarious. “Gay for pay sucks. You always have these dudes dramatically moaning but their dicks are limp, so you can tell they’re not into it. Worst kind of porn.”

“Mmm.” The stylist ran his fingers through Raymond’s hair again. “Feel free to tell me all about what you do like, daddy.”

“Only if you want my boyfriend to stomp you out.”

“That’s true,” I agreed. “David’s pretty hardcore for a tiny white person.”

“He’d shove that makeup pencil in your eyeball,” Angel added.

Now it was the stylist who raised his hands in surrender before quietly going back to Raymond’s hair. Apparently, he had no desire to be blinded by a cute blond with a jealous streak three boroughs wide. I’d seen David in action only a couple of times, but it had made for good reality TV. The last time, he’d shoulder-checked some guy trying to get on Raymond at the bar, dragged Ray to the bathroom, and I’d walked in on him deepthroating Raymond right there in an open stall. Why I was the one to always walk in on them was beyond me.

Ray was probably starting to think it was deliberate.

Probably because I always hung around three or thirty seconds too long and stared.

“Subject change,” I muttered. “Where’s Steph?”

Angel snorted. “Hanging out with the rich people.”

“Instead of us?”

“Pretty much.”

“Traitor,” I crowed. “Although, they prob have the good booze. I should go make nice with Ashton Townsend so I can sip champagne in his dressing room too. Maybe get on his Instagram and leech a couple million followers.”

“Go right ahead,” Raymond said scathingly. “Be a sellout.”

“I would gladly sell you out for some champagne.”

The stylist slid over to me and studied my dark hair. There wasn’t much he could do because it was cut short and my fade was fresh. Tonya and me had gone to the barber together and gotten matching stripes on opposite sides.

“You’re adorable,” the stylist said grumpily. “How are you all so fucking hot and only one of you is queer, and he’s with some jealous blond queen?”

“You’re just pretty unlucky, I guess,” I said, smiling at him in the mirror.

He raised an eyebrow. I winked. He drew the tip of his finger along the back of my neck, and I nearly leapt off the seat. Chortling, he backed towards the door.

“Have a good shoot, fellas.”

I was quiet as the makeup artist, a woman shorter than five foot who had a mohawk and an olive-green army jacket, put a bunch of shit on my face. I had no idea what kind of magical elixirs and tonics she was mixing to give me that dewy, fresh-faced telenovela look, but I looked extremely fly afterwards.

“Ray,” I said. “Serious question.”

He’d gotten to his feet and was critically glaring at his reflection. I couldn’t even tell what they’d done besides erase some of the shadows beneath his eyes. The boy worked too much.

“’S’up?” he asked, straightening.

I pointed to my face. “Do I look fuckable with all this make-up on?”

“You always look fuckable.”

My jaw dropped.

Angel sighed. “If you two start talking about fucking each other, I’m telling David.”

“Snitches get stitches,” I cautioned. “And I wanna know how come I never knew my boy thought I was fuckable.”

Raymond scoffed. “You never put two and two together even after finding out I’m bi?” When I slow blinked at him for a couple of seconds, he said, “How do you think your ass got between me and Steph so many times? She wanted to corrupt you, but I liked being able to—”

“Okay, that’s my cue.”

Angel threw up a deuce and walked out. A lightbulb went off in my brain, and I frowned at Raymond.

“Were you bullshitting just so you could see how he’d react if you mentioned our once-upon-a-time threesomes with Steph?”

“Yup.”

I punched his shoulder. “Uncool, man. I thought your pretty boy ass had really been admiring the Mendez goods. But I guess getting a rise out of him is okay too. I’m pretty sure those two are still banging. Or he’s trying and failing.”

Raymond didn’t look convinced. “They’re banging then not banging, and having drama in the process. He flipped out on me once for dancing with her on that cruise we all went on.”

“You mean the cruise where they fooled around every night in the bed across from mine, and acted like no one noticed?” I snorted at the memory. They had no chill. At all. “Yeah, they’re ridiculous.”

“They are.” Raymond started out of the dressing room. “But if he likes her, he needs to just tell her. And then accept the fact that she will probably reject him since she doesn’t do relationships.”

Great, this now sounded like even more drama. “Maybe you should tell him to stop obsessing over her and download Tinder.”

“Hell no. I’m not involved.”

“Fine. I’ll talk sense into him. Or run interference and talk to her . . .” I pulled a David and shoulder-checked him on my way out the door. “I’m still mad you used a fake compliment to piss Angel off.”

Raymond scoffed, following me to the studio. “It wasn’t fake, dumbass. Part of Stephanie’s motivation, besides wanting to corrupt you, was getting us naked and in the same room. She knew I had a crush on you back then. Way back then.”

I ignored the last part and did a little victory dance right there in the middle of the studio. Raymond laughed and smacked the back of my head. “You’re the least straight hetero I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying I give it a few months before you’re on Grindr.”

“Nah. But I never claimed to be a super-straight hetero. I just don’t know what to claim to be when I’ve never been with a guy before.”

Raymond arched an eyebrow. “Are you attracted to guys?”

I shrugged, suddenly shy about confirming what I’d been leading up to. I wasn’t even sure what I was leading up to. Sometimes I felt like a big fraud for questioning my sexuality so late in the game. Then my brain was like “fuck that shit,” and I wanted to discuss it with one of my queer Boricua friends. Unfortunately, I never got to that part. The idea of being rejected by them, or laughed at, was a little too harmful to my mental health.

“Chris,” Raymond said after a beat of silence. “You can be unsure, you know. I’ll stop calling you straight if you don’t want me to. Angel can be our hetero token.”

A grin spread over my face. “Yeah, sure, he’ll love that.”

“Maybe he’ll also get on the Grindr train and take a chance,” Raymond said. “Which, by the way, you need to do. Even if it’s just so I can watch you decipher the Grindr code words and acronyms.”

I snorted. No way. Considering how infrequently I went on dates with girls, I had little confidence in my ability to score dudes. Especially on Grindr, where men allegedly just messaged you all: let me suck your dick, daddy. I had zero doubts that I’d fuck it up and end up fully clothed and alone.

It was my curse.

If I’d been born in ancient Greece and got sent to Tartarus, not getting laid would have been my eternal punishment. Sisyphus and his rock, and me and my unsucked penis.

Raymond mushed my head again. “Snap out of it.”

“Sorry.” I shook my head and struck a vogue-like pose. “Forget your Grindr talk. Let’s do this modeling shit!”

Jace Fairbairn

---

Somewhere around the time the photographer arranged us for a group shot, the lines started blurring between the Queens crew and the Manhattan crew. I had problems wrapping my head around not being included on the Queens side.

Sure, I was poly as fuck, in an open marriage, and partook in activities at exclusive sex clubs with Manhattan’s elite, but at my core I was still the kid from Edgemere Houses in Far Rockaway. The kid who’d come up surrounded by drug dealers and drug addicts, and who’d been taken in by Aiden and his mom at fifteen. I’d been feral. I was still a little feral.

Sometimes, I wondered what my new rich friends—Ashton Townsend and Meredith Stone, the celebutantes and billionaire heirs—thought of my background. Most people I’d met after leaving the Rockaways had just assumed things. Because Aiden’s father was one of the richest people in the city, I’d found myself constantly surrounded by the mega wealthy. I also now wore designer clothes priced far above my income. As a result, I’d been labeled as yet another privileged rich guy.

I had the feeling Ashton and Mere were just too polite to ask about my past and my parents, considering the complex relationships they had with their own. Stephanie Quinones, one of the Queens crew, had pegged my accent almost as soon as I’d opened my mouth.

So had Christopher.

Chris was exactly the kind of sweetheart who got my motor running. Huge brown eyes, cute nose, dimples, and the most honest and unabashed grin I’d seen in a while. He also kept aiming it at me. And winking. Probably because I hadn’t taken my eyes off him since he’d stepped into the studio. I’d eyefucked him nonstop and promptly demanded he take a selfie with me.

Not only had he taken the selfie, he’d let me crawl into his lap and cuddle against him while we did so. He’d smelled delicious. And the fact that he’d joked and teased me, complimented my long hair? I was infatuated. Plenty of guys hit on me. Few flirted so sweetly.

Good Jace was whispering at me to leave this poor hetero man alone.

Evil Jace hissed: Must. Destroy.

Decisions decisions. I texted Aiden.

Jace: Do you want a threeway with a cute boy?

Aiden: The photographer, makeup artist, and stylist are all on QFindr payroll.

Jace: Wow.

Aiden: What

Jace: You assuming I want to fuck one of your stupid employees. We’ve had this conversation a million times and it was YOU, sir, who got drunk on the Fourth of July and made out with Clive. Your lawyer.

Aiden: lol you right

Jace: Sooooo. Cute boy? Threeway?

Aiden: who

I sent him the picture of me and Chris. He was grinning against my cheek and holding me against his chest. He was only a few inches taller than me, but his body was tight and compact and he had the cutest fucking dimples.

Aiden: He’s into it? Thought he was straight.

Jace: Honey. You know I don’t approach a playmate before I settle with you <3

Aiden: Good boy. But. Uhhh. Idk. I mean I’d love to fuck him, but I’m pretty sure he’s straight? Don’t wanna proposition one of the Rodriguez’s friends unless I know for sure they won’t be offended.

Jace: Babe.

Aiden: what

Jace: If he was straight, why the hell would he be at this damn photoshoot? That’s why their other friend, Angel, didn’t participate. He knew QFindr wanted it to be a queer campaign for a queer product full of queer models. No straight boys no matter how cute.

Aiden: No Nick Jonas effect?

Jace: Basically. There’s no way Chris is straight. I reject the possibility!

Aiden: or you could like ask

Jace: Omg. Fine. But, if he’s open minded enough to be plastered all over the city on a queer advertisement, I have faith he won’t tantrum. So I’ll ask.

Aiden: sounds like a plan. I look forward to tearing that ass up.

Jace: I look forward to watching.

Aiden: oh shit before I forget, can you stop by Rite-Aid and bring me some contact solution?

Jace: -_-

Aiden: come on

Jace: Just wear your glasses!

Aiden: fuck that they make me look old

Jace: You are old.

Aiden: ill remember that tonight when you come in trying to get dicked down when im already dead asleep

Jace: NOOOOOOO I was kidding!

Aiden: contact solution

Jace: FINE. I love you.

Aiden: love you too

“Jace!”

The photographer gave me a slightly impatient look. It took everything in my power not to glare back in response. I’d learned a long time ago to respond to rudeness with uncharacteristic kindness or else people would trigger Evil Jace, who did not care that he was only 5’3” and barely a buck twenty soaking wet. Evil Jace would start a ruckus and make sure everyone got in on the fight.

But this photoshoot was for Aiden’s new company, so I smiled sickly sweet while wishing Mr. Photog would die.

My hostility only simmered down after I realized I was doing a set of photos with Charles Jovanovic and Chris. Charles was gorgeous in a vaudeville type of way, but we were so much alike that we’d both identified that it would be dangerous to spend a lot of time together. Whereas I’d learned to channel my rage and control myself, Charles was a firecracker with a wild temper. It was way too easy to feed into that and start showing those characteristics myself.

The photographer instructed Chris to pose a couple of feet away while peering at the QFindr app on his phone while Charles and I stood with our own phones in hand, gazing at him and smirking. I made sure to position myself closest to Chris. Because why not?

“Okay,” the photographer said. “Pretend you guys met him on QFindr and now you’re all about to hookup for the first time.”

Chris cocked his head. “But there’s three of us.”

Oh.

Oh no.

That poor baby.

Charles clapped his hands and hooted so loud his voice could probably be heard down on Broadway. It was only then that understanding dawned on Chris’ face.

“Ooooohh . . .”

I leaned in, patting his shoulder, and said right in his ear, “No worries, boo. All-dude threesomes are my area of expertise. I know where everything fits, and I’ll be gentle.”

His eyes grew large, but other than a slight tensing of his shoulders . . . there were no other signs of discomfort. He didn’t jolt away, sneer, or narrow his eyes with hostility. All he did was scan my face as if checking my level of seriousness, arch an eyebrow, and then shrug.

“Does that mean I get two dudes buying me dinner first?” he asked. “Because that’s what’s up.”

Charles fell on the floor laughing, and I couldn’t help joining him.

Evil Jace was definitely going to get his way.