The first thing Ted noticed when he woke up was the heat.
The second was the erection. Neither was particularly unusual for a Tuesday morning in July, although at least one of them could be blamed on the weather.
He lay on his back, naked except for the sheet tangled around one ankle, and stared at the ceiling fan turning lazily above him. It was doing very little to move the thick summer air around his bedroom. Through the open window came the familiar sounds of downtown Toronto. Traffic along Wellesley Street echoed between the buildings to the north, creating a steady wash of white noise he had long since stopped noticing. From somewhere to the south came the distant rattle of a streetcar, and someone having what sounded like a deeply personal disagreement with a garbage truck.
Ted stretched then reached for his phone, and squinted at the screen.
09:17 a.m.
He switched off Do Not Disturb, watching the irritating little crescent moon disappear from the screen.
Three notifications popped up.
One from his bank.
One from Marcus.
And one from a man whose name he had saved as Alex Gym, despite having absolutely no recollection of which gym Alex belonged to. Ted’s Greatlife membership gave him access to several locations across the city, and he regularly visited three of them. That made identifying Alex considerably more difficult than it should have been.
He opened the last notification first.
ALEX Gym: Had fun the other night. You disappeared on me. 😉
Ted frowned.
The other night?
He clicked the profile picture.
Ah. That Alex.
Broad shoulders. Dark beard. Lovely ass. He remembered the ass considerably better than he remembered the conversation.
TED: Haha! Sorry Stud. Got distracted.
He added a wink because it seemed appropriate, then opened his banking notification.
Available balance: $11.27.
"Well, that's fucking tragic."
He dropped the phone onto his chest.
Eleven dollars and twenty-seven cents.
At twenty-five years old.
With a university education.
And rent is due in less than three weeks.
He had spent the previous evening telling himself that things weren't actually that bad. He wasn't in debt to anyone dangerous, wasn't facing eviction, and wasn't entirely without prospects. He had finished his degree, and there was a possibility of finding something in an office somewhere, perhaps one of those jobs where people wore lanyards, took several trips to the local coffee shops and talked about deliverables. The trouble was that none of those possibilities had yet produced a paycheque.
His phone vibrated again.
MARCUS: Bitch are you alive?
Ted smiled.
TED: Unfortunately.
MARCUS: Trinity Bellwoods this afternoon? Danish's coming. Few others maybe.
TED: I'm poor. Also, who is Danish?
MARCUS: You've been poor since graduation.
TED: And yet you continue to discriminate against me.
MARCUS: I'll pack you a beer. Stop being dramatic. I’ll introduce you when you get here.
Ted considered his options.
He could stay home, stare at his laptop, and apply for jobs he didn't want.
Or he could go to the park, drink someone else's beer, and spend the afternoon surrounded by attractive men in shorts.
It wasn't a difficult decision.
TED: Fine. What time?
MARCUS: Two-ish.
TED: Define ish.
MARCUS: Just get your ass out here.
That was Marcus.
Ted had known him for several years, long enough to understand that punctuality was a concept Marcus considered more of a suggestion than a requirement. They had met through Toronto's gay nightlife, at a birthday gathering where neither of them knew the birthday boy particularly well. By the end of the evening, they'd bonded over a mutual dislike of the music, an appreciation for the bartender, and the discovery that they lived within walking distance of one another. They later discovered that they attended the same university, although in different programs. What started as an unlikely encounter between two slightly drunk strangers developed into a genuine friendship.
Their friendship had survived a number of drunken nights, questionable hookups, and one particularly unfortunate incident involving a borrowed Halloween costume.
Marcus was the sort of friend who could be counted on to show up when it mattered, even if he couldn't be counted on to arrive on time.
Ted valued that.
He also valued Marcus's willingness to supply him with beer.
Especially today.
∞
Ted finally dragged himself out of bed shortly before ten.
The apartment was small but comfortable, and he had made a reasonable effort to keep it looking like an adult lived there. A low, boneless sofa, more oversized cushion than actual furniture, occupied most of the living room, resting on a thin but surprisingly fluffy carpet. Both had been ordered from Amazing.com, a website Ted considered one of humanity’s greatest achievements. A television sat opposite the couch, connected to a gaming computer he'd assembled over several years and now regarded as one of his more sensible investments.
There were plants. Some were alive; others were generally declining in quality of life.
The kitchen was clean, mostly because he hadn't been able to afford enough groceries to make much of a mess.
He opened the refrigerator.
Half a cucumber, a container of yogurt, three eggs, a bottle of hot sauce, and a carton of milk that had begun to smell like it was developing political opinions. The cupboard was equally depressing. Several tins of sardines stared back at him, some from the Philippines and others from Morocco. According to social media, sardines were practically a miracle food, although nobody seemed able to agree on which variety was best.
Ted had been eating them religiously for weeks.
His skin was almost as soft as the rug in his living room.
He credited the sardines.
He closed the cupboard door.
"Breakfast of champions."
Unwilling to introduce the smell of dead fish into an already unpleasantly warm apartment, he made coffee instead.
While it brewed, he looked at the piece of paper sitting on the kitchen counter.
It was a flyer he'd picked up a few nights earlier on Church Street.
THE LANTERN
Now Hiring — Bartenders
Energetic personalities wanted. Experience preferred, not essential.
Weekend availability required!
Beneath the heading was a photograph of the bar, all amber lighting, dark wood, and attractive men pretending not to notice one another. An unnecessarily large QR code occupied the bottom corner of the flyer, spoiling an otherwise attractive ad.
Ted knew the place.
He'd been there several times, usually with Marcus and the boys, occasionally with a date, and once alone on a Friday evening that had turned into a surprisingly enjoyable disaster.
It wasn't the largest gay bar in the Village, but it had a reputation for being a little less chaotic than some of the others. The drinks were strong and cheap, the clientele was a mixture of regulars and casual visitors, and the bartenders seemed to know how to flirt without appearing desperate.
Ted admired that skill, though he wasn't entirely certain he possessed it.
His usual flirting strategy involved making a slightly inappropriate joke and hoping the other man had a similar sense of humour—testing the reaction, then pulling back just enough to leave the other man wondering.
It worked more often than it probably should have.
He picked up the flyer, studied the email address, and put it back down.
Bartending.
It wasn't what he'd gone to university for.
Then again, he wasn't sure what he'd gone to university for anymore.
He had enrolled at nineteen, changed his focus partway through, worked intermittently to cover expenses, and finally completed a commerce degree after six years of increasingly complicated scheduling and occasional academic indifference.
Six years.
He’d watched friends graduate, find jobs, move into condos, get engaged, get married, have children, break up, and occasionally get engaged again.
He didn’t lack ambition. He just couldn’t imagine spending the better part of his adulthood sitting in a cubicle, discussing quarterly projections with people he barely liked. Or maybe he could? His classmates certainly seemed enthusiastic about the prospect. An assortment of pale, flaky-skinned number-crunchers who, despite their potential for wealth, would probably still be living with their parents at forty-five.
Ted supposed there were worse things than financial security.
He just wished it came with more interesting company.
Meanwhile, he'd been writing papers about organizational management while wondering whether he was even remotely qualified to manage himself.
His parents had been supportive, although their questions had grown increasingly pointed as graduation approached.
So what happens after university?
Have you started applying anywhere?
Have you thought about accounting?
Accounting.
The word alone made him feel tired.
He wasn't stupid--Far from it. He was reasonably intelligent, quick with numbers, and capable of learning most things if he had enough interest.
The trouble was that interest had become a scarce commodity.
He wanted to do something.
He just didn't know what.
Ted took his coffee into the living room and opened his laptop.
There were fourteen browser tabs open.
Three job websites.
Two news articles.
A recipe for chicken karahi.
A video about building a gaming computer.
And several X-Hamstring tabs, which he closed quickly. Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder, checking for anyone who might have seen.
Nobody.
Of course.
He lived alone.
He opened the first job site.
Junior Business Analyst — Entry Level
Minimum three years' experience required.
He stared at the listing.
"Entry level, my ass."
The next posting offered a salary barely sufficient to cover rent.
The one after that asked for advanced Excel skills, fluency in French, and a willingness to travel internationally.
That last part caught his attention.
Travel.
He clicked.
The position turned out to involve selling industrial packaging supplies across Ontario.
He closed it.
"Absolutely fucking not."
His phone buzzed.
Alex Gym had replied.
ALEX GYM: You should come over again sometime.
Ted smiled.
At least somebody wanted him.
TED: Careful. I might actually do that.
He put the phone down and returned to the job listings.
For another forty minutes, he applied for positions he wasn't particularly excited about, editing the same résumé until every sentence sounded like it had been written by an exceptionally boring version of himself.
At eleven thirty, he closed the laptop.
Enough.
If adulthood required this much pretending, he was beginning to understand why so many people drank.
∞
By one thirty, the temperature outside had climbed well above thirty degrees.
Ted stood in front of his bedroom mirror wearing a pair of fitted shorts and a light sleeveless shirt.
He turned slightly, examining himself from the front, then turned the other way to inspect his backside.
Not bad.
He was tall, lean, and naturally athletic, with broad shoulders and the kind of narrow waist that made certain shirts look considerably more expensive than they were. He worked out regularly, not with any particular obsession, but enough to enjoy the results. There was a certain pressure to look good among gay men, particularly in Toronto’s Village, and Ted wasn’t oblivious to it. His self-esteem had never been particularly fragile, but he saw no reason to let things slide.
He also knew there was a difference between enjoying attention and needing it.
At least, that was what he told himself.
A few months earlier, a man had stopped him on Church Street just to say he was handsome.
Ted had thanked him.
Then he'd spent the rest of the afternoon in an excellent mood. A little compliment could go a long way, and Ted made a point of offering one himself whenever the occasion felt right.
He was not above vanity.
He checked his phone, slipped his wallet into his pocket, and left the apartment.
Toronto greeted him with a wall of heat, the sort that hit you stepping off an aircraft somewhere tropical.
Ted loved it.
Summer was the one season when he felt completely at home in his own skin.
The sidewalk shimmered. Trees along the residential streets cast patches of welcome shade, and the smell of warm pavement rose beneath the traffic fumes.
As he walked west, he passed the empty schools where groundskeepers were taking advantage of the summer holidays to catch up on landscaping. Several people stood folded almost impossibly forward on the sidewalk, a sight that had become an unfortunate reality of downtown life. Delivery cyclists wove through traffic, while outside a convenience store, a group of young Latino construction workers sat sharing a cigarette.
One of them looked up as Ted passed.
Their eyes met.
The man smiled.
Ted smiled back.
A moment later, he caught the man glancing over his shoulder.
Ted kept walking.
It was a small pleasure, being noticed. Ted wondered whether the man was gay, curious, or simply enjoying the scenery.
When in Rome?
He liked the possibility contained in a look between strangers.
Sometimes it led nowhere.
Fine.
Sometimes it led to a conversation.
Great.
Sometimes it led to a night that ended with Ted searching for his underwear in somebody else's apartment.
Even better.
He wasn't especially interested in judging which outcome was preferable.
As far as he was concerned, sex was one of life's more enjoyable conveniences. He liked men. He liked their bodies, their attention, their different personalities, the subtle negotiations of attraction.
And he liked freedom.
That last part mattered.
He had watched enough friends become miserable in relationships built around jealousy, suspicion, and the exhausting management of one another's behaviour.
Ted wanted affection.
He wanted intimacy.
He sometimes wanted someone to wake up beside.
But he couldn't imagine giving up the pleasure of meeting someone new simply because he cared about someone else.
Perhaps he'd eventually meet a man who understood that, but there was certainly no rush.
For now, he was perfectly happy being single.
∞
By the time Ted reached Trinity Bellwoods Park, the back of his shirt was damp with sweat.
He'd walked the entire way, partly because the weather was beautiful and partly because spending money on transit when he had eleven dollars and twenty-seven cents seemed like an extravagance best reserved for emergencies.
The park was crowded.
Groups of friends occupied blankets beneath the trees. Dogs chased one another through the grass. A young couple argued quietly over the assembly of what appeared to be an unnecessarily complicated picnic tent.
Somewhere nearby, a portable speaker played music that Ted recognized but couldn't name.
He took out his phone.
TED: Where are you guys?
The response arrived almost immediately.
MARCUS: By the big tree.
Ted looked around.
There were approximately six hundred trees.
TED: Brilliant. Very helpful. Which big tree?
MARCUS: Near the tennis courts.
Ted spotted him waving frantically.
Marcus was sitting on a blanket beneath a maple tree, wearing sunglasses, an open short-sleeved shirt, and the expression of a man who had already decided the afternoon would be considerably improved by alcohol.
Beside him sat another man.
Ted assumed this was Danish.
He was a slim and broad-shouldered South Asian guy, with dark hair cut short at the sides, a neatly trimmed beard, and a sleeveless black shirt that did absolutely nothing to conceal the fact that he spent time in a gym.
Well, hello.
Marcus spotted Ted approaching.
"Look who survived the wilderness."
Ted stopped in front of the blanket.
"Do you have any idea how many fucking trees are in this park?"
Marcus grinned.
"Did you get lost?"
"No. I conducted a comprehensive botanical survey."
"Very productive."
"Unlike you, apparently."
Marcus laughed and stood to give him a quick hug.
"Ted, this is Danish. Danish, this is the disaster I was telling you about."
Danish stood.
Up close, he was even better-looking. He smelled ridiculously good– a mixture of sandalwood, fresh grass, and a hint of cardamom. Ted found himself wanting to lean a little closer. His eyes were a warm brown that appeared almost amber in the sunlight. He had an easy smile and the sort of relaxed posture that suggested he wasn't particularly concerned about impressing anybody. A thin gold chain rested against the dark hair on his chest, visible above the neckline of his shirt.
"Nice to finally meet you," Danish said, extending his hand. His soft Punjabi accent was endearing.
Ted shook it.
"Finally?"
Danish laughed.
"Marcus talks about you."
"Oh, Jesus."
"Don't worry. Mostly good things."
"Mostly?"
Marcus reached into a cooler.
"Beer?"
Ted looked at him.
"You're changing the subject."
"Yes."
"Because you've been talking shit about me."
"Also yes."
Danish laughed again.
Ted decided he liked that laugh. His head flung back and revealed the perfect arc of his upper teeth.
Marcus handed him a cold can.
Ted examined the label.
"Imported? Look at you."
"I brought you a beer," Marcus said. "Consider it humanitarian assistance."
Ted settled onto the blanket and popped the tab.
"How touching."
"I was going to sponsor a starving child, but then I remembered you."
"I'm twenty-five."
"Exactly. The situation is getting desperate."
Marcus started laughing at his own joke, loudly enough to turn a few heads nearby.
Ted took a sip and adopted the solemn voice of a charity spokesperson.
"For just two dollars a day, you too can help a young gay man achieve brunch."
Marcus threw his head back.
"Oh my GOD. Not brunch!"
"Your donation includes quarterly progress reports."
"And a photograph of you looking sad beside an empty refrigerator!" Marcus added, barely getting the words out before laughing again.
"That's an invasion of my privacy."
Marcus doubled over. Danish was laughing now too, although he'd only just met the supposed beneficiary.
"I'm serious," Ted continued. "I expect a certain level of dignity from my sponsors."
"Dignity?" Marcus wheezed. "Bitch, you're drinking charity beer!"
"And it's delicious. Thank you for your service."
Ted tried to keep a straight face, failed, and started laughing with him. That was how it usually went with Marcus: one of them threw out something ridiculous, the other made it worse, and eventually neither could speak.
Danish sat opposite him, stretching his legs out on the grass.
"So Marcus says you just finished university."
Ted took a drink.
"Allegedly."
"Allegedly?"
"I'm still waiting for the university to confirm they haven't invented another course I need to take."
"What did you study?"
"Commerce."
Danish nodded.
"Nice."
"Is it?"
"Well, it's useful."
"That's what they kept telling me."
Marcus laughed.
"Ted thinks every job is beneath him."
"That's not true."
"You rejected a job because the office was in Mississauga." Mississauga wasn’t especially far from Toronto on a map. Without a car, however, the commute might as well have been an international expedition.
"That is an entirely reasonable objection."
Danish smiled.
"What's wrong with Mississauga?"
"Nothing. Lovely place. I'm sure the people are very happy there."
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"But?"
"But I'm not spending two and a half hours a day travelling to a business park to discuss spreadsheets."
Danish laughed.
"Fair enough."
"What about you?" Ted asked. "What do you do?"
"Hospitality, mostly. I supervise shifts at a hotel restaurant and help organize some private events in the village."
"That sounds suitably vague."
"It's not nearly as interesting as it sounds."
"Good. I was getting worried."
Danish smiled.
"I moved here from India about four years ago. I'm from Punjab. Worked in restaurants back home, too."
"Do you miss it?"
"Sometimes. My family. The food. The nightlife."
"The men?"
Danish looked at him.
A small smile appeared.
"Some of them."
Marcus groaned.
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
Ted turned toward him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Are we not allowed to have a conversation?"
"You're allowed. I've just heard that tone before."
"What tone?"
"The one you use when you want somebody to take their shirt off."
Danish burst out laughing.
Ted put a hand against his chest in mock offence.
"That is a terrible accusation."
"Is it?"
"Absolutely. Sometimes I want them to take their pants off first…Maybe suck their ass."
Marcus shook his head as Ted dipped his chin and looked at Marcus through his eyelashes, giving him that familiar expression that could make practically anything sound indecent. Marcus knew the look all too well.
Danish laughed hard enough to spill a little beer onto his shorts.
Ted handed him a napkin from the picnic bag.
"Sorry, darling."
"Don't apologize," Danish said, still laughing. "That was good."
Ted smiled.
Oh, this one might be fun.
∞
By three o'clock, the conversation had wandered through jobs, dating apps, terrible landlords, and the steadily rising cost of living in Toronto.
Marcus was telling a story about a man he'd met at a party who had apparently spent twenty minutes explaining his investment portfolio while simultaneously attempting to grope him.
"Was he at least attractive?" Ted asked.
"Very."
"Well, there you go."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you should have paid attention. You might have learned something."
Danish laughed.
Marcus pointed at Ted.
"You're such a slut."
"An educated slut, thank you."
"Recently educated."
"Still counts."
They clinked beer cans.
The afternoon unfolded comfortably.
Every so often, someone Marcus knew stopped to say hello. A couple of men joined them for a while, then moved on toward another group near the tennis courts.
Ted recognized one of them from Church Street but couldn't remember his name.
The man gave him a lingering hug.
"Looking good," he murmured.
"Likewise, handsome."
When the man wandered off, Danish glanced at Ted.
"Friend of yours?"
"I have no idea, to be honest."
Marcus made a noise.
Ted looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Marcus."
"I'm just enjoying my beer."
Ted turned back to Danish.
"I guess we have met before."
Danish nodded, apparently satisfied.
Then, after a pause, he said, "You've met a lot of people, haven't you?"
Ted grinned.
"I try to be sociable."
"Clearly."
"Is that a problem?"
Danish shook his head.
"Not at all."
His answer came easily enough that Ted believed him.
That was refreshing.
“I think we’ll get along,” Danish said with a grin.
There were men who enjoyed hearing about other men's experiences, and men who began mentally calculating whether those experiences posed some sort of threat.
Ted had little patience for the second category.
"So," Danish continued, "are you seeing anybody?"
"Not seriously."
"By choice?"
"Mostly."
Marcus tilted his head back toward the sky. He was turning red already from the three sips of beer that he had.
"Oh, here we go," Marcus muttered.
Ted ignored him.
"I like having someone around. Just not necessarily all the time."
Danish smiled.
“So you like having a boyfriend, but you also like having a front door.”
Ted laughed.
“Exactly! Preferably one I can close whenever I want.”
“Very romantic.”
“And apparently very committed to personal space.”
“You have no idea.”
Marcus raised a finger.
"Actually, he has plenty of room for visitors. It’s the permanent residents he has a problem with.”
Danish burst out laughing.
“Jesus Christ, Marcus.”
“What? I’m helping you explain your housing policy.”
Ted took another drink.
“Look, I like relationships. I just don’t particularly enjoy being managed. Where are you? Who are you with? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why were you looking at that guy?”
Danish considered that.
“Well, looking is one thing.”
“And?”
“And I suspect you’re not particularly interested in stopping there.”
Ted grinned.
“You’re very observant, Sherlock.”
“I’ve been told.”
Marcus leaned toward Danish.
“He’s basically a Golden Retriever with a Grindr account.”
Ted nearly choked on his beer.
Marcus immediately lost control of himself, laughing so loudly that a couple sitting nearby turned to look.
“Hey, you know I can’t stand those apps. IRL, boo.”
“OH MY GOD,” Marcus gasped. “I’m sorry, I just pictured him chasing tennis balls in the Village.”
“You’re dumb,” Ted said, laughing despite himself.
Danish was laughing too. Eventually he looked back at Ted.
“So you wouldn’t want to be exclusive with someone?”
“Not necessarily. I wouldn’t rule anything out. I just don’t understand why caring about someone automatically means you have to stop enjoying other people.”
Danish nodded.
“I get that, I don’t think I’d want someone telling me who I could talk to, either.”
“Exactly.”
“Although,” Danish added, smiling, “I’d probably want to know where I stand.”
Ted looked at him.
“Of course.”
“I mean, if I’m seeing someone, I don’t want to be guessing what we’re doing.”
“Neither do I. That's what talking is for.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
Marcus glanced between them.
“Wonderful. You’ve negotiated an international peace agreement. Can we get something to eat?”
Ted smiled sweetly.
“Don’t be jealous, sweetheart.”
“I’m not jealous, I’m fucking starving.”
They all laughed.
Danish checked his phone.
"Actually, that reminds me."
He looked at Ted.
"Didn't Marcus say you were looking for work?"
Ted nodded.
"Desperately trying to become a productive member of society."
Danish smiled.
"Have you ever bartended?"
"No."
"Worked in restaurants?"
"Yeah. A couple of summers."
"Serving?"
"Mostly. Some hosting. Occasionally being screamed at by people who apparently believed a restaurant closing at ten was a personal attack."
Danish laughed.
"Then you've got experience."
"Experience being screamed at?"
"That too."
He turned his phone around.
A message was open from someone named Sofia.
SOFIA: Still need another bartender for weekends. If you know anybody decent, send them my way. Preferably somebody who can actually show up on time.
Ted read it.
"That's oddly specific."
"We've had staffing problems."
"Where?"
"The Lantern."
Ted stared at him.
"You're kidding."
"What?"
"I've got their hiring flyer sitting on my kitchen counter."
Danish smiled.
"Seriously?"
"Picked it up the other night."
"Well, there you go."
Marcus leaned forward.
"See? The universe is telling you to get a job."
"The universe could send me a cheque too."
"Take what you can get."
Danish slipped his phone into his pocket.
"Sofia's the manager. I help her with some of their events. I could introduce you."
Ted considered it.
He had been planning to send an application.
Eventually.
Probably tomorrow.
Or perhaps Thursday. He paused to think some more.
"Do you think she'd hire someone without bartending experience? I certainly have drinking experience. I know what’s in a drink."
"Maybe. They're looking for personality as much as experience. You can teach almost anyone to make the more complicated drinks."
"Can you teach them personality?"
"Not easily."
Ted smiled.
"Fortunately, I'm overflowing with it."
Marcus snorted.
"That's one word for it."
Danish looked at his phone again.
"She's there tonight, actually."
Ted raised an eyebrow.
"Tonight?"
"Yeah. I could ask if she's got a few minutes."
Marcus pointed at him.
"Do it."
Ted glanced down at his clothes.
"Like this?"
Danish looked Ted over, his gaze travelling from Ted’s shoulders down to his shorts and lingering just long enough for Ted to notice. When their eyes met again, Danish smiled without the slightest embarrassment.
"I think you'll survive."
Ted smiled and blushed.
"Was that a professional assessment?"
"Entirely."
"Good to know."
Danish typed a message.
A minute later, his phone buzzed.
He read it and grinned.
"She says come by around five thirty."
Ted blinked.
"Wait. Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Marcus burst out laughing.
"Oh, this is excellent."
Ted looked between them.
"I was not planning to attend a job interview today."
"Welcome to adulthood," Marcus said.
"Apparently."
Danish stood and brushed the grass from his shorts.
"You don't have to come."
Ted considered the offer for approximately three seconds.
Then finished his beer.
"Oh, fuck it. Why not? Seriously, you are amazing, thank you!"
Ted turned to Marcus.
“We can walk you home, Marcus.”
Marcus zipped up his cooler.
“Oh, gee, I have an entourage. So blessed. But yeah, sure.”
Marcus picked up his blanket, still chuckling, and the three of them started walking east toward the village.
∞
The boys walked Marcus to his corner and parted ways. By five thirty, Ted and Danish were standing outside The Lantern, looking through the front windows at the bar he'd visited so many times as a customer.
It felt slightly different knowing he might soon be employed there. The previous bartenders seemed to have it under control, but summer brought more business, naturally.
"You nervous?"
"No."
Danish looked at him.
"Really?"
"A little."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Means you care."
Ted laughed.
"That's a very generous interpretation."
Danish pulled open the door.
"Come on."
Inside, The Lantern was preparing for the evening.
Whoever designed The Lantern had apparently never heard the words less is more. Mismatched fixtures cast amber light across spotted granite surfaces, while splashes of colour bounced around the room in a strangely beautiful chaos. Behind the bar, rows of bottles glowed beneath illuminated shelves.
Music played quietly through the speakers.
The room smelled faintly of citrus, cleaning solution, and the lingering evidence of the previous night's customers.
Two bartenders were stocking refrigerators.
A man near the back was arranging chairs.
Ted recognized one of the staff from previous visits.
The bartender looked up.
"Hey, handsome."
Ted smiled.
"Hello, darling."
Danish glanced at him.
"See? You're practically staff already."
Ted laughed.
A woman appeared from a doorway behind the bar.
She was perhaps in her late thirties, with a short mushroom cut and an expression suggesting she'd already dealt with several irritating people that day.
"Danish!"
She gave him a quick hug.
"How are you?"
"Good. Sofia, this is Ted."
Her eyes moved toward him.
"So you're the candidate."
"Apparently."
She smiled.
"Apparently?"
"I only found out I was being interviewed about an hour ago."
Sofia gave him a crooked smile. Ted could already tell she was chill, but possessed a dry sense of humour without room for bullshit. Her short brown hair framed her face perfectly and she wore just enough makeup to make her look good under the array of wild lights.
"At least you're honest."
"I try."
She gestured toward a small table near the windows.
"Give me five minutes. Want some water?"
"That'd be great, thanks."
She disappeared behind the bar.
Ted turned to Danish.
"Well?"
"What?"
"How am I doing?"
"You haven't offended anyone yet."
"Excellent start."
Danish grinned.
"I'll be at the bar."
"You're abandoning me?"
"Professionally."
"Heartless."
Danish squeezed his shoulder briefly before walking away.
Ted watched him go.
Nice arms. And that ass...Woosh
He took a seat.
Sofia returned carrying two glasses of water and an iPad.
She sat opposite him.
"Danish says you've worked in restaurants."
"A few summers, yeah."
"Where?"
Ted explained his previous jobs. His parents used to own a restaurant in Muskoka where he grew up. He worked there in the evenings and summers during high school, though he never considered it a real job seeing as his boss was his dad.
She asked about dealing with difficult customers, working in busy environments, and handling situations when several people needed attention simultaneously.
He answered naturally.
Most of the experiences were ordinary enough.
A customer who had refused to pay because his steak wasn't sufficiently hot.
A large group that arrived ten minutes before closing and expected a full dining service.
A woman who had once demanded to speak to the manager because the ice in her drink had melted.
Sofia laughed at that one.
"How did you handle her?"
"Offered fresh ice."
"And?"
"She complained that there was too much."
Sofia covered her mouth.
"Oh, God."
"Exactly."
She tapped something into her iPad.
"Have you got your Smart Serve?"
"I did it when I worked with my parents a few years back. I'd need to find the certificate and confirm it's current."
"Okay. We'll need that verified before you're serving alcohol."
"Fair enough."
She studied him for a moment.
"Why do you want to work here?"
Ted paused.
There were several possible answers.
Because he needed money.
Because the clientele was attractive.
Because bartending sounded considerably more entertaining than writing reports about quarterly earnings.
He decided to combine honesty with a reasonable degree of professionalism.
"I like people," he said. "I like the atmosphere here. I've been coming for a while, and it always seems like the staff are actually enjoying themselves."
Sofia raised an eyebrow.
"Sometimes."
Ted smiled.
"I've worked in restaurants. I know how it goes."
"And what do you do when you're not enjoying yourself?"
"Keep calm, and do the work.”
"Good answer."
She leaned back.
"Do you know anything about cocktails?"
Enough to order them, he thought as he smiled to himself.
“The summers back home were always busy with the bar at the restaurant, so I had some fun with it. We’d drink after work on the closed patio at one in the morning, and the staff would demand that I round up the drinks. We used to joke about how if the boss's son was serving, the staff wouldn’t get in trouble for enjoying a few bevvies on the house. My Dad was chill, though.”
Sofia laughed.
"Well, that's a start."
"I'm a quick learner."
"Everybody says that."
"Well, some of us are telling the truth."
“Look, Ted, I don’t care how popular you are when you’re standing on this side of the bar. When there’s forty people waiting for drinks, nobody gives a shit how charming you are.”
Ted nodded.
“Understood.”
“You’ll be cleaning spills, collecting glasses, restocking beer, and dealing with drunk people who think they’re the most important person in the room.”
“Sounds a lot like Christmas at my parents’ restaurant.”
Sofia studied him for a moment. Then she laughed.
“Alright, that one was good. You're confident.”
"Usually."
"That can be useful here. It can also get you into trouble."
Ted glanced toward the bar, where a handsome customer had just arrived and was leaning over the counter speaking to one of the bartenders.
"I can imagine."
Sofia followed his gaze.
"Oh, yes. You'll get plenty of attention."
"Terrible."
She laughed.
"Just remember you're there to work."
"Understood."
"And some customers will confuse friendliness with an invitation."
Ted looked back at her.
"I've had some experience with that."
"I'm sure you have."
Her smile suggested she understood considerably more than she was saying.
Sofia switched her iPad off.
"Look, I'm not going to pretend we're not short-staffed. We need someone who's reliable, comfortable with customers, and willing to learn. We also clean our own toilets."
Ted nodded.
"I can do that."
"Glad to hear it. Danish says good things about you."
"That's concerning. We've only known each other a few hours."
Sofia laughed.
"He says you're funny."
"That part's true."
"And probably trouble."
"That part's exaggerated."
"Of course."
She considered him.
"Here's what we'll do. If your Smart Serve is valid, come in Thursday evening at seven. We'll pay you for a training shift, see how you work with the team, and go from there."
Ted stared at her.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
He smiled.
"That's fantastic."
"Don't thank me yet. Thursday nights can be busy. We pool the tips, and everybody does their part."
"I'll have to manage."
"We'll see."
She stood and extended her hand.
"Nice meeting you, Ted."
"You too, Sofia."
"And wear something black. Nothing too fancy."
Ted looked down at his sleeveless shirt.
"Are you saying this isn't appropriate?"
She regarded him for a moment.
"Let's just say I can already predict which customers will be asking for your section."
Ted laughed.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You would."
She smiled and her eyes wrinkled.
“I look forward to having you come in on Thursday.”
She turned around and headed back behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass swiftly as she made her way around.
Danish was waiting at the bar when Ted returned.
"Well?"
Ted tried to maintain a serious expression.
"Terrible."
Danish frowned.
"Really?"
"Awful. She said I was completely unsuitable and asked me never to return."
Danish looked genuinely concerned.
Then Ted grinned.
"Thursday. Seven o'clock."
Danish swatted his shoulder.
"You asshole."
Ted laughed.
"Got you."
Marcus had sent two messages in the meantime.
MARCUS: How's the interview? Did they hire you?
MARCUS: If you get fired before your first shift, I want details.
Ted showed Danish the screen.
"Your friend is exhausting."
"He's your friend."
"Unfortunately,” Danish said with a grin. “But he’s a good one to keep around."
Danish smiled.
"Want to stay for a drink?"
Ted hesitated.
He glanced at the prices behind the bar.
Danish noticed.
"Relax. I've got it."
"I can't keep letting everyone buy me drinks."
"Why not?"
"Because eventually I'll have to buy one back."
"That's generally how friendship works."
Ted considered that.
"Sounds expensive."
Danish laughed.
"One drink."
"Fine. But I'm putting you on a payment plan."
They took seats near the end of the bar, mildly out of sight of the staff.
Ted ordered a glass of white wine.
Danish ordered the red.
For a while, they watched the room slowly fill. Ted disappeared to the toilet and returned to see his wineglass had been refilled. Danish said nothing.
“Aw, you goose. I won’t say no.”
“I’ll add it to your tally.” Danish gave him a sideways smile.
They lingered over their drinks. A few men had arrived straight from work, still wearing dress shirts and office trousers. Others were dressed for an evening out, exchanging greetings with the bartenders and settling into familiar spots.
One man caught Ted's eye from across the bar.
He was older, perhaps in his forties, with silver at his temples and an expensive-looking watch.
He smiled.
Ted smiled back.
The man raised his glass.
Ted returned the gesture.
Danish observed the exchange.
"Do you ever turn it off?"
Ted looked at him.
"Turn what off?"
"That."
"What?"
"The flirting."
Ted laughed.
"I wasn't flirting."
"Of course not."
"He smiled at me."
"And you smiled back."
"Would you prefer I insult him?"
Danish shook his head.
"No. I think it's charming."
Ted turned toward him.
"Do you?"
"Yeah."
There was something different about the way Danish said it.
Less joking.
More deliberate. Ted held his gaze.
"Good."
Danish took a sip of his wine.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Danish smiled.
"You know, Marcus warned me about you."
Ted laughed.
"Did he?"
"He said you're a handful."
"That's a terrible thing to say about a person."
Ted put Danish’s hand on his leg. Halfway up the thigh. Danish squeezed his leg while he cocked his eyebrows once.
"Is it inaccurate?"
Ted pretended to think while moving Danish’s hand quietly up higher on his thigh.
"Depends what kind of handful you're looking for."
Danish laughed softly.
"See? There you go again."
Ted guided Danish’s hand against his bulge. Danish didn’t pull away. Instead, he squeezed the meat between his fingers while he met Ted’s eyes with that same unflustered smile, apparently content to let Ted set the pace.
"Can't help myself."
He was enjoying this.
Danish was attractive, certainly. But more importantly, he wasn't easily flustered. He understood Ted's humour and seemed perfectly capable of giving it back.
That was rarer than Ted liked to admit.
∞
By eight o'clock, they had left The Lantern.
The sun was beginning to settle behind the buildings, but the city still held the heat of the afternoon.
They walked north along Church Street, passing restaurants preparing for the evening rush, groups of men gathering outside bars, and pedestrians taking advantage of the remaining daylight.
Danish had plans later in the week.
Ted had a job to prepare for.
Neither seemed particularly eager to end the conversation.
"So what are you doing tomorrow?" Danish asked.
"Probably recovering from my incredibly demanding afternoon."
"Hard life."
"Terrible."
"Anything else?"
"Looking for work. Apparently one job isn't enough to make me a responsible adult."
Danish smiled.
"What would you actually like to do?"
Ted considered the question.
He'd been asked versions of it repeatedly over the past several months.
By his parents.
By friends.
By people conducting job interviews.
Usually, he offered some carefully constructed answer about business development or management.
But Danish didn't seem particularly interested in a rehearsed response.
"I'd like to travel," Ted said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. See more of the world. Meet people. Not spend my life sitting in an office. I want to party around the world. I want to see things that may not exist for much longer."
"Then do that."
Ted laughed.
"Great. Problem solved."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. Travelling costs money."
"Then find a job that lets you travel."
Ted looked at him.
"Such as?"
Danish shrugged.
"Airline. Cruise ship. Something international."
"Airline?"
"Why not?"
Ted pictured himself in an aircraft cabin, serving drinks to passengers while flying somewhere warm.
It was an amusing thought. He imagined working on a ship, in a golf shirt with a rectangular name tag, but then his thought turned to him on his knees scrubbing a toilet in a cramped cabin. Nope.
Then he considered it a little more seriously.
"Maybe flying could be fun."
Danish smiled.
"You'd be good at it."
"You've known me for six hours."
"I've seen enough."
"That's either flattering or deeply concerning."
"Take it as a compliment."
Ted grinned.
"I usually do."
They reached the corner of the village where Ted turned to head towards his building. It was three blocks to the east.
He stopped.
"Well. This is my turn off."
Danish looked down the street toward Ted’s building.
"Nice area."
"Expensive area."
"Toronto."
"Exactly."
They stood facing each other.
The conversation had reached one of those moments when both people knew a decision was approaching.
Ted could say goodnight.
Danish could leave.
The afternoon would become a pleasant memory, and perhaps they'd see each other again on Thursday.
Or—
Danish smiled.
"What?"
Ted raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"You're looking at me."
"Am I?"
"Yeah."
Ted considered denying it.
Instead, he smiled.
"You're very observant."
Danish stepped a little closer.
"So are you."
Ted felt the familiar pleasant tension of mutual attraction.
He liked this part.
The brief uncertainty.
The possibility that neither man had entirely decided what happened next.
"So," Danish said.
"So," Ted replied.
"Are you going to invite me over so I can get a better handle on that package you introduced me to?"
Ted laughed.
"That's very forward."
"You've spent the entire afternoon flirting with me."
"I flirt with everybody."
"I noticed."
"And yet here you are."
Danish smiled.
"Here I am."
Ted glanced toward the building.
Then back at him.
"Well, I should warn you."
"About?"
"My apartment is not particularly impressive."
"I don't care."
"My refrigerator is almost empty."
"Not hungry."
"And I have a rather questionable collection of sardines."
Danish burst out laughing.
"Jesus Christ."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Are you coming over or not?"
Danish smiled.
"I thought you'd never ask."
They walked down the street and approached the building. Ted opened the door of the lobby and went in.
And Danish followed him inside.
The door of Ted’s apartment clicked shut behind the two men, and Ted didn’t bother with the lights.
Danish glanced around the darkened apartment.
“So where's this scandalous sardine collection?”
“That's a second-visit privilege.”
Danish grinned. “Oh, so you're planning a second visit?”
“Don't flatter yourself.”
Danish laughed, then stepped closer.
“For the record, I've been wanting to kiss you since the park.”
Ted raised an eyebrow.
“You could've said something.”
“I thought I was being obvious.”
“You were,” Ted admitted.
Danish tilted his head, still smiling.
“I should warn you about something.”
“Oh, God. Please don't tell me you're allergic to sardines.”
“No. I like it when a man takes charge. I can be a bit submissive.”
Ted’s smile widened.
“Is that so?”
“Sometimes. Doesn't mean I'm shy.”
“Good. And for the record, I like taking charge, but I'm just as happy letting someone else lead.”
“Really?”
“Depends on the mood. And the man.”
Danish smiled. “Well, tonight I wouldn't mind letting you lead.”
“And if you change your mind?”
“I'll tell you.”
Ted grinned. “Perfect.”
Danish stepped closer. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Ted closed the distance, kissed him, then grabbed Danish by the front of his shirt and walked him backward until his shoulders hit the wall hard enough to make a framed photo rattle.
“Fuck,” Danish breathed, already smiling, already hard. His accent made the word sound thicker and dirtier in Ted’s ears.
Ted couldn’t help but notice Danish’s perfect lips as the F sound escaped between his bottom lip and his upper teeth.
He didn’t answer with words. He shoved two fingers into Danish’s mouth. Danish opened for them like he’d been waiting all day, tongue sliding wet and eager around the digits while Ted pushed them deeper, fucking his mouth slowly and deliberately. Spit ran down Ted’s wrist. Danish’s eyes stayed locked on him the whole time, dark and hungry.
Ted pulled his fingers free with a wet sound and wiped them across Danish’s lips, then down over his chin.
“I hope you washed your hands today,” Danish said, trying to be funny.
“Get on your knees,” Ted responded, now invested.
Danish dropped without hesitation. The second his knees hit the hardwood, Ted had his cock out—thick, already leaking—and dragged the head across Danish’s open mouth, smearing precum over those full, perfect lips. Danish tried to suck him in. Ted held him back by his hair, just rubbing the wet tip over his tongue, teasing.
“Beg for it.”
Danish’s voice came out rough. “Please let me suck your cock. I want it down my throat. Want you to fuck my face until I’m choking on it.”
Ted couldn’t help but throb even harder. Danish’s accent really turned him on.
Ted fed it to Danish in one small thrust while he gagged hard, eyes watering, but he didn’t pull back. He pushed forward, taking more, throat fluttering around the head. Ted held him there, hips rolling in short, mean strokes, using Danish’s mouth like a warm wet hole. Spit poured down Danish’s chin and soaked the front of his shirt. Every time Ted pulled back far enough for Danish to breathe, Danish chased the cock with his tongue, desperate, filthy sounds spilling out of him.
Ted finally put his hand under Danish’s chin and pushed his head back off of his dick. A thick string of spit connected Danish’s swollen lips to Ted’s cock. Danish’s face was a mess—tears, spit, precum. He looked wrecked already, and they’d barely started.
Ted dragged him up and kissed him hard, tasting himself on Danish’s tongue. Then he turned him, shoved him face-first against the wall, and yanked his jeans and underwear down in one rough motion. Danish’s ass was smooth. His butt muscles were so tight. He had the kind of ass that made Ted’s cock throb just from looking at it. The curve of Danish’s ass flowed into the small of his back, where the muscles along his spine became more pronounced as he arched. Ted spat between Danish’s cheeks and rubbed the spit in with his thumb, pressing against the tight hole until it gave a little.
“I didn’t douche yet,” Danish said in a raspy voice. “But it’s usually OK.”
“I don’t care. You’re hot and I want in,” Ted replied. After all, how can you be spontaneous if you have to worry about the details?
“Look at that pretty hole,” Ted muttered, pushing one spit-slick finger in. Danish moaned and pushed back immediately, greedy. Ted worked a second finger in, scissoring them open, then a third, stretching him while Danish panted against the wall and cursed under his breath in Punjabi, “Wadh de.”
Ted had no idea what he was saying, but it turned him on even more. He pulled his fingers out, lined up, and shoved into the hilt in one long stroke.
Danish’s cry was half pain, half pure need. Ted pulled out and tried to adjust. Danish let out a moan of pure pleasure. Ted started fucking him hard and deep, hips slamming against his ass. The wet slap of skin filling the dark apartment. Every thrust punched a broken sound out of Danish. Ted reached around, grabbed Danish’s cock—impressively hung, thick, and uncut, already dripping onto the floor—and stroked him in time with the fucking, tight and now more tender.
“You take cock like you were made for it,” Ted growled against his ear as he slowed to a relaxing deep stroke. “This tight little ass was built to get ruined.”
Danish was babbling now, a mix of English and Punjabi, begging for harder, deeper, more. Ted gave it to him. He sped up and started to fuck him like he was trying to leave bruises, one hand braced on the wall, the other still working Danish’s cock. When Danish started shaking and clenching down hard, Ted didn’t slow again. He kept pounding him through it, feeling Danish’s hole spasm and milk his cock while Danish came all over Ted’s fist and the wall, moaning out of control.
Ted wasn’t far behind. He pulled out, spun Danish around, and shoved him back to his knees. “Open.”
Danish opened. He stuck out his tongue and made an obedient, willing “ah” sound. Ted stroked himself once, twice, and came across Danish’s tongue and lips in thick, heavy ropes. Danish took it, swallowed what he could, then leaned in and cleaned the rest off Ted’s cock with long, filthy licks, sucking the sensitive head until he hissed and had to push him away.
They stayed like that for a moment—Danish on his knees, face shiny with spit and cum, Ted still half-hard and breathing hard above him.
Ted dragged his thumb through the mess on Danish’s lower lip and pushed it back into his mouth. Danish sucked it clean without being asked.
“Good boy,” Ted said quietly.
Danish looked up at him, eyes dark, mouth still open, already looking like he wanted more.
Ted pulled Danish up slowly from his elbows and held him close for a couple of moments. They kissed deeply as the sexually charged energy dissipated. They rested their cheeks on each other's shoulders.
“Wow,” Ted exclaimed as Danish grunted and chuckled at the same time.
“Wow, I definitely didn’t expect that.” Danish stared into Ted’s eyes while smiling with disbelief.
“Me either. I hope we can do that again.”
Danish's smile widened.
“You say that like you're going to have to convince me.”
Ted laughed.
“Well, I do have a commerce degree. I'm prepared to negotiate.”
“Is that what they teach you in university?”
“Six years of advanced persuasion techniques. Very expensive.”
Danish burst out laughing and pulled Ted closer for another kiss.
For a little while, neither said anything. They simply stood there, arms around each other, enjoying the unexpected comfort of someone they'd known for less than a day.
Eventually, Danish glanced toward the clock.
“Shit. I should probably get going. I've got an early shift tomorrow.”
“Already abandoning me?”
“You've known me for eight hours.”
“And look how much we've accomplished.”
Danish laughed again.
A few minutes later, they were standing by the apartment door. Danish had his shoes on, although he seemed in no particular hurry to leave.
“So,” Danish said. “Thursday?”
“Seven o'clock. Black shirt. Apparently I'm re-entering the hospitality industry.”
“You'll be good at it.”
“You don't know that.”
“I have a feeling.”
Ted smiled.
“Well, you've demonstrated some excellent instincts tonight.”
Danish shook his head, laughing, and kissed him once more.
“Goodnight, Ted.”
“Goodnight, handsome.”
Danish stepped into the hallway. Ted watched him walk toward the elevator before closing the door.
He stood there for a moment, smiling to himself.
Well. That was unexpected.
∞
It was almost eleven when Ted found himself alone in the apartment again.
The evening had turned out rather differently from what he'd expected when he woke up that morning.
He smiled to himself.
Not a bad Tuesday. Fuck, he is cute. That hole. Damn.
His phone lay on the kitchen counter.
A message from Marcus had arrived twenty minutes earlier.
MARCUS: Well?
Ted stared at it.
He considered several possible replies.
Finally, he typed:
TED: Got the job. Sort of.
MARCUS: Excellent. Drinks on you.
TED: Absolutely not.
MARCUS: How's Danish?
Ted laughed.
Of course.
TED: Lovely.
MARCUS: Oh god.
TED: What?
MARCUS: Nothing. Behave.
Ted grinned.
TED: Too late. He just left my place.
He put the phone down before Marcus could respond.
There were some conversations best left unfinished.
He poured himself a glass of water, then wandered into the living room.
His laptop was still open on the coffee table.
The job listings from that morning remained on the screen.
He looked at them.
Junior business analyst.
Sales coordinator.
Operations assistant.
Industrial packaging representative.
The same uninspiring possibilities.
Ted sighed.
Then he remembered something Danish had said.
Find a job that lets you travel.
It was such a simple suggestion that he'd almost dismissed it.
But why not?
He sat down and opened a new browser tab.
Typed a few words.
Flight attendant jobs Toronto.
A list of results appeared.
Several airlines were hiring.
One advertisement caught his attention almost immediately.
NORTHSTAR AIRWAYS
Cabin Crew Recruitment — Toronto Base
He clicked.
The page opened with a photograph of an aircraft flying above a bright blue coastline.
Ted leaned forward.
The airline was expanding its operations and recruiting new cabin crew members. The position offered paid training, travel privileges, flexible scheduling, and opportunities to work on domestic and international routes.
He read through the requirements.
Customer service experience.
Strong communication skills.
Ability to work irregular hours.
Comfortable working with diverse groups of people.
Willingness to travel.
Ted smiled.
Well, fuck.
He scrolled farther.
The salary wasn't spectacular.
The schedule sounded unpredictable.
Some shifts started before sunrise.
Others ended well after midnight.
There would be weekends, holidays, long days, and plenty of passengers who regarded the purchase of an airline ticket as an invitation to behave like royalty.
But there was something about it.
Something he couldn't quite dismiss.
He remembered being younger, looking out of an aircraft window as Toronto disappeared beneath him.
He'd loved that feeling.
The moment when the ground fell away.
When all the familiar streets and buildings became tiny shapes far below.
When, for a few hours, the ordinary rules of daily life seemed to loosen.
He'd always loved airports, too.
Not necessarily the queues or security checkpoints, but the movement. The people. The confusion.
The departures.
The arrivals.
The knowledge that somewhere beyond the windows was another city, another country, another possibility.
He clicked Apply Now.
The application was longer than expected.
Naturally.
He uploaded his résumé.
Entered his education.
Listed his previous employment.
Answered questions about customer service, difficult situations, and his ability to work as part of a team.
Then he reached the final question.
Why do you want to become a member of the Northstar Airways cabin crew?
Ted stared at the screen.
He could write something about his passion for customer service.
His commitment to excellence.
His enthusiasm for representing a respected Canadian airline.
All the usual bullshit.
He started typing.
Deleted it.
Started again.
Eventually, he settled on something closer to the truth.
I enjoy working with people, adapting to new situations, and being part of a team. I've always been interested in travel, and I'm looking for a career that challenges me, allows me to develop new skills, and gives me the opportunity to experience more of the world.
He read it.
Not bad.
Perhaps a little earnest.
But honest enough.
Damn, I sound so good on paper. I’d hire this guy, twice.
He clicked the Submit Application button.
A confirmation appeared.
Thank you for applying to Northstar Airways.
Your application has been received.
Ted leaned back against the sofa.
He looked around his apartment.
The inexpensive furniture.
The gaming computer.
The plants, several of which were still valiantly resisting death.
The kitchen cupboard was full of sardines.
The life he'd been trying to organize for the past several years.
That morning, he'd woken up with eleven dollars and twenty-seven cents, no job, and very little idea what he wanted to do with himself.
Less than fourteen hours later, Ted had secured a chance to work at a gay bar, applied for a job that could take him around the world, and met a man who’d made an impression on him. And judging by the evening’s activities, Ted had certainly made an impression in Danish.
None of it was guaranteed.
The bar might not work out.
The airline might never call.
Danish might turn out to be one of those men who were considerably more appealing during the first meet and hookup.
Ted knew better than to assume otherwise.
But he'd made a few decisions.
He'd done something.
For once, his future didn't seem like a problem he was simply postponing.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Danish.
DANISH: Home safe?
Ted smiled.
TED: I live here, remember?
DANISH: Smartass.
TED: You like it.
A moment passed.
DANISH: Yeah. I think I do.
Ted looked at the message.
Then replied.
TED: Goodnight, handsome.
DANISH: Goodnight, trouble. See you Thursday.
He set the phone aside.
Thursday.
The Lantern.
His first real opportunity to work somewhere that might actually be entertaining.
He glanced at the Northstar Airways confirmation still glowing on his laptop.
Then he closed it.
Outside, Toronto continued its noisy summer evening.
Ted stretched out on the sofa, feeling pleasantly tired.
He had no idea where any of this was going.
But for the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to finding out.
And if adulthood was going to be this unpredictable, perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible after all.
Eleven dollars and twenty-seven cents.