“I mean it sounds like a crazy plan to me, bro,” Putnam said. “And I’m high off my ass right now so…” Putnam was muscled, compact, blond, and nearly always stoned. He freelanced, doing coding work from home. Or at least that’s what he said he did for a living. Todd had never seen him working even once while he was in the apartment. But he paid his rent and share of the utilities on time every single month and didn’t mind Todd’s music blasting, or the way he paced around their apartment. Todd had never minded the pot smoke and suspected the contact high helped him think when he was working on a pitch. Best of all, Putnam was straight, and Todd had no interest in him beyond fantasizing about impulsive blowjobs while he jacked off. Not that he had ever confessed it to Putnam.

  “I think it would work!” Todd said. “I’m serious. Not that I’m surprised. I knew he’d say no. He’s the smartest person I know. It just takes him a while to get used to new ideas sometimes. But he does. I’ve seen it. I run pitches by him and he’s always negative at the beginning. But when I run something by him a second time and it’s good, he totally responds. I can read him like a book now.”

  Putnam took a hit, held it, expelled a plume of white smoke and said, “It would probably be... healthy? For you? If you admitted that you want to pretend to be his boyfriend because you want his dick.”

  “That’s not why!” He heard his own voice go up about three octaves and flinched. “Also, I don’t want his dick! I think it would get us the account. That’s seriously it.”

  “It would get you the account and also you wanna smash,” Putnam said. He threw back his head and giggled. “You talk about him all the time. You talked about the yoga thing for like an hour.”

  “About two minutes,” Todd said, scowling. He rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, heading into their kitchen to whip up some dinner. A block of tofu sat on his side of the fridge between paper towels. He nodded. Curried tofu over rice with veggies. He had just about perfected the recipe. He had been working on his cooking lately. Putnam even liked his curried tofu, and Putnam hated tofu. “I talked about it for two minutes,” Todd said again, going about the comforting routine of cooking his current favorite dish. “But that’s not my fault. His ass will literally not quit. It refuses to quit. It’s a phenomenal ass. It’s also extremely tight. Tight ass. Like insufferable. Do you know, I’ve literally never seen him laugh?”

  “No way,” Putnam said. “You’ve been working with him for, like, two years, yeah?”

  “Yeah, never seen him laugh a single time.” Todd shook his head as he pulled spices from a rack.

  The kitchen Todd shared with Putnam was the only room in their shared Santa Monica apartment that remained clean and tidy. The rest of it was usually kept in a baseline state of disaster equivalent to Todd’s office. Occasionally, when he was full of nervous energy, he cleaned, and everything was perfect for about a day until they both messed it up again.

  “I’ve tried to,” Todd went on. “I’m always trying to get him to laugh. Sometimes I think he even likes it when I fuck with him? But he just looks away like I’m being childish or how dare I joke at all or something. He’s a pain. He’s an insufferable, arrogant, constipated, stick-up-the-butt douche—”

  “And you want his dick.”

  “Fuck off, dude. I’m making you curry tofu.”

  “Thank you,” Putnam said meekly, as he raised his bong to his lips again.

  Putnam was half-watching an anime about ninjas and mechanical dinosaurs on their big screen, and Todd lost himself in his cooking. His thoughts ran in twelve different directions of fantasy concerning the incredibly long shot chance that Eric would come around on his idea.

  “As if he’d even be interested!” he blurted as he stirred the contents of his wok. “I’m a schlub! At least to him, I am a schlub. I saw a picture of his ex once. I am not his type to say the absolute least.”

  “You’re a schlub,” Putnam confirmed, should Todd have any doubt. “But I’m a schlub too, on the inside. I just look hot. Nothing wrong with bein’ a schlub, man.”

  Tod stirred the tofu and watched Putnam take another rip. “I was hoping you’d say I’m not a schlub.”

  “I only speak the truth,” Putnam said, shrugging. “I mean speaking as a straight guy, as a schlub you’re not bad looking. Your nose is kinda crooked and your chin is kinda weak. You got a dad bod. But some people think that’s hot. Your face is kind of asymmetrical. Like that one part under your left eye sags slightly—”

  “Putnam, how do you feel about shutting the fuck up?”

  Putnam, in Todd’s experience, was much too honest when he was high, which was nearly always.

  “I feel okay about it.”

  “Good.”

  “You have kind eyes though!” Putnam said after ten whole seconds of not speaking. “I’ve always thought so, okay? Kind eyes! They’re kind of a cool color!”

  “If you keep talking, I will not feed you.”

  “Shutting up,” Putnam mumbled. “But if you ever want a personal trainer, I’d do it for free—”

  “Putnam!”

  “Sorry.”

  Putnam was annoying. But he wasn’t wrong in his critical analysis.

  I’m a schlub, Todd thought. Not even in the orbit of Eric’s league, even as a fake boyfriend.

  He stood in front of the nearly full-length mirror in his bedroom, looking at himself. He wore only a pair of boxer briefs and he grimaced at the way the tight waistband cut a line across his soft stomach. Dark reddish chest hair formed the shadow of a large T across his pale chest. At a younger age, he had tried waxing. But he had been lax about dating for the last few years and he considered waxing overly torturous for the purpose of simple hookups. When he was younger, he had also been leaner with better and more defined muscles. He was soft now. Waxing would only accentuate the excess of flesh around his middle; the thighs that threatened to burst from the stretchy skinny jeans he still habitually wore.

  Todd pulled at the waistband of his boxer briefs and eyed the ugly red line left imprinted on his pale skin. “Ugh.” He sighed and looked himself up and down. He had a beard growing in. That, at least, could be shaved. His hair was touching his shoulders already. Somehow, even given all his nitpicky criticism, Eric had never mentioned his hair, which direly needed a cut.

  It was tempting to wonder how much he could change before Friday to become a more presentable fake boyfriend on the extremely off chance he could convince Eric.

  “At least my eyes are pretty goddammit,” Todd said out loud.

  His phone buzzed from his bed, and he padded over and plopped down with a sigh. His restless fingers found an unraveling thread from his bright blue comforter and fidgeted as he looked at his phone.

  Eric Yoo.

  Todd chirped in surprise and rolled over on his back as he picked up. “Uh, hello? Eric? Hey?”

  “Hi, Todd. I need to talk to you.” Eric sounded especially grave. Todd knew this meant nothing. Eric often sounded dour when there was nothing wrong at all. Todd often suspected that the more comically serious he sounded, the better mood he was in.

  “That’s usually why people make phone calls,” Todd said. “I wouldn’t think you’d call me because you wanted to make spaghetti.”

  “Yes…” Eric was pacing wherever he was. Todd wasn’t sure how he knew. But he could picture it: Eric, perhaps back in his yoga outfit that showed off his arms and his persistently tight ass, pacing back and forth as he glowered into his phone.

  Todd’s mouth watered.

  “Okay, whatever,” Eric said. “I’m in.”

  “In? Into uh... what?”

  For a moment of blinding delusion, Todd thought Eric had somehow read his dirty thoughts and had just agreed that they should fuck.

  “The fake relationship concept,” Eric said. “I’ll do it. It’s insane. I may be signing up for the end of my career. But sometimes... sometimes you have to take a risk, don’t you? You have to put yourself out there, don’t you?”

  “Oh! Um…” Todd sat up, his heart racing. “Yeah! No yeah, I agree. I’m all about risk. At least creatively. This is creative, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s creative,” Eric said. “It’s... it’s… Because if everything is just predictable and orderly and perfect all the time, people will get the wrong idea even after two fucking years and then they’ll come by and just steal back their Velez vases and bamboo plants! Without so much as a text of warning!”

  “What’s that?” Todd put his phone on speaker and stared down at it as if that might help explain Eric’s rant. “Eric? Are you all right, man?”

  “Yes, yes,” Eric said.

  Todd pictured him waving his hand dismissively at Eric’s concern, just like the time his appendix burst at the office and he’d tried to keep working even as he’d slowly crumpled to the floor in pain. Todd had to convince Jackson into forcing Eric to go to the hospital. Todd had visited Eric at the hospital, though Eric was so drugged up, Todd wasn’t sure he remembered. There seemed an unspoken agreement between them never to bring it up again. Todd had so far kept his end of the bargain. Though he was often tempted to hold it over Eric’s head when he was being especially Eric-like.

  “This is great,” Todd said. He lay on his back and rested his hand on his overly soft stomach, absently playing with his chest hair as Eric spoke in his ear. “This will work! I swear.”

  “So I’ve whipped up a dossier on myself that I’ve emailed to you,” Eric said. “I need you to study it closely and I’d like you to respond in kind. These are things I believe you should know about me if you’re going to pose as my significant other. I also have a few rules I’ve devised. Restrictions, if you will. And I’d like to know if you have any of your own. I believe we should approach this as a sort of contractual arrangement. Not legally speaking, of course.”

  “Has anyone told you you’re completely bat shit?” Todd said. “And I mean that in the kindest way possible. I’m just wondering if you’re aware of the way you sound sometimes.”

  “Ha ha. I’m obviously completely addled for wanting to instill some regulation in this scheme which was your idea But if your standard of bat shit has something to do with polysyllabic words, then by all means—”

  “Oh my God, never mind. What are your rules?” He checked the time on his phone. It was only ten, but he suspected this kind of negotiation with Eric could take hours.

  Todd heard some shuffling, and Eric cleared his throat. “All right, rule number one. We will negotiate every instance of physical affection ahead of time including hand holding, hugs, and kisses on the cheek.”

  Todd stared down at his phone and wished he could see Eric’s face, which so often betrayed itself with its micro-expressions. They were easy to miss if you weren’t an expert in the ways of Eric Yoo. “Um, all right. What about pats on the back? You can’t seriously want to negotiate like a pat on the back or if I like... squeeze your hand reassuringly? Or your shoulder?”

  “Why would you squeeze my hand reassuringly?” Eric said.

  “Eric, has no one ever squeezed your hand reassuringly?” Todd said. He sat up and waited for an answer that didn’t come. “That’s not unusual.”

  “I know it’s not unusual.” Eric was huffy. Todd wondered if he was flushed and pushing back his hair, so it stood up a little in that accidentally sexy way of his. “Plenty of people have squeezed my hand reassuringly. Second rule—”

  “Wait, what about kisses on the mouth?” Todd said. “Is that an entirely different category or something?”

  “We are absolutely not going to kiss on the mouth,” Eric said.

  “Oh. You’re probably a crappy kisser anyway,” Todd said. His cheeks grew hot. It was a childish thing to say, he supposed. But it was hard not to feel insulted.

  “I am an excellent kisser,” Eric said.

  Todd pictured him looking grave with his thin line of a mouth, insisting he was an excellent kisser, and laughed into his hand. “I guess we’ll never know. Will we?”

  “Moving on,” Eric said, “when we speak of each other or to each other in front of the clients or anyone else on the trip, we will not insult each other.”

  “Eric... why would I talk shit about you in front of people if you were my boyfriend? Is that how you act when you’re with someone?”

  Eric took a long time to answer and finally said, “No. It isn’t. All right, just a few other things…”

  “Ho boy…” Eric rubbed his eyes and fell back on the bed.

  He suspected he would not be getting off the phone anytime soon.

  4

  Todd

  “Todd!” Late Thursday afternoon, Eric leaned into Todd’s door and, as was his routine, gazed around the room rather than look directly at Todd. Todd glanced up and watched him look around his office, as if just seeing it for the first time. “Todd, we need to go over something. Stop what you’re doing.”

  “What?” Todd snapped. “What infinitesimally minor thing do you need to talk to me about before we leave tomorrow? You are driving me crazy, dude. I’m tempted to fake break up with my fake boyfriend before we’ve even gotten started.”

  “Just humor me, please,” Eric said. “I wondered what kind of wardrobe you’re bringing?”

  “You say that like you haven’t already texted me the question three times,” Todd said. He narrowed his eyes and Eric wilted slightly, the straight line of his mouth twitching under Todd’s gaze.

  “And you haven’t responded,” Eric said. “So I thought you might not have noticed?”

  “We’re going to an island! I’m bringing casual shit!” Todd took a breath, calming himself. “And a couple nicer things for the presentation or in case we go to dinner. That kind of thing.”

  “You don’t have anything nice,” Eric said.

  “Oh, gee thanks. Fuck you.”

  “I wondered if I might come over tonight and help you pack?”

  Todd had taken a sip of iced coffee, and he choked, a drop dribbling down his chin. He grabbed a Kleenex, swallowing as he wiped his face. “Come over? Like to my place? Where I live?”

  “Well, I’ve been meaning to visit the zoo anyway,” Eric said.

  Todd stared at him. “Eric. Did you just make a joke?”

  “I joke,” Eric said. “I have an excellent sense of humor.”

  “Uh... no you don’t,” Todd said. “And no. You can’t. I’m wearing what I’m wearing. Deal with it, dude.”

  “Fine,” Eric growled. Todd rubbed the back of his neck, disliking how Eric’s growly voice made him shiver.

  Why must he be so hot and so…

  He could never quite finish the sentence in his mind.

  “Is that all?” Todd said, throwing up his hands.

  “No.”

  Eric stepped inside Todd’s office for the first time in two years of working together.

  Todd had always predicted that if Eric were to enter his office, he might spontaneously combust like a demon in a church. Yet there he was, with his perfect ass and his perfectly tousled hair and intense eyes just standing there like a regular person.

  “I have a new rule,” Eric said.

  Eric had added several new rules to his existing rules.

  Neither of them were to drink more than one alcoholic beverage within a one-hour period while on the island. Neither of them could hook up with anyone else. They were to compliment each other in front of the clients at least twice each day and the compliments had to be convincing.

  “What is the new rule?” Todd said, speaking through gritted teeth.

  “I want you to get a haircut,” Eric said. He clasped his hands in front of him. “I’ve already made you an appointment with my stylist. He’s very good. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. It’s a pricey place.”

  Todd opened and closed his mouth, trying to decide if he was offended or not.

  The truth was, he’d already made an appointment for himself. His auburn grunge rocker hair had been fun for a while, but it made his neck feel overly warm and he didn’t think it suited his face.

  Todd opted for the path of least resistance and said, “Sure. That’s nice of you. Thanks.”

  “Oh.” Eric nodded. “Okay. Good.”

  “That all?” Todd said. “Anything else?”

  “Did you study the dossier I gave you?” Eric said. “I’ve read yours over several times. I think I’m pretty well versed in the basics now. And I’ve got our little history as a couple we devised down.”

  “Yeah.” Todd leaned on his hand, swivelling in his seat one way and another. Eric looked so uncomfortable it was almost cute. “I knew all that stuff about you in that email already. That was like Eric Yoo 101. I’m definitely an advanced student by now.”

  “You did not know all that stuff,” Eric said, sneering. He tilted his head. “Did you?”

  “You’re third-generation Korean-American. You have a decent but not super close relationship with your parents, who consider themselves very American, while your grandparents are much more traditional. You’re closest to your grandma. I think it’s on your dad’s side. And you guys used to make honey cookies together. And I think grandmother is halmeoni in Korean, but don’t laugh at me if I’m pronouncing it badly. I’m trying here, okay? You grew up in Gardena. You like to cook, but you don’t think you’re good at it. You’re into mid-century modern design. You like to read about history. A lot of David McCullough and, uh, that guy who wrote the Hamilton book. You’re a way bigger fan of Star Trek than you admit. Deep Space Nine is definitely your favorite show, so don’t pretend it’s NCIS or whatever you said in that email. You want a dog, but you don’t want a mess, so you’ve never made the commitment. Should I go on?”

  Eric wouldn’t look at him. He turned and walked over to a shelf along the wall and picked up a Rubik’s cube, examining it as if it was very important.

  “Todd… A lot of that wasn’t even in the email I sent you. I know I didn’t send you the Korean word for grandmother. I didn’t even put in the part about the cookies. I don’t think my ex even knew about the cookies, much less how to say anything in Korean.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16