Pizazz joined me in the bathroom as I toweled off. We both went back to bed, crawled under the sheets, and stared at the ceiling while listening to the soundtrack from Wicked. Once she was comfy and tight to my side, I rubbed her belly and wondered where my dragon master was and if I would ever find him. I fell asleep and dreamed about eating corned beef sandwiches with Kevin Bacon. Young Kevin like from his Footloose days.

  Waking up, longing for a Reuben sandwich, I pushed past the rumble in my belly and dressed for a morning run with my pooch. The sun was just coming up. We could sneak in a fast thirty minutes at the George R. Rank Dog Park behind our building before a quick shower followed by a yogurt, maybe a peach, and a cup of coffee. Then it was back to Red Hook at ten o’clock and another day of shouting at old people as my soul died. I glanced at the ceiling, blew my dragon master a kiss, and snapped the leash to Pizzy-Pooh’s bright pink collar. Exercise would do me good, yes it would. Maybe I could sneak in some time alone before classes to work on a little contemporary routine for my YouTube channel. My followers really liked my modern dance numbers as well as my personal vlogs about hair care, fashion, and the rigors of being a gay man looking for Mr. Dragon Master of my Dreams.

  Pizazz and I stopped at the dog gate barring the pit from the living room. Aliyah had fallen asleep on the floor again. Dirty ashtray by her head, empty cans of Pepsi scattered about, paintbrushes drying to the floor.

  “Stay put. I’ll be just a minute.” I snuck over the gate, pulled a thick throw from the sofa that now rested against the wall, and covered her petite little form. She purred in her sleep and snuggled into the throw. I gazed at the mural on the floor, stunned as always at my friend’s amazing skills. She’d be in galleries now if she wasn’t such a pisser. Aliyah Tanaka didn’t paint for the elite artsy crowd. She painted for her and only her. Which when you’re rich as Croesus you can be snobbish to the patrons of the arts.

  I patted her head then returned to my dog. I eyed my zebra poncho then gave my head a shake. Running would keep me warm. With Pizazz at my side, we set off at a slow jog, giving me time to gaze longingly at that glittery island across the river before hanging a sharp right. The dog park was about a block away, filled with trees and grass and little benches for tired dogwalkers. The gates opened at six, so we were just in time to wave at the park worker as he unlocked the fancy wrought iron gates.

  “Morning, Mr. Haines,” he called as we ran past. I waved in reply. Once inside the confines of the park, I slipped some earbuds in, cranked up the soundtrack to Hamilton and ran like the wind, Pizzy free from her leash at my side. She usually stayed right with me unless one of her doggy friends were here, but it was too early for Roscoe the Pug or Lu-Lu the Lab to be here. They were more evening and weekend dog park pals. We made three laps around the park then flopped onto a bench, winded and gross with sweat but energized. I pulled my buds out of the phone jack, turned the camera to face me, and started recording.

  “Phew! Oh my hammies are so tight. Look at them.” I gave the viewers a quick peek at my thighs and ass then sat back down. “Pizazz and I just got our run in.” I threw my ponytail over my shoulder. “I’ve been so dumpy the past two weeks because I’ve had auditions out the toots and no callbacks.” I frowned for the camera. “I know. It’s hard to not be wanted, but people, okay, there is a but in this story and—”

  That was when he jogged past. Tall, dark, gorgeous, big shoulders and yes, oh yes, there was a butt in this story, and it was a high, tight masterpiece! He had a dog the size of a Ralph Lauren pump attached to a leash. The tiny Yorkie kept up well considering how long that man’s legs were.

  “Oh hell! This beautiful man just ran past.” I flipped the phone to show the viewers who would be watching Mr. Magnificent Ass. “Should I whistle at him? Shout at him? Throw myself at him and beg him to take me right here in the dog park? Oh God, what should I do?! I look like hell. My face is all blotchy from running, and my hair is not liking this new oil treatment I used on it. It’s so lanky…”

  I sat there, phone in hand, staring at the handsome stranger, unable to decide if I should call attention to myself or not. Then I recalled who I was—aka attention whore first class—so I sat back, displaying myself as best as one could when one’s hair was flat and sweaty and yoo-hooed the big stud. He slowed then stopped and turned to look right at me.

  Chapter Two

  Duane

  The sound of the door being slammed shut was enough to wake me up but not enough to go out and offer help. Her curses rung out, and even though it was 2:26 a.m., she wasn’t trying to be quiet. I rolled over, the ugly gray covers slipping off my shoulders, as I stared at the open bedroom door. She had had the decency to leave the light off when she came in and tore through our—I mean, my—dresser, but she had also thrown a pair of sneakers on my spine, so maybe she was just a huge bitch after all.

  I watched her shadow pass into the living room, so I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. I couldn’t, of course, even as the dread of my shift loomed over me like a shitty storm cloud. Another curse echoed through the tiny apartment, and I buried my face in my pillow and tugged the covers up. They smelled like dog. Her dog. He was probably the only good thing to come from this toxic relationship. I needed out but hadn’t quite found an escape route, although after this fight, she just might be serious about taking all her shit and moving out. A man could hope.

  Somehow, I managed to fall back asleep, but the alarm set for seven-thirty tore through any decent REM I was getting. I moaned, groping around for my phone on the nightstand. I reached to unplug it, only to find the phone charger gone. She must have taken that too. Great, now my phone was on forty-five percent. I growled, rolled to my back, then stopped when my ass hit something. At first, I thought it was the sneakers she threw on me last night, but as one hand reached down to remove them from my tailbone and the other reached for my glasses, I froze.

  I shot up, staring at the sleeping Yorkshire terrier on my bed. When he saw me, his little tail began to wag, but I just stared at him in disbelief. She didn’t take her dog? She had always taken him when she’d stormed out before. Guess she was really mad this time.

  “How’s it hanging, buddy?” I asked, swinging my bare feet over the side of my bed. As I stepped down, my foot sunk into something warm and squishy. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. Just put your glasses on, Duane, and clean it up. It’s not the dog’s fault. I had to keep repeating it to myself because it was true. It wasn’t Tiberius’ fault his owner was a flighty idiot. You gotta poop, you gotta poop, right?

  Grabbing my glasses, I awkwardly hopped to my closed bedroom door, ignored all the clothes strewn on the floor, and flung it open.

  All I could do is stare at the living room. She took…all our furniture? The dining table, the microwave, the TV, the coffee table, the only not-ugly recliner. How the hell had she managed that in like six hours? No way did she cram all our stuff into that tiny Prius of hers. I bet she had an accomplice. Probably the jerk bartender who’d been calling her steadily. Grumbling under my breath, I heeled it into the bathroom and washed off my foot.

  Tiberius padded out to the kitchen right behind me. He looked longingly at the door, and I wondered if he had another surprise package in him. Or maybe he’d watched her sneak out with my stuff in the night and wondered if he would ever see his furniture again.

  “You and me both, my guy.” I sighed, grabbed the paper towels and the carpet cleaner and headed back to my room.

  After the offending dump was sealed in a plastic bag and thrown away, I checked the time again. 8:10. Okay, quick shower, eat at work. Can do, I forced out in whatever positive attitude I could manage. Tiberius followed me into the bathroom, and I reluctantly patted his tiny head. Guess I’m temporary dad now. I sighed and slid open the shower door. She took all the soap, I quickly noted. My head thudded against the wall, and I felt like crying. Maybe Ronan managed to stash some. What a fucking awful Thursday.

  The night before when I saw the “come over, babe, I’m horny” text that certainly wasn’t from me, she had stormed out, indignant that I’d accuse her of such things. Right, like I was imagining the smell of cologne that wasn’t mine on her skin. Seeing the void she’d left me this time, I began to suspect that I’d seen the last of her. Her stuff hadn’t included all our furniture that we bought before I even met her, but at this point, I was kind of glad she was gone. I wasn’t going to chase after her to get it back. I would just have to use my Rainy-Day funds and pray the local thrift shop had furniture.

  Ronan, my roommate, had witnessed her meltdown and began gathering small things as quickly as he could. “That cow isn’t getting my DS,” he’d hissed, rushing things to the stockpile in his room. I hoped he thought to get soap.

  I slogged across the living room and gently knocked on his door. “Hey, buddy, you up?” I called, and I heard the lock click open. I saw his long nose poke through the crack, his bright blue mohawk limp and hanging over his eye.

  “Is the succubus gone?” he whimpered, and I chuckled.

  “Yeah, man, but we have a problem.” I awkwardly rubbed the back of my neck and moved to the side so he could see the fallout. I saw the same look of horror that had surely passed over my face this morning reflected on his. The apartment was barren, and on cue, Tiberius rushed up to us, wagging his stumpy tail.

  “She took all our stuff but didn’t take her dog?” he shrieked, meeting my downcast eyes. I felt horrible like this was somehow all my fault. I had to make it up to him. Ronan Mallory didn’t leave London for shit like this to happen now.

  “I’ll go get furniture tonight after work. I’ll fix this,” I said, determination replacing any lingering sadness. His gaze softened significantly, and he scooped up Tiberius and buried his face in his fur.

  “This isn’t your fault, mate. Don’t spend all day thinking it is, or I will kill you,” he threatened around Yorkie kisses. I smiled half-heartedly. “Now then, I guess you an’ me are dads now. Right, I’ll be the cool dad who lets him smoke pot in the house and you can be the strict dad who takes him fishing to bond and learn about the circle of life.”

  “I don’t even like fishing,” I pointed out as he disappeared into his room again. He came back with two bottles of Old Spice and a shower poof. I smirked, grabbing all the items. Ronan let the dog down and placed both of his hands on my bare shoulders.

  “Listen, Duane Hart. You are my best friend. I wouldn’t be here in the city of my dreams if I hadn’t met you. We’re gonna beat this. All right?” He gave me a little shake, and I smiled—a for real smile—the first time all morning.

  “All right.” I nodded, pulling him into a hug and clapping his back. Real bro stuff. I jumped into the shower, now racing against the clock to be on time for work. I had forgotten my uniform in my room, so as Ronan was digging through the fridge for breakfast, I cupped my dick and shouted, “Don’t look…I’m naked!” Ronan feigned shock and horror as I rushed to pull on boxers, followed by my black pants and a black button-up shirt. My non-slip shoes were by the front door, thank fuck, and I stashed my phone and keys into my pockets and rushed out the door.

  The walk to work was usually pretty quiet. Brooklyn Heights was wrapped in a cool fog this morning, spring trying her best to tear through the cold of winter. My glasses were wet as soon as I began walking, and as I looked at the time again, I began jogging. I knew the chances of getting fired were almost non-existent, considering my managers gave less than zero shits what any of us did as long as we passed inspections but giving the luck of today, I wasn’t taking any chances.

  I saw Lydia’s Bar and Grill come into view and burst through the back doors just as Barbara was clocking in. I may not get fired, but no one made me contemplate hurling myself off a bridge like Bat-shit Barbara Harris. She was a tiny, frail woman who looked like someone tried to clone Gary Busey but just couldn’t get it quite right. She was insufferable to work with since she knew if she did her job slow enough, I would just end up doing it for her. And I did because staying a half hour past my shift wasn’t on my agenda.

  “Mornin’, Duaney!” She grinned, reeking of cigarette smoke and coffee. I was pretty sure she lived off only those two things. I simply nodded, clocking in just as the clock turned to nine. Now I began my work ritual of not talking to anyone except Sonja and Dougie, and maybe Ronan if I caught him when I was clocking out.

  I owed this job to Ronan. We went to college together a few years back, and after I dropped out because my parents couldn’t afford to send me any more, Ronan soon followed. “Couldn’t stand to be without his favorite roomie,” he had said, but I always thought there was more to it than that. I never pried, but we found this cheap apartment in Brooklyn Heights and made it home. He got the bartender job here, and when I put in my application, he talked me up so much that the manager was asking for me by name. That was two years ago.

  Now, I’m the prized dishwasher. No raise, no promotion. I frowned at the pot sink, already full of pans that the cooks had been using. Sonja saw me, her little chef’s hat bouncing as she tossed a spatula in the sink and raised her hand to fist bump me.

  “Morning.” I sighed, rolling up my sleeves to begin the day. Sonja’s blue eyes roamed over my face, and I raised my eyebrow.

  “You and the she-beast have another fight?” she asked, adjusting her hat to better scoop up her long, blonde hair. I nodded.

  “I look that bad?” I muttered, and she smiled sheepishly. She patted my shoulder before heading back to her station to fill the next breakfast order. Barb slid up beside me, leaning against the high sink, watching me begin to fill it up.

  “Did you know today’s Taylor Swift’s birthday?” she rasped, the fumes of her mouth almost making me gag. All I responded with was a nod as I began scrubbing pans. She soon wandered off, and I heard her ask Sonja if she knew it was Taylor Swift’s birthday. I wouldn’t see her again for at least half an hour.

  As I worked, I made a mental note of everything that I needed to get. Maybe if the thrift store didn’t have anything, the local dollar store would have some of those cheap tables and chairs. We would have to save up for a TV, but maybe Ronan would put the one in his room out into the living room. At least we had our game consoles.

  Work went by rather quickly, despite the fact that I was doing two people’s jobs. Barb wandered back to the sink when breakfast plates came back, but all she would do is set them out to dry. I did it faster by myself, so I told her to take the trash out. That fifteen-minute job would take her at least forty-five minutes, which equaled forty-five minutes of peace for me.

  At one o’clock, Sonja tapped my shoulder to signify lunchtime. I washed the grease and food bits off my hands in the bathroom sink, patting my pockets as I made my way toward the employee entrance. Shit. With a heavy sigh, I realized I forgot my vape at home. I pushed the door open and trotted down the concrete ramp to the employee picnic table/smoking area. Sonja already had one lit, dragging in heavily, her hat tossed to the table. Her long blonde hair was free, pulled back into a fishtail braid. Ronan and I called her Sonja Blade like the old Mortal Kombat character based on her appearance and the fact I once saw her punch a new employee in the face for grabbing her ass.

  “How’s work?” she asked, smiling an innocent smile as I flopped to the bench. She already knew how work was.

  “It’s a wonderful place. Full of wonderful people,” I replied, getting a snicker around her cigarette. The smell didn’t bother me much anymore. I quit a few years ago, and Ronan soon followed. We always joked that we were even since he got me into smoking and I got him out of it.

  The rest of the break was filled with idle chatter. I pulled my phone from my pocket, scowling at the thirty-one percent battery. Ronan had sent me a picture with Tiberius on his leash, looking happily up at the camera. He had sent another one. This time it was a selfie on a park bench. The only thing he said was “we miss you, Daddy.” I snorted, but my good mood soured immediately when I scrolled a bit too far and found pictures of me and McKenzie. As much as we had grown apart, and man had we grown far apart, seeing the good times we’d had made me melancholy. Not sad enough to ever want her back because, yeah, she was a whole level of toxic that I did not need but still things had been good in the beginning—before her true nature had been revealed.

  I sighed. Sonja looked at me but I was too busy typing to address it.

  “You want me to kill her?” Sonja asked, pretending like she wasn’t looking at my pictures over my shoulder the whole time. I shook my head.

  “She’s not worth jail time,” I muttered, running my hands through my hair. The sides needed to be shaved again, and the curls on top were getting too long. They were starting to poke out of my hairnet.

  The break was over and we headed back inside, where the next few hours went by without incident. Barb went home at three, replaced by an equally useless Lester Lowry. He was painfully chatty, actually doing his job but talking to me the entire time about shit I couldn’t care less about. His big gut squished against the lip of the sink as we worked, his thinning hairline flat from the hairnet. I left as he was telling me about a model of car from the 1950s that he owned.

  The fresh spring air was a welcome relief as was Ronan’s face as he met me just outside the door. His five to midnight shift was a killer, but the money was better than mine, and he had always been a night owl. He handed me my vape, and I thanked him profusely.

  “Y’all right?” he asked, and I knew what he meant. I pulled my phone from my pocket and showed him the conversation I had with McKenzie earlier. He laughed incredulously, shaking his head, his bright mohawk limp and stuffed under a black ballcap. He wore it backward, and no one told him no, considering he was the only bartender.