Almost the One by Jess Whitecroft

Author:Jess Whitecroft [Whitecroft, Jess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: comedy, LGBTQ, Romance, romantic comedy, contemporary
Published: 2020-01-22T16:00:00+00:00

*

Change was hard. Rory knew that better than anyone.

Change was made up of tiny but infinitely difficult things, like showing up every Wednesday, opening your heart to the group, or simply resisting your worst instincts. Sometimes change was what you didn’t do, when you didn’t find some machine that would take your money, and sit there for hour after hour, hypnotized by light and noise and the thrill of the near miss. Part of him worried that that was what was happening now, because he’d fried his wiring out in Vegas, short circuited his brain so many times that he no longer got off on the wins. Or maybe he’d been like that all along, because Zafir had never been so attractive as he was whenever he was almost the one. The one that got away.

So it was a relief, in a way, when the new commis chef flaked on a Tuesday night, and Zafir – as all bosses did, eventually – started taking the piss.

“It’s one Wednesday,” he said. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Please?”

“I told you,” said Rory. “I can’t do Wednesdays. Anyway, I thought you were closed?”

“Yeah, we were, but come on – the place has customers for once. I have to take advantage of that. Fifty grand, remember?”

Rory shook his head and went on putting things away in the fridge. “I can’t.”

“Please? Just once. I’m asking as a favor.”

“Well, don’t,” Rory said. Every Wednesday it was the same thing. Same stalemate, waiting for Zafir to just ask him, so that he might find the courage to confess everything. I’m broken, and I need help. Oh, and I called the health inspector, because I’m still broken, and I can’t keep from blowing up everything around me.

“Don’t do what?” Zafir said, following him out of the pantry.

“You know what. Don’t ask me for favors.”

“Why not? Aren’t we friends?”

Rory stopped and stiffened. Were they? It was so hard to tell. On one hand Zafir had offered him his bed, but then they went through the same dance every damn Tuesday, when Zafir was practically dripping with curiosity about where Rory went on Wednesday nights, but still wouldn’t take that leap and ask. Which is what a friend would do. “You’re my boss,” said Rory. “I work for you.”

Zafir visibly flinched. “Right,” he said. “And what about all those times we hung out together? When you spent the night?”

“Don’t do this, Zafir.” For all his assertiveness was beguiling at times, he could also be manipulative, and he was crossing that line right now. “Just don’t.”

“All I want is for you to work tomorrow night.”

“And don’t be so fucking disingenuous.”

“Disingenuous?” said Zafir, leaning on the edge of the worksurface, his arms spread. “You’re the one having a meltdown right now. I should have known it would happen sooner or later.” He straightened up and pointed. “You always do this. You always go off.”

“Go off?”

“Yes. You’ve always gotta go big, don’t you? You can’t just be happy. Oh no. You have to turn cartwheels next to a cliff edge.

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