Chapter 2: Something About Austin
Later that day, things stayed easy at work. Maybe too easy. We’d start every day with a joke, small talk, quick smiles across the desk. If he noticed me watching him, he didn’t let on. But there were moments.. tiny, disarming moments that felt deliberate. The way he’d lean close to show me something on his laptop. The subtle graze of his shoulder against mine. The smell of his cologne when he walked past… sandalwood, clean, warm.
I started to notice how others reacted to him too. Especially Mark, one of the guys in accounting…sharp dresser, openly gay, the kind of man who noticed details.
I found myself in the break room with him. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.
“I, uh… saw Austin showering at the gym today.”
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “You saw him?”
I nodded, trying to sound casual. “Yeah. Total accident. Saw his cock.”
Mark leaned against the counter, smirking. “And? What’d you think?”
I could feel my ears burning. “I think I am obsessed with him. He’s so fucking hot”
He laughed. “I fucking know right. I bet he’s bigger when he’s hard.”
“Ahh..stop,” I said quickly. “He’s straight. There’s nothing that can happen with him”
Mark kept stirring his coffee, eyes glinting. “Straight guys like that always know when someone’s looking. Trust me. He probably enjoyed it.”
I scoffed, but Mark wasn’t done. “Come on, Geoff. Guys like him.. ones who soak up attention sometimes they don’t even need convincing. Curiosity alone can push them further than you think.”
“Mark.”
He held up his hands, still grinning. “What? I’m just saying… guys like him often let a line blur if the moment feels right.”
I tried to laugh it off, but his words stuck in my head for days. Curiosity alone.
Later that week, Austin texted that he couldn’t make it to happy hour…some last-minute errand. I told him it was fine, but it wasn’t. I’d been looking forward to it all day. Maybe part of me wanted to test Mark’s theory, to see if Austin might actually let me suck him off if he was feeling curious enough.
By the time I got to the bar, a handful of coworkers were already there. Music pulsed low under the chatter, glasses clinking, laughter spilling out in bursts. I smiled, joined a few conversations, but my attention kept snagging on the door. Every time it opened, I looked up, expecting him.
He never showed.
By the third drink, the laughter felt too loud, the room too bright. I told myself I wasn’t angry..just horny and restless. Restless and stupidly disappointed. I wanted to see him, talk to him, share a drink with him,... maybe just feel that spark again and get the chance to be close to him.
I left before anyone noticed, the humid Florida night pressing close around me. The street smelled like salt and beer and something electric, the kind of air that makes you say things you shouldn’t.
In the car, I scrolled through my phone until his name came up.
I shouldn’t call, I thought. But my thumb was already pressing “dial.”
The phone rang once, twice, three times, then went to voicemail.
“Austinnn,” I said, slurring just a little. “Missed you at the bar, my mannn!. Would’ve been more fun if you were here.”
There was a beat of silence. I could hear my own breathing, the ocean somewhere in the distance.
And then, before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out.
“Oh, and…by the way… I liked your cock.
Click.
I stared at the screen. The call had ended. For a moment, it didn’t even register.
I froze. Then panic kicked in. I called again, voice cracking.
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I mean…I didn’t mean your cock, I just meant.. I like cock, forget it.”
Another click. Voicemail again.
“Wait, not that your dick wasn’t nice... I mean.. I just…shit. I’m sorry.”
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and let my head fall back. My pulse was hammering, my skin hot. It was supposed to be funny, harmless…some kind of joke. But even in my haze, I knew that wasn’t true.
When I got home, I poured another drink, then another, trying to drown the thought of his voice, his smile, the image of him under the shower. At some point, I must’ve passed out on the couch.
Morning came sharp and unkind. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, right across my face. My head throbbed. My mouth was dry.
Then I saw my phone on the floor.
3 Voicemails sent.
To Austin.
My stomach flipped. I sat there for a long minute, trying to convince myself I’d imagined it. Maybe it hadn’t really sent. Maybe it was just a draft. But when I opened my messages, the timestamp was there in glaring proof.
I’d done it.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, pressing my palms to my eyes.
I replayed the night in flashes…the bar, the empty stool, the phone in my hand. Each piece made me cringe harder. The worst part wasn’t that I’d said it. It was that it had been the truth. I hadn’t meant cock in general. I’d meant his.
And now he knew.
By the time I got to the office, he wasn’t there. Word was he’d taken Friday off to prep for the party he and his girlfriend were hosting that weekend. Everyone was talking about it…who was bringing what, what time to show up while I sat at my desk, pretending to work, wondering if he’d listened to that message yet.
Every time my phone buzzed, I flinched. But the call never came.
Saturday loomed ahead like a storm cloud. The thought of walking into his house, seeing him after what I’d said, made my chest tighten. I kept replaying it in my head, over and over: Hey, man… I liked your cock.
What the hell was I supposed to say to him now?
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