Bankers' Hours Read Free

Carr punching me. He’d seemed very nice. His half smile intrigued me—it made me think of trouble brewing under the surface. He certainly had that bad-boy quality I’d always appreciated from afar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He didn’t seem dangerous to me. Besides, I’m not flirting with anyone, and I don’t blush easily.”
    “The hell you don’t. Just watch yourself, or Tracy will haul you into her office and rip you a new one. She’s all about policy, and dating customers is frowned upon.”
    We were only standing in my cubicle, but as she hissed at me so intensely, she might as well have yelled, I felt as though she’d shoved me into a corner with her finger pointed in my face. “Okay, okay. Jeez. I haven’t done anything.”
    Her expression changed. “I’m sorry, Grant. I like you. I don’t want to see you get fired or hurt. You seem very sweet, albeit a bit naive.”
    She had me there. My cheeks heated from embarrassment.
    “See, you’re blushing again.” She reached up and touched my arm as I clapped my hands over my cheeks. “I’m sorry I commented about chatting up the customers. I think it was my way of challenging what I’d seen. Part of me hoped it wasn’t true. You’re seriously cute, Grant. Being gay would ruin my chances.”
    I sighed. “You’re right, I’m gay.”
    “Then why be so defensive about it?”
    “I guess because you deconstructed my sexuality based on stereotypes. I don’t like labels and definitions. I think there are too many people out there who don’t fit into a category. Some get offended.”
    “But yours are obvious.” She looked over my shoulder. “Sorry. Customers. I gotta go.” Jessica patted my arm and waved the customer in line to head over to her window.
    I waved one over as well. I greeted the older man, saying, “Good afternoon.”
     
     
    I WENT home after my shift and gazed at myself in the mirror of my dresser. Was I really stereotypical? I liked pastel shirts, and I didn’t see a reason to wear white or black just to blend in. I undid my pink-and-white striped tie and pulled it from around my neck. I hung it on the tie organizer in my closet and unbuttoned my shirt. My pasty white skin sagged in my reflection. I flexed. The lack of muscle made my self-image worse. I was scrawny and awkward, and my body wasn’t one guys like Tristan Carr desired, or any guy for that matter. Even with the .02 percent chance Tristan was gay, I highly doubted I had anything he’d find attractive once he took his eyes off my okay-I-admit-it’s-pretty face. In my suit and tie, I had the hot-young-executive appearance in my favor. Out of the suit, I was a pathetic twenty-six-year-old virgin with zero appeal.
    I took off my trousers and hung them up, then pushed my underwear down and reassessed. My sad little penis hung to the left. “Negative twenty appeal.” I rubbed my crotch and scratched my patch of blond hair. “This poor thing will shrivel and fall off before I find a guy to suck it.”
    Heavyhearted, I took a shower and put on my pajamas before heating up leftovers.
    After I had washed my plate and put it away, my phone rang. I could tell it was my best friend, Mel, by the ringtone. His jingle was different from my mother’s.
    “Hello,” I answered.
    “Hey. How’s your first week been?” he asked.
    I met Mel Tersiguel on my first day of work right out of college. I had graduated with an accounting degree, but I felt the need to ease my way into the work world after so many years in school. Some guys couldn’t wait to break free of their parents, but I hadn’t been one of them. In fact, it had taken me three years after college simply to move into my own place. Mel had applauded me for my independence, although I still waffled about the decision a year later.
    “Fine, I guess,” I answered.
    “Hmm, you don’t sound fine. What happened?”
    “Nothing, I guess. Do you think I’m flamboyant?” I asked.
    “Wow. Where did