Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 37055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Dad laughs. “That is funny. The partners and I get to choose our interns tomorrow, so I’ll keep in mind that he’s your friend when I go to choose mine.”
My eyes widen. Shit. How do I get Tyson out of this one?
“What, you don’t want to pick your own son?” I act offended. Dad already told me he can’t pick me.
“I can’t give you any favoritism. You know that,” Dad says.
“Oh, but sure, working for either of my godfathers isn’t like that.”
“They’re not going to go easy on you. Fair warning.”
“I’m ready. But, uh, maybe you should choose …” Shit, what’s her name? I should know that. “… the girl intern. I’m sure Tyson wouldn’t want favoritism either just because he knows me.”
Traffic is backed up, and we pull to a stop.
Dad turns to me. “Why are you worried if Tyson becomes my intern for the summer? Is it the gay thing? Because you know your mother and I have no problem with that.”
Yeah. I know. After meeting Beck and Jacobs, they told me point-blank it was okay if I was queer. I laughed them off then, which is kind of ironic now.
Oh, still straight, Dad. Because letting your friend’s friend suck you off isn’t queer at all.
“He’s not gay,” I say. “He’s bi.” If his social media is anything to go by. Not that I looked.
I totally looked.
“Really? Huh. I assumed. The pink tie, and—”
“Yes, because pink is the reason someone is gay.”
“Gianni, you know what I mean.”
I do because I thought the same. Tyson’s over-the-top personality and vibrance does give off that stereotypical gay man vibe. “You know what they say: When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”
“I hate it when my kids throw my own words back at me.”
I grin.
Dad pulls onto our street in South Boston, and a spot outside our brownstone is vacant. This whole street is permit-only parking, so we can usually get somewhere close.
Being back home hasn’t been as weird as I thought it would be. My brother goes to NYU and is doing one of their summer programs, so at least he’s not here to annoy me like when we were kids.
I make myself get up early and hit the gym in my parents’ basement, which only ever gets used by Marco and me. I don’t think my parents have stepped foot in that room since ever. My brother and I took it over with video games and teenage boy smell. The gym part is essential when Mom insists on cooking meals as if every member of our extended family is coming for dinner when there are only three of us. Then she practically force-feeds me and guilts me to eat more or it will all go to waste.
I would have loved to have gotten my own place, but there’s no point when the internship pays next to nothing, and there’s no chance I’m getting the one coveted full-time position at the end. That will come down to Tyson and … Whitney? I want to say Whitney.
I really should have paid attention.
Tomorrow, I’ll do better.
* * *
Today is not going to be any better.
Tyson in a suit and acting professional throws me. It’s hard to associate the man in front of me with the one who asked me to bend him over a washing machine and fuck him. Something I’m regretting ever turning down.
As I sit opposite Mitch Callaghan, someone who’s practically my uncle, my gaze keeps straying across the hall into my dad’s office, where Tyson is.
“Are you paying attention?” Mitch asks.
My attention jerks to him. “What?”
He laughs. “I’m going to take that as a no. Look, I know you’re not gunning for the full-time position up for grabs, but I was under the impression you wanted to learn.”
“I do. I’m just …”
“Distracted staring at another intern? You know him?”
“We have mutual friends, so yeah, it was weird seeing him here.”
“You got a beef with him?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m worried Dad is scaring him off.” Then I realize what I’ve actually said. “Because, you know, I don’t have many friends in the city anymore. Since high school.” I clear my throat.
Mitch narrows his eyes. “Right. Okay then, well, we can play this one of two ways. I can send you to work with my assistant, and she will give you menial jobs all summer, or you can actually work for me and shadow me and learn as much as you can. If you learn anything from me, it’ll make business school a hell of a lot easier.”
“That. Uh, please. I want to learn. I’m going to steal your job one day.”
Mitch mumbles something about me being a wise-ass little shit, and I smile at him like the spoiled honorary nephew that I am.
I follow him around all morning and go from meeting to meeting with him while taking notes. He says his assistant will show me how to do it properly when we get a chance so I can eventually be productive at some point.