Boystown heartbreakers, p.1
Boystown Heartbreakers, page 1
Boystown Heartbreakers
KC Carmichael
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, names, or persons, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2024 by KC Carmichael
All rights reserved. For information regarding reproduction in total or in part, contact Rising Action Publishing Co. at http://www.risingactionpublishingco.com
Cover Illustration © Cover Ever After
Distributed by Blackstone Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-998076-02-4
Ebook: 978-1-998076-03-1
FIC027250 FICTION / Romance / Romantic Comedy
FIC027190 FICTION / Romance / LGBTQ+ / Gay
FIC027020 FICTION / Romance / Contemporary
#BoystownHeartbreakers
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Contents
Dedication
1. CHAPTER 1
2. CHAPTER 2
3. CHAPTER 3
4. CHAPTER 4
5. CHAPTER 5
6. CHAPTER 6
7. CHAPTER 7
8. CHAPTER 8
9. CHAPTER 9
10. CHAPTER 10
11. CHAPTER 11
12. CHAPTER 12
13. CHAPTER 13
14. CHAPTER 14
15. CHAPTER 15
16. CHAPTER 16
17. CHAPTER 17
18. CHAPTER 18
19. CHAPTER 19
20. CHAPTER 20
21. Chapter 21
22. About the Author
To anyone who’s ever worked a day behind the chair
1
CHAPTER 1
In the city of Chicago, walk-in closets are a rarity, and in Boystown, they are purely a myth. It’s not uncommon for a single person of means to live in a two-bedroom apartment only to use the smaller of the two spaces as a place to hang their clothes and display their shoes. Bastian doesn’t have this problem. He had managed to stumble upon the one great unicorn of Chicago living—a legend that most believe to be as realistic as Bigfoot or a long-term commitment found on Grindr—a studio apartment with a walk-in closet, complete with shelving and two tiers of hanging rods. The enormity of the closet was enough to make Bastian overlook the tiny kitchen and its lack of cabinet space, to let go of his dream of having a legitimate lakefront view, and to look past the fact that his little corner of heaven was located right outside the building’s sole elevator. These were worthy sacrifices for having a proper place to hang his clothes.
It wasn’t until he moved in that he discovered his favorite detail about the closet. Written on the side of the doorframe, in a place the landlord would indeed never find, was a shared list created by all the previous inhabitants for at least a decade. In five different scripts, the past occupants and now Bastian have kept a running tally of those who have broken their hearts, the men who are no longer worth their time and effort. It’s a very long list. One man, Raheem Wallace, appears on this list three times—even Bastian fell victim to him.
But as Bastian steps into his beloved closet to prepare for his date with Ryan Andrews tonight, he runs his fingers down the list of “Boystown Heartbreakers” and scoffs at it. He and Ryan have been going strong for six months now, and it’s starting to feel permanent. He’s confident that this list ends with Raheem Wallace’s last appearance. Ryan is not going to make this list; Bastian is sure of it. He feels it in his heart as he steps out of his shorts and steps into his favorite pair of fashionably ripped, dark grey skinny jeans. He shrugs on a simple, lightweight black cashmere sweater and tucks it into his pants. He then grabs his best pair of patent leather Gucci loafers bought on clearance and slides them onto his feet. With a final spin in front of the mirror and a quick tug of his meticulously styled, caramel curls away from his brow, he’s ready, sure that Ryan will devour him faster than the noodles they’re about to eat in their preferred corner booth at Joy’s.
He snaps a picture of himself in the mirror, filters it to make him look more ethereal, and adds a song track, “I Wanna Be Adored” by the Stone Roses, then hits post to his Instagram story. It’s not up for fifteen seconds before his mother calls him, interrupting his ability to watch in real-time as his friends, clients, and lurkers check out his post.
“Hey, Mom,” he says as he answers, a sigh in his voice. If he doesn’t answer, she’ll call him again in another hour. She’s eager for any updates he might have on his love life. Not that he minds. His mom’s unending support for him and all he does is something to be grateful for. He tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder, grabs his keys with one hand, and shuts the closet light off with the other. “I’m running out the door. Can I call you later?”
“Sure, love,” she says, her voice as bright as always. “I only wanted to tell you that you look very handsome tonight. A total catch. I hope that Ryan appreciates how stunning you are.”
“Mom!” Bastian’s face burns. “I don’t look handsome. Ryan is the handsome one. I’m the funny, steal-the-show one in this relationship.”
“While you are funny, Sebastian, you’re handsome as well. Ryan better know how lucky he is.”
“He does.” Bastian steps out of his apartment and locks the door.
“Good. And your father and I are looking forward to finally meeting him this weekend. Six months is far too long for you to date someone I haven’t met yet.”
“I’m thirty. I don’t need your approval on the men I date.”
“Maybe not, but it’s my right as your mother to make sure your heart is in good hands.” Without even being in front of her, it’s not hard to imagine she’s pursing her lips, waiting for his response.
“Well, it is. You don’t need to worry.” He huffs and runs down the front steps of his building's entrance hall.
“What about Andres, dear?”
“What about Andres?” he asks, turning to head down the sidewalk.
“Has he met Ryan?”
“Of course he’s met Ryan! Andres is my best friend.”
“No need to get huffy. I’m simply curious about this man you spend all your time with.”
Bastian rolls his eyes. “Look, Mom, I really gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow between clients, alright?”
“Alright, dear. Have fun tonight! Make smart choices.”
“Don’t I always?” he says. He often doesn’t, but his mom certainly doesn’t need to know that.
“Yes, you do, dear.” She giggles. “Now, have a nice time tonight. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Alright,” he says and hangs up the phone, then picks up his pace as he walks down Aldine to get to Broadway and then his date destination.
He weaves his way through the small crowds of people already beginning to form on the sidewalks outside the eateries, bars, and nightclubs as the sun starts to dip out of view to the west. For a Monday, it’s quite crowded. Still, considering it’s late April and the weather has finally broken with the temperature reaching seventy degrees, Bastian is not surprised to see his fellow Chicagoans milling about outside after a long winter holed up in their apartments. Like him, the inhabitants of Boystown likely missed the sidewalk patios for eating and drinking, the rainbow Art Deco pillars that denote the main thoroughfare’s neighborhood lines, and the vibrant personalities hanging out of the apartment windows that overlook it all. He might be a bit of a homebody, but Chicago is a city to enjoy and explore, no matter how long you’ve lived here, and Bastian has been itching to go out. Perhaps, even though he has to work tomorrow and has a full book of eight clients scheduled to sit in his chair at the salon, he can talk Ryan into stopping at Roscoe’s for a drink before they go back to Ryan’s for a tumble in his sheets.
The enticing smell of garlic and ginger hangs in the air of the dimly lit restaurant as he enters. Bastian finds Ryan tapping away on his phone and sitting by the window instead of in the back like they usually would. With spring having thawed winter thoroughly today, a seat by the window will be a nice change.
“Hey,” he says as he sits. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Ryan holds up one finger but doesn’t look up from his phone.
“Sorry.” Bastian winces and looks around. Ryan is already halfway through his drink, even though Bastian technically wasn’t late at all. He only apologized out of courtesy for having kept Ryan waiting. Now it’s Bastian’s turn to wait. Ryan is preoccupied, his brow furrowed, as he looks down at his phone and continues to type away. Bastian catches their server’s attention and signals he’d like a glass of the white wine that Ryan’s been drinking.
Finally, Ryan puts his phone down.
“Rough day at work?” Bastian asks, trying to dissipate the tension that is circling in the air around them.
Ryan shrugs and takes a sip of his wine. He looks out the window, his face completely unreadable.
“What can I get for you?” their server asks as she places Bastian’s wine glass in front of him on the dark wood table. He’s quick to grab it and takes a very large gulp.
“I’ll take an order of the Pad Woon Sen,” Ryan demands and then chugs what’s left of his wine. “And another one of these.”
Their server nods, then looks at Bastian expectantly. “And f or you?”
“The Bai-Tong Noodles, please,” he says, hoping to make up for Ryan’s brusqueness.
She smiles at him, tucks her notepad into her apron, and walks away to place their orders.
“What’s got your briefs in a bunch?” Bastian asks, unable to hold back his annoyance.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
Bastian takes another sip of his wine. “You’re not acting fine.”
“It’s been a long day, is all.” Ryan sighs, then adds, “You know some of us actually work on Mondays. We can’t just lounge in our apartments all day.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Bastian says, sitting more upright in his seat, his brows furrowing. “This is my weekend. I hope you remember that the next time you’re sleeping in on a Saturday, and I’m knee-deep in rich women needing their roots touched up.”
Ryan rolls his eyes and grabs the glass of wine out of their server’s hand as she delivers it. “As if gossiping in the salon all day is stressful.”
“And you think you have it hard sitting at your desk all day?” Bastian challenges. He knows damn well that most of Ryan’s day at the advertising firm is spent shooting Nerf guns at his cubicle mates.
“Harder than your day dolling people up and reading centaur porn with the girls in the backroom between clients.” Ryan smirks, and his eyes lose their hard glint.
“Those novels are titillating.” Bastian laughs and is relieved to hear Ryan chuckle with him. It seems the centaur porn novels serve their purpose of providing a much-needed comedic release at this restaurant table as they do in the salon’s breakroom. Nothing else cures the headache of having talked a client off the ledge when they freak out after seeing themselves with the bangs they insisted he cut on them for the first time.
“If you say so.” Ryan takes another sip of his drink.
“You know, I’d be glad to read them out loud to you after a hard day if you’d like,” Bastian offers with a sly grin.
“No thanks.” Ryan chuckles again. “I’m not sure centaur porn is gonna do it for me.”
“There was that great one with the Kraken, and I have a minotaur one arriving at the salon sometime this week.”
“I can’t believe you waste your money on those.”
“It’s a collective purchase. We all chip in a dollar out of our tips. Besides, it’s in good fun.”
“If the salon’s clients only knew that their stylists were so depraved.”
“Trust me, honey,” Bastian says, fixing Ryan with his best stone-faced stare. “It’s the clients that are the shocking ones. You know I got propositioned to go to another swingers’ party last week?”
“Which client?” Ryan asks. “That hot lawyer guy?”
“Oh god, no!” Bastian sits forward in his seat, happy they have settled into their usual playful banter. “He’s so deep in the closet I’d die of shock if he invited me out for a cup of coffee, let alone that sort of thing. This was from that Susan Williams woman, the one who’s married to the WGN exec.”
“She knows you’re gay, right?”
“Of course she does.” Bastian rolls his eyes. “And it wasn’t for her that she was inviting me. I guess she’s made some hall pass deal with her husband, who’s looking to experiment. Needless to say, I’ll be avoiding that,” he waves his hands wildly, “situation thoroughly.”
“Your clients are so weird,” Ryan says as their server places their food on the table.
Bastian thanks her and orders them another round of drinks, then turns his attention back to Ryan as he picks up his chopsticks. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry, my dear. I only have eyes for you.”
Ryan takes a bite and lets out a sigh. He starts jabbing at his food with his sticks. “About that, Bastian.”
“About what?”
“About you only having eyes for me.”
“Yeah?” Bastian bites at his lower lip again, the air around them shifting to something less comfortable.
“Maybe you shouldn’t rule everything out.”
“Why shouldn’t I? Is this not working for you?”
Ryan takes another bite, then places his chopsticks down and swallows his food with a sip of his wine. “It’s just ... this,” he gestures between them, “is great and all. But with summer coming, I don’t want to be tied down. I want to explore my options.”
Bastian pauses, his chopstick-holding hand frozen over his noodles. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Ryan shrugs.
“In front of my noods!”
“Please don’t freak out, Bastian. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal! You were supposed to meet my parents this weekend!”
“You know how it is.” Ryan shrugs again. “In the winter, we pair off and get all domestic and cozy, but when summer comes, well, it’s time to shed our clothes and have fun. And I can’t have fun if I’m always attached to you.”
Bastian places his chopsticks on the table. “Excuse me, but I’m a helluva a good time.”
“You are. But I need to have a different good time this summer.”
Bastian picks up his drink and swallows what’s left in one big gulp. “Fuck you, Ryan.” He rises from his seat, causing the legs of his chair to scrape against the wood floor, pulls two twenties out of his wallet that he drops onto the table, then leaves with his head held high. Until he steps out the door and lets his shoulders slump in defeat—yet another heartbreak.
***
Once back at his apartment, he approaches the doorframe. The pen dangles from the thick string held by a pushpin in the old hardwood frame. He takes it and looks at the names he’s put on this list. Once he adds Ryan Andrews, he will officially take the lead as to who’s had their heart broken the most. That’s a title he doesn’t want to hold but seems to be his lot in life. With a sigh, he uncaps the pen, then adds Ryan’s name, taking deliberate care to form each letter clearly—yet another disappointment on the ever-growing list of Boystown Heartbreakers.
2
CHAPTER 2
Upon waking the following day, Bastian shuffles from his bed to his kitchen counter. His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is messy from tossing and turning all night. Once there, he grabs a coffee filter from the cabinet, places it in the cheap thirty-dollar machine, and adds a precisely measured amount of grounds. After adding the water, he sets his coffee pot to brew. He could have slept a little longer. His first client of the day isn’t for another two hours, but even while nursing his latest heartbreak, he’s unwilling to give up his peaceful morning routine.
Every workday starts the same. He wakes to an alarm set for eight a.m. and gets his coffee going. While that’s brewing, he takes a shower. The steaming hot water mingling with the aromatic plum and bergamot scent of his shampoo and conditioner wakes him more fully, or at least helps him open his eyes enough so that he can see himself in the little mirror suction-cupped to the wall of his shower and give himself a close shave. From there, he towels off, moisturizes his face with two serums and a cream, styles his hair, then spritzes himself down with a dry oil spray—half for the way it keeps his skin supple, shiny, and smooth and half because he likes the way it smells. Besides, when one spends their entire day crowding others’ personal space, it’s best to smell enticing and friendly but not overpowering.
Now wrapped in his robe, he fixes himself a cup of coffee with a decadent splash of almond milk and opens up Spotify on his phone. He selects Joy Division’s “Atmosphere” to reflect his dismal mood and lets the app’s algorithm take it from there. With his coffee in hand and the appropriate soundtrack playing softly on his tiny Bluetooth speaker, he sits in his overstuffed reading chair by his wide bay window and takes a sip. He sets his coffee on the end table beside a picture of him with his parents and his childhood best friend, Andres Wood, taken the day Bastian was awarded his chair at Salon Azure Blue. He picks it up, his lips lifting into a half smile. He can’t believe he’s been working there for ten years. Then, grimacing, he remembers that he will have to call his mother and explain that dinner with Ryan this weekend will no longer be necessary. Placing the picture down and grabbing his phone, he opts to text her instead.
