My jaw dropped.
“Sorry, that was awful. I didn’t mean ride.” When they tried not to smile it kind of softened their face somehow, as if whatever combination of muscles was required to not-smile rounded off the edges of their usual expression.
I made my voice very prim. “I’m not against being ridden.”
They sputtered.
Mission accomplished. Now it was my turn to be smug. Sadly, I had nothing clever to follow up with and had to rely on boring logistics. “So you’ll just email me and some poor jerk who gets stuck with me for an evening?”
“Why do you think they’re a poor jerk? I’m not conning strangers on the street into dating you, Declan. They’re volunteering. We don’t even have a profile set up yet and people are already in the comments arguing that they’d be good for you.”
That was...hilarious? Ludicrous? Batshit? “Um. You, um. Have everything under control?” I’d heard scary things about YouTube comments. And seen scary things in YouTube comments.
“I feel relatively confident. I gave this a lot of thought because, essentially, however many people you go out with will know your general location—and mine. But I think a few things are in our favor. You have a car, so you can travel around a bit, which means we can keep your actual home base, um, shrouded in mystery.”
“Ooooh. I’ve never been shrouded in mystery before!”
“I’m sure that’s not true. But yeah. I’m going to make suggestions about where to meet people based on what’s convenient for them and inconvenient for you, essentially. I probably should have warned you about that in advance, my apologies.”
“No, all that sounds good. And I think I should not have sex with people. Sorry, TMI, just I’ve been thinking that for the purposes of this—of the study, the series—I wouldn’t add that into the mix on these specific dates.” I couldn’t tell by their expression if that was waaaaaay too much information.
“Maybe play it by ear” was all they said. “But we don’t have to talk about sex on the show regardless.”
“Okay.” Was that a We should not talk about sex on the show? Or a We don’t have to talk about sex on the show if you, Declan, are uncomfortable talking about sex on the show? I was usually an open book when it came to sex, but I’d never been on YouTube before this, so maybe that changed things. “I mean, are there...rules? Like. Will your sponsor flip out if I’m all ‘And then I got laid!’ Um. Not that I’m going to do that. Just that I want to know if there are rules. I definitely don’t want to risk your, you know, professional reputation by me being a dumbass.”
“Talking candidly about sex does not make you a dumbass. And no, it wouldn’t be an issue for the sponsor at all—I made sure before I started working with them since the tone of the show is sex positive, and you can’t be sex positive if you’re avoiding all mentions of sex.”
“Oh good. Okay, then. Just making sure. Because for real when I have good sex I totally want to shout it from the rooftops like HELLO I MIGHT BE A SEX GOD OVER HERE.”
They smiled widely, their eyes crinkling. “You might be a sex god? I’ll, um, make a note of that. For the show.”
I gulped. Uhhh. Oh god. That seemed flirty. Was that flirty? I couldn’t think of anything appropriately flirty-but-not-too-flirty to respond. Shit! Awkward. Since I couldn’t think of anything to say, I stood up and, also awkwardly, shifted from foot to foot. They stood too, the smile lingering on their face. A weird impulse seized me and I held out my hand to shake.
They took it.
I gave them one sharp shake, as we had when we’d agreed to never whine about the potential ableism of fashion glasses. “Thanks for hosting the first YouTube video I’ve ever been on.”
“You’re a natural. The first time really stretches the walls of your comfort zone, but after that it’s easier to relax and enjoy it.”
Was that...innuendo? I bit my lip and puzzled over it, but their poker face was amazing.
For about thirty seconds.
They laughed. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Thanks for coming on. I’ll text you when I’ve sent the email with name and contact info for lucky date number one.”
“Lucky, please. Whoever they are, they should be getting hazard pay for going out with me.”
Sidney’s eyes narrowed, making them look darker. “I can’t tell yet if you believe that or you’re trying to be cute and self-deprecating, but I’ll figure it out eventually. Good show, Declan.”
“Good show, Sidney.” I tipped an invisible hat.
They tipped an invisible hat back and walked me out.
Chapter Four
My job is pretty unglamorous. I mean, it’s not the least glamorous job. It’s not like being a sewage worker or something. (Not that I have anything but the utmost respect for sewage workers, but it’s not exactly glam, though that would be cool. Imagine those jumpsuit things, but in hot pink with little glitter accents around the cuffs and neckline. That’d raise morale. I guess you’d have to have a variety of colors: hot pink, neon green, gold for the supervisors. Gold might be a good idea, depending on what stuff they’re walking around in. I’m just saying. Gold might be a good way to prevent stains from showing.)
Maybe I shoulda been a sewage worker. Or at least a wardrobe consultant for sewage workers.
Instead I pursued a degree in philosophy and worked my way through college doing administrative jobs. Show me a pissy copy machine and I will sweet-talk that thing like nobody’s business.
Things I enjoy about working office jobs: offices tend to have a predictable hierarchy and a familiar rhythm. Whether it’s a small business with twenty employees, or a huge one with two thousand, sweet-talking copy machines is pretty much the same.
What I especially like about temping at offices: never feeling like I’m trapped in the same desk with the same tasks seeing the same faces hearing the same voices forever. I love being able to move around and start new jobs. Not every job is great, but if you’re only there a few days or a few weeks, you don’t care.
Having said that, I’ve been shifting around covering different jobs at the same actual business for six months now. I suspect my acting boss keeps switching it up on me so I don’t go back to the temp agency and demand reassignment. She for sure knows that I’m not about being a permanent employee because I’ve been very clear about that.
But Deb has a plan and she’s not shy about it. Not in a creepy way. In a “maybe if I give Declan what he wants, he’ll finally agree to be a real boy” way. We understand each other. I was convinced that she only kept me on because she liked having another queer around until my friends pointed out that she’s the HR director and that’s not how HR directors roll. At which point I was forced to acknowledge that it’s possible I might be good at my job. All the jobs. All the jobs she’s assigned me, anyway.