Page 31 of The Boss (Straight Men #2)
The wind cut sharp as I stepped out of my car, breath curling into the cold January air. The streets were blanketed in fresh snow, trampled down to a patchwork of slush and ice. Storefronts still twinkled with lingering holiday lights, their windows fogged from the warmth inside. Providence in winter had a different kind of charm—quieter, more intimate, like the whole city had exhaled after the seasonal chaos.
The festivities were over—at least for those of us with jobs. But the students were still on break, so Tyler was sticking around, crashing at his mom’s new place with his older brother. It worked out for me. I’d been itching to see him for months, and we set up a meeting as soon as I got back from Maine.
We didn’t get to do this often. This would only be our third time hanging out in person—the first was in Gettysburg, after the match where we’d met, and the second was that spring, when we met up halfway between our homes. The rest of our friendship had been built over texts, late-night calls, and voice messages full of trash talk and easy laughter. But even with the distance, Tyler had become one of the few people I actually counted on.
‘Try not to cry when you lay eyes on me,’ I’d texted that morning. ‘I know it’s been a while.’
He’d answered right away. ‘I’ll be sure to bring tissues. For you.’
Smirking at the memory, I tugged my scarf higher against the bite of the wind. I spotted Tyler before he saw me, leaning against a lamppost outside the café we’d picked, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. His dark hair was a tousled mess from the wind, his cheeks pink from the cold. He was still as hot as I remembered, and the sight of him made the tightness in my chest relax.
“Hey there, T-bag.”
Tyler turned, grinning as he pushed off the post. “C-man!”
Before I could react, he pulled me into a solid hug, the kind that lingered long enough to say yeah, I missed you too . I clapped him on the back before we pulled apart, shaking off the moment with a smirk.
“Look at you,” Tyler said, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “All grown up, working a real job, dressing like a corporate drone. What happened to the beast I fought in Gettysburg?”
I scoffed. “He evolved. Got a paycheck. Pays rent. You’ll see it for yourself soon. What, one more semester and you’re out in the big wide world?”
“Yep. Which is why I’m sticking to my poor, starving college student aesthetic for as long as I can.”
“Well, you’re pulling it off quite nicely.”
Tyler flashed me a wide smile. “You haven’t changed. Can’t have a single convo without flirting.”
I barked out a laugh. “I’m nothing if not consistent.”
Yeah, Ty and I didn’t get to see each other often. But when we did, it was like no time had passed at all.
He nudged his chin toward the café. “C’mon. I need coffee before you make me regret this meetup.”
I followed him inside, shaking off the cold as the door swung shut behind us. The scent of espresso and melted chocolate enveloped us like a warm hug. Golden light pooled over wooden tables, and a string of twinkling fairy lights framed the fogged-up windows. The soft hum of conversation and the clink of ceramic cups filled the air, making it feel like we’d just stepped into some little snow globe world where time moved slower.
We slid into a booth near the window, shedding our snow-dusted coats. A little chalkboard on the table read Try our special: Peppermint Mocha! in loopy handwriting. We ordered our drinks, settling into the cozy warmth as streetlights outside reflected off slushy pavement.
“So, how are you liking Providence?” I asked, pulling off my scarf and tossing it onto the seat beside me.
Tyler leaned back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Not bad. My mom’s new place is nice—not as big as our old house in Stamford, but still. And the city’s got a good vibe. Feels historic but, like, not archaic, you know?”
I nodded, looking around the place. “Yeah, it grows on you.”
Tyler’s mouth quirked. “Like a fungus.”
“You should put that on a postcard.”
He grinned, then drummed his fingers against the table. “Actually, my brother Matt’s the one really getting a kick out of this place. Dragged me to see Lovecraft’s house the other day.”
I blinked. “Who?”
“Some old-timey horror writer Matt’s obsessed with.”
“I’m more of a Stephen King type of guy.”
He chuckled. “Good thing Matt isn’t here to hear that. He’s at the cemetery right now visiting the guy’s grave. Tried to get me to go with him, but I figured I’d rather hang out with someone who doesn’t spend his holidays lurking in graveyards.”
The waitress brought us two steaming cups of coffee, smiled, and disappeared. My lips curved. “Glad to know I rank above dead horror writers.”
Tyler smirked, lifting his cup in a mock toast. “Barely.”
The warmth of the café, the low murmur of conversation around us, the ease of being here with him—it all settled into something comfortable, familiar. Maybe I didn’t know anything about old horror writers, but I knew this . And it felt good. “So, what’s new? Tell me everything.”
Tyler launched into an update—his last semester at Williams, his wrestling season going strong, his relationship with Blake. He couldn’t keep from smiling when he said, “We’ve already started making plans for after graduation.”
There was a quiet certainty in the way he said it, like it was just a fact, a natural step forward. I was happy for them—genuinely—but a whisper of jealousy twisted through me, quiet and sharp.
Before I could dwell on it, Tyler’s grin widened. “Oh, and get this—my dad proposed to his boyfriend.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Your childhood friend?”
“The same.”
“Holy shit. No way.”
“Yep. Full-on romantic gesture and everything. Got down on one knee, made a speech, probably made Danny cry. They’re getting married in April.” He shook his head, but his smile was warm, a little awed. “Nuts, right?”
“Not really. From what you’ve told me, your dad seems crazy in love with him.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just wild to think about. But, on the other hand…” He trailed off, glancing down at his coffee before looking up again. “If Blake asked me, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.”
Something in his voice made my chest tighten—not with bitterness, not even jealousy, exactly, but… something else. Longing, maybe. Tyler was a year younger than me, yet he had found his soulmate already, the love of his life. And here I was, scarcely a week away from standing beside a man I’d foolishly thought I could have, watching him say ‘forever’ to someone else.
I forced a grin. “I bet you two are next.”
Tyler smiled, almost shy. For a moment, he looked like the same guy I’d met in Gettysburg, back when he was still figuring himself out. But he was different now, more confident, more open, happy. He nudged my foot under the table, pulling me out of my reverie. “Okay, your turn. What’s new in Chris Landry’s tragic love life?”
I groaned, leaning back against the worn leather of my seat. “Where do I even start?”
“Start with the day you ripped your pants and flashed your ass at your boss. I need all the details.”
I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head, and then—because if there was anyone I could tell, it was Tyler—I told him. Everything. The whole messy, convoluted saga of me and Isaac Steele. The slow build-up. The shift from friendship to something more. The stolen moments, the dizzying highs, the inevitable heartbreak. And now, the absolute mindfuck of standing next to him as his best man.
By the time I finished, Tyler was just staring at me, his brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a puzzle that didn’t have a solution. “Chris, what the actual fuck .”
A dry laugh escaped me. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I gotta be honest with you. I have no idea what to say here. This is some next-level shit.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I shook my head, exhaling slowly. “But it is what it is.”
He studied me for a moment, his teasing gone. “You sure you’ll be able to handle it?”
I lifted my cup, took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle deep. “Well, I better be,” I said. “The wedding’s a week from now. There’ll be a rehearsal two days before it, so we’ll see how that goes.”
Tyler let out a low whistle, then shook his head, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Man, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”
A quiet chuckle slipped past my lips, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. Neither would I , I thought. But there was no folding now. The cards were on the table, and all I could do was play the hand I’d been dealt—keep my face blank, my guard up, and hope like hell I didn’t lose the last pieces I was still holding onto.
The show must go on.