Connor (Boys & Toys Season 2 1)

To my immediate left, the living room opens to a small kitchen with a breakfast-bar-style table that juts out from the tiled wall, stylish barstools shoved underneath it. The little bit of kitchen counter I see is covered with beer cans and a large box of half-eaten pizza. Dirty dishes fill the sink, a lime green towel hangs lazily over the faucet, and the door to the fridge is slathered in boob and dick magnets.

“And here’s your room!” he exclaims like a game show host announcing the big grand prize, pulling open a set of French doors in the kitchen that lead to another smaller room, which I at first assumed was just a pantry. It’s a cozy little space complete with a twin bed, a doorless wardrobe, and two long smudgy windows that stare out at a fire escape.

He pushes past me and tosses my bags onto the bed, which creaks under their weight. “It used to be a dining room years ago,” he tells me, “but it got converted to a second bedroom. How fucking cool is that?! The doors don’t lock, though, but hey, I won’t come barging in, y’know, in case you got a fella in here!” He lets out a laugh, then slaps me on the back and pulls me into the room. “Dude, bro, are you alright? You look shell-shocked! So what do you think? You like your new living space??”

I give the small room a quick glance, nodding slowly as I take in the sights—from a long lightning-shaped crack that runs down one of the walls, to a suspiciously discolored spot on the flooring, to the huge hand-shaped smudge on the window.

Living in a shoebox is exactly what I dreamed. Third rite of passage: check!

“I love it!” I cry out. “And hey, if the building catches fire, I’ll be the first one out the fire escape!”

“That’s the spirit! Hah! You’re such a positive guy. Fuck, I love my new roommate!” Brett shouts out over his shoulder at his buddies. Then his eyes flash and he turns right back to me. “Hey, check it out, another awesome perk: whenever you got the munchies, just peek your head right out of your bedroom … and you’re already in the kitchen! I always keep the fridge stocked full of the essentials, man. Beer, milk, protein, beer … and …!” He playfully hops out of the room, flings the fridge open, and gestures grandly at it like a magician. “Deli meats!”

I glance at the fridge, confused.

Brett notices, then looks himself. “What the—?” He slaps the fridge shut—causing one of the boob magnets to drop onto the tiled floor—and faces the living room. “Guys! Who ate my deli meats??”

“I got hungry waiting for the pizza,” sings a buzz-headed guy from the couch, his pale skin making the tattoo that runs up his long neck all the more vivid in color. Most of his skinny body is lost in an oversized yellow Pikachu hoodie. “I swallowed your meat. I did the bad thing, and I am sorry.”

“Are these guys your … other roommates?” I ask, still standing at the opened French doors.

“Oh, hell no,” laughs Brett. “It’s just you and me here, bro. These moochers live on the first floor and just stop in all the time, eat my food, and won’t leave. Hey, guys,” he shouts at them. “Can’t you give us some space? I told you my new roommate was coming tonight, didn’t I? I must have said it twelve times!”

“You sure did,” sings the guy at the couch. He turns his eyes onto me, gives my body a once-over, then props an elbow on the back of the couch. “I’m Lex, short for Alexander, not for Lexington.”

“Dude,” grunts a larger, round-faced guy at his side with short curly hair, olive skin, and diamond stud earrings. “Literally no one ever thinks it’s short for Lexington. Why do you keep saying that?” Then he glances at me. “I’m Omar. Short for Omar. Hi.”

Lex ignores his couch buddy and eyes Brett importantly. “Has he met Dante yet?”

“Oh, nah, don’t worry about him,” Brett blurts at once, chuckles nervously, then leans toward me and adds, “He’ll love you, don’t worry.”

Lex lets out a single bark of laughter at that. “Really, Brett? Are you trying to convince us that Dante doesn’t vet everyone who moves into the building anymore? That guy is a total control freak.”

Omar snorts. “Don’t let him catch you saying that,” he mutters under his breath. “He’ll tie you up tight, turn you into his new barbell, and bench-press your skinny ass.”

“If only,” sings Lex with a wistful sigh.

I’m still playing catch-up here. “Who’s Dante?”

“Only the hottest landlord in the fucking city,” answers Lex before anyone else can, as if he’s been standing on the tip of his own tongue waiting for me to ask. “I once called Dante into my apartment with a complaint about the broken plumbing in my bathroom.” He bites his lip and giggles. “There was no plumbing issue. I just wanted to watch that big, hot, hunky body of his bend over to look under my sink and give it a little tinkering. Mmm, that man … muscles for days, killer smile, God-given eyes …”