Page 82 of Muscle Cub

I blushed a few shades closer to crimson, smiled tightly—Thanks?—and scurried up the steps.

“What the fuck?” I muttered when I caught up to him. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Austin scowled at me like I was insane. “Except be unbelievably hot.”

“Enough to be heckled for it?”

Austin gestured dismissively. “They give everybody tens. It’s a subversion of beauty norms for people who don’t typically experience affirmation in the real world. I’m here for it.”

A couple on their way out of the lodge slowed to hand Austin blue slips of paper. One of them leaned close to whisper something in his ear, and Austin grinned. He gave the man’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks, bro. You guys have fun!”

They nodded to me and murmured hello as they passed. With a gleam in his eye, the one who’d spoken to Austin tucked a piece of paper into the V-neck of my T-shirt and dashed after his companion.

Once we were through the door and into the lobby, I plucked out the paper to examine it. It was red in color, some kind of game money like a Monopoly bill, with a cartoon bear in the center, and the words Best Daddy printed above it in a nineteenth-century typeface. As we waited in line to check in, three other men approached us, once again handing Austin blue bills that said Best Cub, then handing red ones to me. As I stood there, brain buffering, Austin thanked them.

“Well, look at you getting bear bucks right off the bat,” he said. Seeing my confused expression, he explained, “It’s for the contest.”

“Are they giving me these because of… our age difference?”

Austin rolled his eyes. “They think you’re a hot daddy, Prof. It’s not that deep.”

“But that’s not”—I motioned between us—“what this is.”

He shrugged. “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder. Remind me to give you mine later, though. When you check in, they’ll give you a set, one for each category. The event fee covers the first set, but if you want more votes, you can purchase extras.”

“Gee,” I said dryly, “exactly like real politics.”

Austin laughed. “It is kinda like a campaign. There’s a lot of shaking hands and kissing strangers. Everybody gives out their bucks tonight, at dinner or at the dance. Wherever. Then, tomorrow at the pool party, the two individuals from each category with the most bucks will walk in the final competition.”

“Walk?”

“From the cabana bar to the end of the pool and back. The final vote’s in the form of applause.”

“You guys sure fucking love to clap for people,” I muttered.

“It’s love!” Austin said.

Jim and Luke were both working reception, but Austin steered me into Jim’s line. On the floor of the office behind him, a corgi mix wearing a pearl collar squatted on a velvet pillow next to a large water bowl with lettering on the side that read Gin & Regret. I’d seen her a few times with Jim over Memorial Day weekend. I smiled at her, but she turned away with a look of bored disinterest.

When Jim finished helping the man in front of me, he greeted me warmly. “Well, hey there, Paul.” He leaned across the counter and lowered his voice. “I knew you looked familiar. But I didn’t know who you were until Austin told me after you’d left. You’re the Paul Carter. I loved your books!”

“Thanks for reading them.” I always had to bite my tongue to keep from apologizing that there wasn’t another one out yet. Readers didn’t need to know I was struggling. “It’s really kind of you to tell me.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I adored The Boy Who Didn’t Come Back—we all love to see a mainstream bestseller with queer representation—but, honey, Divining Virginia… The mysticism’s right up my alley. One of my favorite books.”

“Really? I don’t often hear that.”

“He thinks everybody hated it,” Austin said.

“What?” Jim’s mouth dropped open. “No.”

I shrugged uncomfortably. “It wasn’t the most successful.”

“Well, I guess that depends on how you define success. I, for one, thought it was phenomenal,” Jim gushed. “I’m gonna hunt you down later and get you to autograph my copies.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Austin smiled, looking smug.