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The first three weeks were hell. It struck me how hypersexualized our society was. Once I started to get a handle on it, Nico fell head over heels in love with someone. A few months ago, I would’ve extracted every last detail out of him, but now I was the one forbidding him from talking about it—at least until my three months were up.

I’d already made it through five weeks, and thankfully, things were starting to get easier. Gradually, the pressure lifted, and I could focus on other things—like auditions and memorizing lines. My efforts were also paying off. After a callback at the theater, I got an invite to a scene test to gauge the dynamics between actors. I assured the director I’d arrive freshly shaved for the test, and this seemed to please him.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Vasily said, disappearing inside.

“Mm-hmm.”

It was a chilly night, even though it was already mid-May. The dampness clung to my clothes and hair, which I combed back with my fingers. The job only required me to wear a black jacket; the rest was up to me, so I opted for ta simple shirt and jeans.

“Hey! How’s it going?” A voice suddenly broke the silence beside me.

Before I turned my head, I heard the click of a lighter. It was Kilian. He took a deep drag, exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling light, and then shot me a sly wink.

“What?” I asked curtly. “Don’t you like it inside? You can smoke in there too.”

“I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

I shook my head in irritation, turning my gaze back to the street. “And you just had to do it while my buddy’s on break?”

“Oh, come on! I just wanted to thank you again. It was really nice of you to let me in.”

“You’re not into tits, are you?”

“Sometimes,” Kilian replied with a cheeky smile that vanished as he took another drag.

“And you don’t smoke either,” I added dryly.

“Now and then. What else do you think you know about me?” He strolled over to the wall-mounted ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette.

“Nothing,” I grumbled.

“Have you worked here long? Do you like the job?”

I frowned and gave him a puzzled look. “Why do you care?”

“Such a grump,” he said, unfazed. Leaning against the wall, he casually crossed one foot over the other. “I’m into both. Which is super convenient. Imagine if my buddy were gay and wanted to spend his bachelor party at a gay bar. The other three would’ve been totally out of their element.”

I internally rolled my eyes.

“I’m guessing you’re bi too, or you wouldn’t be working in a titty bar.”

“What does one have to do with the other?” Kilian opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off by raising a finger. “No. You know what? I don’t even want to know.” I gestured toward the entrance. “You’re done smoking, so you can go back inside now.”

“You’re totally my type. I meant what I said earlier. I’d really like it if you called me. You still have my number, right? I hope you didn’t throw it away already.”

“I’ll take care of that later, along with the rest of the trash piling up out here.” I folded my arms and jutted my chin toward a small plastic bag crammed with empty bottles and other junk in the corner.

“We could grab a drink. Or maybe go down to the lake. Or are you more of a park guy? I’ve got a motorcycle. If you’re not scared of it, we could get out of the city—find a spot with a view. I know some great places.”

I frowned, surprised by his persistence. It wasn’t that he wasn’t my type—it was that in recent months, everyone had been my type. I’d lowered my standards so much that I’d hooked up with anyone who’d made themselves available. In the circles I used to frequent, I’d been seen as uncomplicated and easy to please.

But now that I was off the drugs and couldn’t get it up anymore, I realized I had no idea what my type actually was. Besides, my vow to remain celibate for another two months was non-negotiable. The relief that came with it had been transformative—it had made everything in my life feel lighter. For the first time in ages, I could breathe again.

“Seriously?” Kilian called out, amused. “You’re just letting this bounce off you? I’m literally inviting you to spend time with me.”

For the first time, I had to fight back a smirk. The ego on this guy was unmatched. And yet, he didn’t come off as arrogant. Actually, he seemed kind of likable. His smile seemed genuine, and he had an open personality. He was shorter than me—I’d noticed that earlier when he arrived with his friends—but only by about a couple of inches. At 6’1”, I was used to towering over most people.

“Back,” Vasily announced, emerging beside me. “Oh, it’s you again. Still not giving up, huh?”