All Ws Today

The bar was louder than Craig expected. Well, maybe not louder. More energetic. Contagious. As soon as he walked into the busy night spot, a grin formed on Craig's face. It was like whatever energy, whatever power was in the room, whatever vigour, felt like it was flowing straight through him. He was mainlining good vibes.

It didn't hurt that the basketball team had decided he was some kind of good luck charm.

"I'm serious," Trevor said, shoving another beer toward him. "That win was yours."

"It absolutely wasn't."

"It absolutely was."

"I didn't even play."

"You inspired us."

Craig stared. Trevor stared back. Neither budged. Finally Craig accepted the beer.

"This is ridiculous."

"Champions aren't built on negativity."

"You sound insane."

"And yet we won."

The surrounding table erupted into laughter. Frank nearly choked on his drink.

An hour earlier Craig had still had mixed feelings about missing the game. Standing by the sidelines cheering had felt amazing, but hadn't he wanted to be one-of-the-guys? Didn't that mean actually being on the court, scoring points, enjoying the comradery of sweat and adrenaline?

Sitting at the sports bar surrounded by teammates, however, made it harder to stay conflicted. The guys genuinely appreciated him. And as they saturated him in **** and peppered him with compliments, he began to have a more difficult time dismissing their enthusiasm.

Maybe he was responsible, at least in part, for the victory.

Another teammate slid into the booth.

"Dude, you've got to come every week."

"Every week?"

"He's serious," Frank joined in. "We usually suck. But with you on the sidelines? Think league championship."

"We are not winning a league championship because I clapped enthusiastically."

"See? You're already thinking of the team as 'we'!" another teammate laughed, clapping Craig on the shoulder. "And yes, WE absolutely will."

"You're our secret weapon," Frank said, elbowing him in the ribs.

He couldn't help but smile, surrounded by these tall strong men, all who believed in his worth. It wasn't exactly the same as the brotherhood of athleticism he'd hoped for, but it was a close second.

"To our morale officer," one said, raising his glass.

"Our spirit captain!" exclaimed another.

Craig buried his face in his hands and laughed as the entire group clinked their glasses and drank heartily. He might not be a player, but he was certainly accepted as part of the team.

"Excuse me?"

A stranger had approached while Craig was hiding his face. Lowering his hands, he looked up. She was a young woman, smiling nervously, staring at him.

"Oh my God. It is you."

"...Me?"

"I love your channel."

"My what?"

The woman laughed.

"Your channel!"

Before Craig could answer, she was already pulling out her phone.

"Could I get a picture?"

A second woman appeared. Then a third. Then a fourth. The crowd got big enough that Craig had to stand up from the table to talk to them, feeling the effects of the beers he'd been drinking, yet still steady on his feet in his stiletto-heeled sneakers. Craig signed a napkin. Then somebody else's receipt. Then somebody wanted a selfie. Then somebody else wanted another selfie. A man in a baseball cap shook his hand enthusiastically.

And while the bizarre compliments from the basketball team somehow equating his enthusiasm to a winning strategy had been hard to get his head around, the adoration from these strangers was even less connected to reality.

"Your makeup tutorials saved my marriage."

"My wife loves your videos."

"I would've never learned how to coordinate outfits if it wasn't for you."

"Your fashion advice is incredible."

"The dance streams are amazing."

"You make everything look effortless."

The compliments piled up. The basketball team sat silently watching, drinking, and smiling, while all Craig could do was smile and try to keep up. Who were these people? What were they talking about? Yes, Eros had placed a streaming rig in the room that used to belong to Frank, but he'd never used it before. Was that part of the last change? Did this reality give him a significant following for... doing whatever it was that he was supposed to be doing online?

Finally Trevor leaned toward Frank.

"Our cheering section is famous?"

Frank grinned.

"You have no idea."

Craig felt horrified as Frank took out his phone and began to pass it around to the team. He saw glimpses of what Frank was showing while Craig tried to keep up with demands for autographs and selfies. Videos of Craig on the pole, moving to music that was drowned out by the bar's own driving beats. Videos of Craig showing off feminine, revealing outfits for the camera, smiling brightly, running his manicured hands up and down the material. Videos of Craig sitting at a mirror applying makeup to his face expertly, making a kissy-face at the camera with red painted lips.

Over and over again Craig would spy snapshots of a life he hadn't led, but had been placed inside by an ancient, bored deity. Was this what would be expected of him from now on? Would this be his life?

Once the crowd finally thinned, Craig sank into the booth and stared into his beer. A hundred strangers knew his name. Women were asking for fashion advice he'd never given. Men were quoting videos he'd never filmed. Somehow he'd become successful at a life he hadn't chosen. The worst part was that none of it seemed embarrassing to anyone except him.

"I'm really proud of you, you know?" Frank said, taking another swig of beer. "You really stuck with it, and now your following has really exploded. Do you know my mom follows you now?"

"Your mom?" Craig swallowed hard.

"Yeah," Frank said, leaning back. "Although she called me, worried about you. She asked why you didn't do any streaming today."

"I, um, just needed a break."

Concern appeared on his friend's face. Not teasing. Not joking. Actual concern.

"A break? You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

Craig paused. Was he sure? He wished he could tell Frank. He wished he could confide in him over the changes he'd been going through, but there was no way Frank would understand. As much a victim of the reality rewrite as anyone else, Frank would just think that Craig was joking around. Or crazy. Or both.

"All I know is that you love streaming," Craig's best friend leaned in close so he didn't have to yell as loudly over the music. "You're always happier when you're making content."

Craig stared into his glass. Never before had he posted a video online. But apparently now he did. Or at least this version of Craig did. The version everyone else remembered. The version reality insisted existed.

Frank nudged him gently.

"And it's okay to take a break every once in a while," Frank continued, "but won't your sponsors be pissed?"

"Sponsors?" Craig stared at his friend.

"Yeah," Frank nodded. "You told me that they were wanting daily updates now, that you just signed the contract. Here..." Frank dug out his phone, scrolled for a minute, then handed it to Craig, "That's the part you screenshot me. How can you not remember this? How much have you had to drink?"

Craig stared at the screen and read what details were available. It was true, it seemed he was committing to daily updates, occasional product placements and reviews, and a few personal appearances at the request of the sponsors. Outside of the strict schedule commitment, there was very little outlining what he was actually promising to provide for content. What they gave him, however, was a substantial amount of money, almost limitless wardrobe and cosmetics, and a steady stream of free products to try out for his viewers.

Then he saw the bottom of the page. The part about breach of contract. The part that said he would incur a significant financial penalty if he failed to upload.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

"It's okay, you have plenty of time," Frank said. "Why don't you just do something here?"

"Here? Like, in the club?"

"Sure," Frank grinned. "Talk about the game, or what you're drinking, or how great of a guy I am. My mom will get a kick out of that. She loves your content."

Craig reached into his purse and pulled out his phone. Logging in, he saw that TikTok had been installed on his phone. Pressing the icon, the app opened. There was a plus sign, which he hit, imagining that would allow him to start, and swiped to "Live". Then he added the title, with a smirk, "All Ws Today!! Time to Celebrate!!". Then, without even thinking about what he was going to say, he hit "Go Live."

"Uh... hey guys... We... uh..." he wasn't sure what to say as he stared at his panic-stricken face on the screen. "I mean... today..."

Frank bumped into frame and smiled and waved.

"Oh, this is my buddy Frank! He's the best! His basketball team won a game today and we're out for drinks!" seeing Frank on screen made the words come more easily.

"Our team," Frank corrected.

"Sure, our team," Craig laughed, "but I only cheered. Frank and the team are stars. You should have seen them! They kicked ass! And so we're out for drinks to celebrate. Sorry I'm so late. Didn't mean to worry you!"

"Hi mom!" Frank shouted.

"Oh yeah, uh... hi Frank's mom!" Craig grinned. "Anyway, see you tomorrow! Bye!"

Craig stopped the stream, then placed the phone face down on the table, breathing hard, his heart racing.

"Was that..."

"That was great!" Frank laughed. "You're a natural. Thanks for letting me be part of it. I'll be famous at work tomorrow!"

The drinks kept coming. The evening rolled on. At some point in the evening, an unknown number of drinks in, the music began to take hold. Maybe it was because the conversation had begun to lull, or maybe it was because Craig was feeling quite buzzed. But one moment Craig was sitting. The next he was standing.

A familiar pop song blasted through the speakers. Heavy bass. Bright vocals. An infectious rhythm. His foot tapped automatically. Then his hips moved. Then his shoulders. Before he fully realized what was happening, he was on the dance floor.

A loose circle formed. Women gathered around him almost immediately. The **** running through his veins had made him loose, relaxed, almost giddy. Just like when he'd been distracted at his pole dancing lessons, Craig's state of mind had left him **** to natural abilities he hadn't come by honestly.

And one of those was dancing.

The beat rolled. Everyone was moving. Craig smiled.

This was more like it.

Maybe he'd finally meet someone. One of these ladies, maybe a fan of his new online persona, maybe just a woman he'd end up dancing with, would be the one. His soulmate. The one Eros had made all these changes for.

A beautiful brunette smiled at him. Craig danced closer. The music swelled. Bodies shifted. People moved.

A short-haired redhead winked at him. Craig navigated his way to her. The song shifted and he found himself jostled away from her.

Finally, after trying too many times, Craig just stood in the circle with the women, dancing, enjoying himself. It would be difficult to make a connection with this much energy and noise, so he might as well enjoy himself in the meantime.

Two women across from him bent forward and started twerking, laughing as they did, a sort of acknowledgement of the absurdity of the oversexualization of the dance move. Caught up in the moment, Craig closed his eyes, bent forward, and copied the motion. He'd never twerked before, but as the music flowed through his body, he felt like he'd done it every day of his life. It was the most natural thing in the world, having his panty-clad ass in the air, thrusting his hips up and down.

In fact, it was more than natural. It was fun. His grin had transformed from a small sliver to a full ear-to-ear celebration of joy.

And then he felt it. Behind him, where his rear end had only been tickled by the hot humid air of the club, he'd bumped into something. Not paying too much heed, so caught up was he in the moment, Craig laughed and kept twerking, imagining that he'd hit a wall or a table. He slowed down, he sped up. Was he putting on a good show? Was this the kind of thing Melody would want him to do for his upcoming recital?

Then he opened his eyes and turned his head, only to discover that the thing he'd been rubbing up against was the groin of a large man standing near the edge of the dance floor. Craig hadn't been twerking as a joke, he'd been grinding up against some dude in the bar!

Standing up straight, he apologized to the man and scurried away on his heels. He needed air. Or a drink. Or both.

A hand suddenly grabbed his. Craig looked up. The brunette. The really beautiful brunette. She smiled.

"Come with me. You look like you need a change of scenery."

Craig's heart nearly exploded.

"Okay."

They passed his table on the way to wherever she was taking him. Instinctively, Craig's purse found its way into his hands, hitching a ride with him. That should've been strange, should have raised a warning signal. Instead it felt normal.

Through the crowd they went. Past the bar. Past the televisions. Toward the washrooms.

Craig's imagination immediately started sprinting ahead. Maybe she wanted privacy. Maybe she wanted to talk. Maybe she wanted to kiss him. Maybe she wanted to take him into a stall, drop to her knees, and show him some appreciation for how good of a dancer he was.

She walked directly into the ladies' room. Craig followed. Without hesitation. Without anyone stopping him. The woman released his hand and immediately headed for the mirror. Then she pulled out makeup.

Craig blinked.

She blinked.

Then she looked at him expectantly.

"So."

"So?"

"Which one's single?"

Craig stared.

"What?"

"The basketball players. Your friends."

"Oh."

She adjusted her lipstick.

"The tall one?"

"Trevor?"

"Maybe."

"I think so."

"What about the blond guy?"

Craig answered automatically. The conversation continued. Questions. Names. Relationship statuses. Interests.

Meanwhile Craig found himself staring into the mirror. Something felt wrong about this. This wasn't a woman taking him into a bathroom to become intimate. This was a woman grilling someone about other men that she was into.

But while that was disappointing, it wasn't what was disturbing Craig as he took in his reflection. Something looked off. Wrong. Incomplete.

His eyes drifted toward his purse. Followed by his hands. Reaching in, he came out with two items that felt good to hold in his hands.

Lipstick.

Eyeliner.

Of course they were there. Why wouldn't they be? It might have been the ****, but Craig was having a hard time remembering ever putting on either lipstick or eyeliner, although he instinctively knew how to apply both expertly. A few moments later he found himself standing beside the woman touching up his appearance.

Every motion came naturally. Smoothly. Effortlessly.

A careful line of eyeliner. A touch of lipstick. Nothing dramatic. Just enough.

When he looked up again, satisfaction settled over him.

There.

Much better.

The missing piece had clicked into place. Craig's reflection simply felt right.

Back at the table, the brunette immediately migrated toward Trevor. Apparently her mission had been successful.

Craig watched them start talking. Then sat beside Frank. Another drink appeared. Frank smiled.

"Nice lipstick."

Craig froze, as if coming out of a haze. Lipstick? Was he wearing lipstick? Yes, of course he was. He'd just put it on.

He'd just put on lipstick?!

Glancing toward the reflection in a nearby mirror, mind clear for the moment, his darkly accented eyes went wide.

"Oh, my God."

"It suits you."

A strange warmth spread through his chest at the compliment, something he should have been able to brush off.

"Thanks."

The word slipped out before he could stop it. He wished he could have. He wished he could grab something to wipe the makeup off his face immediately. But he couldn't quite make himself move. Something about sitting with a friend who appreciated how he looked, was willing to compliment him, felt incredible. Makeup or not, the simple admiration from Frank was enough to make Craig feel like a million bucks.

And so he left it. The night was, after all, still young. With the amount of free drinks he still had to work his way through, Craig planned on being at the bar for hours still. He'd probably wipe his face clean after he finished his current beer.

Probably.

Maybe.