Page 95 of King of the Crease

“Which one are you watching?”

“White Christmas.”

“Is that the one where the guy wishes he was never born?”

I sigh. Some projects are too big to tackle.

I, of course, do not follow Griffin’s advice. I let the internet kick me down its rabbit hole, consuming articles and videos all about Nick and me. They follow the same pattern:

They show Nick the dashing prince—official royal photos, pictures of him at charity events, clips of him being escorted into fancy restaurants and clubs.

Then they show a picture of me—blurry Facebook photos, a video of me in a stained tux singing offkey at my cousin Louie’s wedding, my official business photo from my website of me leaning over a sink, my gut sticking out from under my T-shirt. (Why didn’t I go with another photo?)

The prince and the plumber, they call us. The headlines get progressively worse:

Crown Royal Seen Canoodling with Local Plumber

Is the Prince of Ardenia a Chubby Chaser?

Prince Nicholas Meets Prince Butt Crack

And then, because this isn’t bad enough, I do the one thing you’re never supposed to do online. I read the comments.

The prince had on some major beer goggles.

Pulling the most unattractive guy at the bar when you’re drunk. Royals, they’re just like us.

So the prince isn’t the only gay with a Shrek fetish. I feel seen.

Yikes. What a mismatch.

Men will literally move to a small town under a fake name, get drunk, and make out with a gross rando instead of going to therapy.

This is not the queer rep I signed on for.

Who knew the prince was this desperate?

Prince Nicholas, you can do better, dude.

I shove my phone under my couch cushions and try to focus on the movie. I fail miserably.

“Do not read anymore comments. Do not read anymore comments,” I tell myself.

The addictive pull of social media wins. I scroll through more comments, more TikToks and reels, most of them saying the same thing that’s been rolling around in the back of my head: What the hell is Prince Nicholas doing with this guy?

Royalty doesn’t fall for the fat best friend. The prince does not wind up with the plumber. Cathy was right. Every first date that rejected me was right. I’m comic relief, not someone who gets the guy.

I don’t know my way around a castle. I can’t speak on international politics. I’ve never eaten at a dinner where there’s been more than one fork. Nick and I couldn’t come from more different worlds. He would be embarrassed to have me on his arm.

A text from Nick comes through: Best if we give each other space for now. I don’t want this hurting you.

Ok, I write back.

I have to face the facts: I wasn’t good enough for Nick the accountant. And I’m definitely not good enough for a crown prince.

After falling asleep on my couch, the buzzing of my phone wakes me up sometime late at night.

Nick: What are you watching?