Page 24 of The Girl with No Name

“Doesn’t matter.”

I turn to step out, but he doesn’t move. “What do you want me to do? Scrub the toilets?”

He pauses. “Yes. Clean. Have a little self-discipline. Be a man.”

“Right. Yeah, I guess I need to work on that.” I shrug him off, then gesture at the painting in the hall. “Hey, what’s this painting from?”

“What do you care?”

“It’s nice. I like it. Did you buy it somewhere?”

“I don’t even remember,” he says.

I push past him, back to the kitchen where Dunn is waiting.

“Guys,” Mason announces, looking at his phone. “I would love to hang out tonight, but I spaced and just remembered I have a date.”

“Another date? Who was that you were just with?”

“That was a booty call. You know, to get loosened up for the date.”

I shake my head. Sometimes I can’t believe this guy. “Right, right, gotcha.”

6

REED

“THE GIRL WITH NO NAME” – THE BYRDS

Dunn and I walk down Wells Street, through the park, and across Lake Shore Drive through the overpass to get to North Avenue Beach on this humid night. Laughter and shouts fill the air as teams of volleyball players battle at the nets. The sound of the ball being spiked mixes with the crashing waves of Lake Michigan.

Walking along the lakefront path, we can see groups of people gathered on top of Castaways, the one-story rooftop bar shaped like a big boat, clinking glasses as they watch the sun dip lower in the sky. The energy of the beach on a night like this is contagious, people of all ages and backgrounds creating a vibrant tapestry of life against the backdrop of the city.

“So…” Dunn lifts a mischievous grin. “Rooftop bar? That’s where your happy hour is?”

I check the time. “Eh, it might be over by now. Still a cool place, though.”

As we make our way up the stairs, the sounds of laughter and chatting grow louder. The scent of sand and sunscreen mixes with the fresh breeze from the lake. We snag a prime spot at the bar, overlooking the bustling beach below and the city andskyline beyond. The bartender greets us with a friendly smile, and I catch Dunn’s eye as we both know what we’re going to order.

“Two malbecs, please,” I tell him. Dunn nods in agreement, his eyes scanning the lively scene around us.

If you’re wondering, real bros drink malbec. That’s been a ritual of ours since a guys’ trip we took to Argentina a few years ago, and we had some epic “malbec and steak” nights.

When our drinks arrive, we clink glasses and the hum of conversation blends with the upbeat music playing in the background, creating a symphony of summer vibes. As we sip our red wine, the golden-hour light bathes the surroundings in a warm glow, painting the sky and clouds with hues of pink and orange.

It’s fucking perfect, I gotta say.

“So, cheers to summer nights in Chicago,” Dunn says. “Feels like the city experience I never had.”

“Same, man.”

“You’re getting it now, though.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I guess.”

He furrows his brow. “You guess? You live here, right?”

“Yeah, but I guess I’m waiting for Samantha to get here to really start enjoying it. I don’t go out too much. But shit, my two years in the Peace Corps in Bolivia were nothing compared to hunting terrorists in Afghanistan and Iraq.”

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