Page 30 of Dear Mr. Brody

“Let’s go,mijo.” Marcos hollered and knocked on my door. “Put your dick away. Alex and Davis are here.”

Davis and Alex were a couple we’d met during Pride Week our first year at WSC. They’d been together forever, and I envied what they had. The stability. The love they had for each other. I wanted that. I was tired of the scene. I wanted something comfortable, someone I could sit with in bed, both of us reading, the silence a companion, not a third party, and without saying a word I’d know how much he cared about me. It was probably corny or sentimental, but that sounded a whole hell of a lot better than waking up to randoms for the rest of my life.

I checked myself over in the mirror, deciding I looked good enough for a shitty pool hall where I would most definitely not be finding my perfect man. Slipping my hat on backward, I was ready to go.

Marcos almost had a panic attack when I opened the door. “No… Not happening. Go change.” He grabbed my shoulders and tried to spin me around. I overpowered him and he gave up with a groan.

“You’re wearing jeans and a tank top, how is what I’m wearing any worse?”

“Thistank top,” he said, using finger quotes. “Was designed by Patrice Nichols.”

“An overpriced tank top is still just a tank top.” I smirked when he threw up his hands. “Someone’s feeling extra tonight.”

“You look like a frat boy.”

“Then I’ll blend in well.” I teased and pushed past him. “Hey, Alex, Davis. Sorry if I held up the party.”

“No worries, man. And for what it’s worth...” Davis grinned. “You look good to me.”

“Whatever…This look is giving me stank ass sweaty sac vibes. If that’s the look you’re going for, have at it.” Marcos shook his head, and I coughed to cover my laugh. “When you go home alone tonight, I’ll be sure to tell you I told you so.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Can we go?” Alex asked. “I want to get a table before the place gets packed.”

Davis took Alex’s hand and headed for the front door, leaving Marcos to glare at me one last time. He mumbled something in Spanish under his breath, and fuck, it took everything I had not to snap back with some smart-ass comment about the manufactured, well-placed holes in his jeans. But I liked my balls too much to risk them.

The bar was filled to capacity in less than an hour. I didn’t understand the appeal. The cheap beer they offered was pretty decent, and there were enough pool tables, most people were able to get in a few games, but it smelled like stale cigarettes and bad cologne. The floor was always sticky, and the vinyl booths had duct tape holding them together. The best thing about the place was the old jukebox in the backroom where people could dance. We’d gotten here early enough, we’d been able to grab one of the rare tall tables in the corner near the bar. Bored, I’d had more beer than I should have. My stomach was warm, and my head was heavy on my shoulders. Some 80’s song I recognized played loudly through the overhead speakers, and I chuckled to myself when the lead sang about liking older girls. Evidently, I did, too, but not girls. Guys. Older guys. But not like grandpa old or anything.

“You’ve reached the talk-to-yourself-out-loud level of drunk, and it’s not even midnight, Park. How is that even possible?” Marcos asked, gulping down his own beer as beads of sweat gathered along his hair line from dancing.

“What did I say?”

“Something about liking older men,” he said and set his empty glass on the table. “Come dance with me. Alex and Davis are being all coupley, and I swear this is the straightest bar ever created. Why the hell do we come here again?”

“Easy buzz?”

He hummed, his gaze snagging on a good-looking blond guy as he walked by. The dude was ripped, wearing jeans that left little to the imagination.

“Goddamn.” Marcos started to follow him, and I grabbed his arm.

“Nope, that man is straight as hell.”

“Maybe not,” he said and frowned as we both watched the guy stick his tongue down some woman’s throat. “That’s depressing.” He pulled out a stool and sat down, stealing my glass of beer.

“By all means, what’s mine is yours.”

“Thanks,” he said, breathless, as he lowered the glass from his lips. “Who’s the older guy you like?”

“It’s nothing.” I usually told Marcos everything, even though he was the biggest pain in my ass. For the most part, his heart was always in the right place. But I wasn’t ready for him to deconstruct every detail of what I had going with James. “Haven’t heard from Tam since the other night,” I said in an attempt to divert his attention.

“I thought you didn’t want to hear from him?” He pulled Chapstick from his pocket and swiped it over his lips, leaving behind a glossy pink hue. “He did mention the other day that he had a good time. But got the impression it was a one-night thing.”

“It was.”

“And just so you know, I’m not stupid or drunk enough to not notice you changed the subject. You’re not very subtle.” He poked me in the chest. “Spill it, Mills.”

“Promise you won’t judge me?”

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