Page 45 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“The tab’s under Pileggi, Walter, and Stratton,” Skeeter said. That was the investment firm where he worked.

“You’re putting this on your corporate card?”

“Lilly over there works for one of our clients, so I can technically get this expensed.” He seemed full of pride over that loophole. I was reminded of just how flush with cash the finance world was. “Besides, not like you’re able to buy rounds anymore on a bartender’s salary.”

I grumbled at the comment and made my way to the bar. It was three people deep. The bartender was going nonstop. I could only imagine how much he was making tonight. Way more than a busy night at Stone’s Throw.

I watched in amazement at his quick hands and feet flitting around the bar, making all of the drinks like a crazy mad scientist. Soon that would be me. The girl next to me ordered a Mai Tai, and I chuckled to myself, thinking of Amos and his friends. That was a fun night, and I’d been totally sober.

“Not sure if you heard, but Serena’s dating Rick Shaugnessy,” Skeeter informed me when I returned with my hands full of drinks.

Rick and I were on the same team when I started on Wall Street. He loved to play office politics. He was the perfect blend of sociopath and sycophant that got him fast-tracked for promotion.

“Rick’s an asshole.” Skeeter always elbowed his way to talk to Rick at networking events. “Don’t give up, man. You can still win Serena back.”

And to that, I…shrugged. I’d never admit this to Skeeter because he’d never believe me, but until he brought her up, I hadn’t thought about Serena in a while. That chapter of my life felt a million miles away.

And you were busy obsessing over Mitch.

As the night wore on, drinks turned into shots which turned into more drinks. Skeeter kept putting them in my face, and I didn’t want to mellow the party vibe. Despite working around alcohol all the time, my tolerance had plummeted. I was stinking drunk and having a fucking blast. I chatted with people I hadn’t seen in months or years and met new people in Asa and Skeeter’s expanding social circles who didn’t know anything about my former life as a finance bro. I talked and talked, drawing power from socializing. I chatted about news, TV, and random college shit. I even had an in-depth discussion with Lilly the Loophole about the lasting legacy of Blues Clues. She was hot, too. Blonde, decent rack showed off in a lowcut top, high black heels that showed off her long legs. Somewhere in our discussion, she slipped her hand onto my upper thigh, but my dick had no reaction. Not even a twitch.

Huh. Was I that drunk that I couldn’t get it up? That didn’t bode well for later.

Sometime after two, we piled into a series of Ubers and wound up at a karaoke bar in the East Village. I belted out “Circle of Life” fromThe Lion King, which devolved into me yelling into my microphone. Skeeter, Asa, and I did the classic “Living on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi, our voices slurring together into warmed-over karaoke soup, but we all thought we were the shit. Lilly dragged me on stage one last time to do a duet of theStar is Bornsong “Shallow.” During Lady Gaga’s long note, we just yelled into the mic at the top of our lungs, making everyone cover their ears. They still gave us a rousing round of applause. Time dripped by, and we left the bar sometime between night and morning. We frolicked around the city with a kind of childlike glee like it was a factory our dad owned. The city was dark, but people were out, grabbing food and drinking in parks. It wasn’t like Sourwood, which was a ghost town after nine, though the peace and quiet of nature had its charms.

Asa, Skeeter, and I lined up against the wall of a post office and took epically long pisses. The girls muttered behind us about how disgusting boys were. Nobody was stopping them from doing the same thing. I was all for equality among the sexes.

“I can’t believe you’re a fucking bartender.” Skeeter chuckled to himself as he scrolled Instagram with his free hand. He sounded like a seal. “Give it a little more time, and I can see about referring you to my company. You may have to start back at entry-level, but it’s better than what you’re currently doing.”

I had a sudden urge to piss all over his designer shoes. The thought of going back to work on Wall Street didn’t sound appetizing, nor did leaving Sourwood. As fun as tonight was, I couldn’t believe I used to do this all the time. I missed quiet nights hanging with Amos and getting to know regular customers at Stone’s Throw.

I pulled up the train schedule to hightail it back to Sourwood, but my head hurt trying to navigate a webpage on my phone. Skeeter slopped his sweaty palm over the screen, the one not holding his dick to pee.

“Nah, man, crash with us.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” I rested my head against the wall as a river trailed between my legs. Peeing while drunk was a wonderful feeling.

When I finished, Asa coordinated the Ubers. Lilly swung her arm in mine and leaned into my ear. “I’m on the way to Asa’s apartment.”

She looked me in the eye, and I knew what she wanted. And she was hot, and I wanted it, too. Only my dick remained dormant. Nothing. What the shit?

She rubbed her soft hand on my arm, and I wanted it to be Mitch’s firm grip. I wanted to smell his musky scent, not her flowery perfume.

“Why don’t you come back to Skeeter’s apartment? He’s having some people over,” I said. The afterparty continued.

Lilly’s lips downturned, and I hung my head as I climbed into the Uber.

* * *

Ten of usmade it back to Skeeter’s apartment, where he poured vodka shots in his tiny kitchen.

“Porterfield, get the fuck in here!”

I was already a drunken mess. Alcohol sloshed in my stomach and danced through the gray matter of my brain. I decided to stay on the couch.

Skeeter poked his head from the kitchen. “Seriously?”

“Unless you want me to puke on your furniture…”

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