Page 7 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“That’s some bullshit right there.” Amos took out the chicken and stirred it around before placing it back in the microwave to continue heating. “First of all, Crate & Barrel’s stuff sucks. If you paid three grand for furniture, you might as well have flushed that cash down the drain.”

I snorted a laugh. I had thought that my frat brothers would hook me up with a place to stay with no problem. After all, they had benefited from all the rounds of drinks and the Ubers I ordered when we went out. I even covered most of our London hotel room bill since a few of them didn’t pay me back. It was water under the bridge, favors I thought would be repaid down the road. I was always generous with friends, treating them like kings because friendship was golden in my book. But one by one, as I made my way through my phone contact list, I received different variations of no.

“I thought frat brothers were supposed to have each other’s backs. Bonds of brotherhood forged in hazing and late-night circle jerk sessions.”

“Why do people think fraternities are filled with clandestine gay sex?” I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. I was straight, but I’d much rather put a guy’s dick in my mouth than have to do some of the shit they forced on us during initiation.

“A boy can dream,” Amos said, pretty much confirming what I’d deduced about his sexuality from his social media feeds.

The microwave beeped. Amos removed the chicken, and the savory aroma filled the air. My stomach growled in anticipation. Moving had built up quite an appetite.

Amos split the chicken onto two plates. He ripped off two sheets of paper towels and got silverware from the drawer. I pulled two beers from the fridge. We met each other back at the stools and shared our first meal as roommates.

I moaned my delight at the food. “This is really freaking good.”

“It’s from Renaldi’s, this chic Italian place on the water.”

The chicken practically melted in my mouth. “Did you go there with friends?”

“Nope. On a date,” he said with a deflated shrug.

“Props to you for having the balls to get a doggie bag on a first date.”

“Well, since I wasn’t getting doggie style, a doggie bag would have to suffice.”

I choked on my beer.

“Sorry.” He pressed his eyes shut. “We probably aren’t there yet.”

“No, it’s all good, dude.” I had a good laugh. It was a sign of friendship when people felt comfortable being themselves around you. “I wonder if all teachers talk like this. It would’ve blown my mind as a student.”

“Oh, you have no idea. You’ll have to meet my fellow teacher friends at South Rock High. You’d be scandalized.”

“Yo, do you think kindergarten teachers talked like this, too?”

“They are human.” Amos cut into his meal.

I devoured half my meal before restarting the conversation. “So the date didn’t go well?”

Amos heaved out a breath, exhausted. “Another stinker. Literally, he had BO and bad breath.”

“Yikes.”

“You know, you’d be a catch in the gay community.”

“Really?” My ears perked up with sheer curiosity.

“Uh-huh. There’s a whole subculture where shorter guys are a hot commodity for big, tall bears.”

I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know what neural desktop folder this memory lived in, but my mind instantly went to Mitch Dekker. He seemed to embody what little knowledge I had about bears, the gay kind. He was a large, strapping man. My pulse jumped at the thought, but I shook it off.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We spent the rest of dinner talking about random nonsense—shows we watched, catching up on more kids from summer camp. I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, insisting that Amos relax on the couch. I was earning my keep. He resisted at first but soon sank into the cushions.

“How’s the job hunt going?”

“Uuuugh,” I groaned, which summed it up nicely. I was persona non grata on Wall Street. My resumes went into black holes. It forced me to do some long-delayed soul searching.

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