Page 44 of The Barkeep and the Bro

Perhaps Amos had a point. I wasn’t scared about coming out as bi. I knew lots of people who were on the rainbow spectrum, and those who weren’t were cool. But being bi for Mitch was a whole set of problems.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he said suggestively.

“Oh, hell no. I’m finally at a job I love. I can’t put it in jeopardy by trying to hook up with the boss. I’ve finally gotten Mitch to tolerate me as an employee.” Besides, I doubted Mitch was into me like that. He still saw me as Ellie’s fratboy ex. I was the one shamelessly flirting with him, although there were times last night when he gladly reciprocated.

“I guess it’s for the best,” Amos said. “Mitch may be gay, but he doesn’t seem to act on it. I’ve never heard of him dating anyone. He’s demisexual for Stone’s Throw Tavern.”

Mitch cared deeply about his bar. He’d sacrificed much of his life to keep the lights on. The last thing he needed was an employee trying to cross the line.

Amos retreated to his armchair to grade papers, but a smile never left his face. He was still cracking up over what had happened. So was I.

“I’ll go to the store today and pick up a fresh zucchini.”

“You better.” He looked up again. “May I make a recommendation? If you’re going to continue down this path of sexual exploration, go online and invest in an actual dildo. Please don’t violate any more of my organic produce. They don’t provide the vitamin D you’re looking for.”

14

CHARLIE

It was time to set boundaries. I had to keep whatever this was in the pants. For the rest of the week, I used every droplet of willpower to keep things strictly professional with Mitch. No more Chatty Charlie, which was a gateway to Flirty Charlie. No mention of a kiss. Let that water flow directly under a bridge. I came in, made some drinks, punched out, and did not check out my boss once. Even when his chest (and crotch) looked extra beefy in his flannel and jeans.

Mitch seemed to prefer this, too, as he stopped hanging by the bar, making bartending a little less magical.

Friday could not come soon enough. I was going into the city for my friend Asa’s birthday bash, the first time back in Manhattan since my downfall. I hadn’t heard from anyone and almost wondered if I was completely cut off.

“Have fun this weekend. Don’t get blackout drunk,” Natasha said with a knowing smirk.

“Be safe,” Mitch grumbled out while polishing up pictures around the bar.

I stepped outside into the cold air. I was ready to rage.

A few hours and a train ride later, I found myself in a place that was both familiar and a foreign world: a swanky downtown Manhattan bar filled with young professionals looking to mingle and hook up and use their disposable income to get wasted. I remembered Asa’s birthday last year—well, not all of it. But that meant it was a banger. We stayed out all night drinking, then continued through the next day.

My body yawned in protest. A week of being on my feet would do that. I vowed to power through. I could still party like in my days of yore.

My frat brothers Skeeter and Asa yelled in celebration when I arrived, and we all did one massive bear hug.

Asa wore a belt around his waist with a sign hanging over his crotch that said Kiss the Birthday Boy.

Subtle.

“Dude, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Asa said. We pushed our way through to a corner booth where our other friends hung out with drinks and balloons tied around the coat hook. Birthday balloons never got old. They always elicited joy and wonder.

“Where the fuck have you been living?” Skeeter yelled into my ear. His familiar body spray scent took me back to a million Friday nights just like this, whether at the frat house or prowling the streets of New York. He worked in finance while Asa was in med school.

“I’m up in Sourwood, where Ellie’s from. I’m bartending.” I waved off his odd look. “It’s a long story.”

“Nice, man! Smart move slumming it for a while until you come back.”

The comment didn’t sit well with me. I wasn’t slumming anything. I was busting my ass at Stone’s Throw. I was going to say just that, but when I opened my mouth, a yawn ripped out of me. My legs and feet also hurt with the week’s worth of standing.

Skeeter and Asa shot me skeptical looks. A yawn at a bar on a Friday night was as disrespectful as a fart in church.

“Do you need a nap?” Skeeter asked.

I clamped my lips shut and shook my head no. I was no old man. I could still party like the rest of them. I dug into myself and found my second wind.

“Another round?” I waved my hand around our table. My friends cheered in response. They shouted their drink orders at me, and I remembered each and every one, impressing myself.

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