Page 1 of The Bro Date
CHAPTER ONE
SHANE
The acrid smell of burger grease and deep-fried everything clings to my nostrils as I hastily clock out and untie my dirty apron, hanging it on a hook next to the employee lockers. Raúl has them professionally cleaned weekly, so at least I don’t have to worry about getting the grease stains out at home. But that’s about all I can say regarding my boss’ character.
My locker is on the bottom row, and I’m certain Raúl did it on purpose, making my six-foot-four frame fold in half and squat down uncomfortably before and after every shift.
Prick.
It takes two tries for me to get the combination right, my oversized fingers slipping on the tiny dial while my knees dig into the cold, hard linoleum. I’ve been working as much as I can over spring break, and I’m exhausted, to say the least, but financial aid doesn’t cover everything.
My best friend, Toby, was gone the entire time, staying with his newly retired grandparents in Key West to avoid going home to his overbearing parents. I don’t blame him for wanting to avoid that shit, but the island they live on is pretty remote, so the cell service is spotty at best. We hardly kept in touch beyond a few emails. But Toby’s finally back in town today. He sent me atext around lunchtime to let me know he landed safely, and he’ll see me at home.
I’ve been looking forward to it all shift, instead of looking forward to another shitty day ending and the glorious reprieve of sleep.
I rifle through the ratty backpack I’ve had since high school, searching for my old-ass iPhone to check for new messages from Toby. I hate that I can’t keep it in my pocket while I’m cooking, but it’sRaúl’s kitchen and Raúl’s rules, as I’m reminded daily when he slinks around the place being a dick to everyone.
“Shane!” a loud and somewhat aggressive voice hollers from the kitchen.
Speak of the devil.
With a deep breath and loud exhale, I slowly stand up and turn around to face the asshole that I constantly have to remind myself is the one signing my paychecks.
His dark, bushy brows are drawn together, lips pursed like he’s completely annoyed at me, even though I’m not on the clock anymore. “I asked you to reorganize the pantry two shifts ago. It’s still a fucking mess. Why, Shane?”
I grind my teeth, hating when he curses at me like that.
Tonight was packed. The orders were steadily coming in, and it was hard enough to keep the kitchen clean and the food timely with just one other person on shift. But Raúl knows this, so there’s no point in attempting to defend myself. “Didn’t have time,” I reply blandly instead.
Raúl glances at the backpack dangling by my side. “Lazy kids,” he mutters under his breath.
I don’t correct him that I’m twenty-one and in college. I’ll always be a kid in his condescending eyes.
“See to it that you make time next shift, or we’re going to have a more serious talk,” he threatens with his signature snarl.
“Copy,” I grunt, ready to get the hell out of here. It’s Saturday night, and Toby’s finally home.
Seemingly satisfied with my response, Raúl nods and hustles back to his office, leaving me in peace.
I grab my jean jacket and rush outside to my beloved old pickup truck before I get ambushed again. A small smile tugs at my lips as I turn the key a few times until she starts, pulling out of the parking lot in a hurry. I’m so ready to relax with a cold beer and hang out with my best friend.
It doesn’t take long to get home. The Salty Sandbar Café is located just east of campus, right on the Intracoastal Waterway. There’s never too much traffic in Crescent Bay, even with the tourist season picking up.
Toby’s Audi and Spencer’s Jeep are parked in the driveway, so I park on the curb and hop out. It’s first come, first served around here when we have four vehicles and no garage.
A refreshing gust of wind whips sweaty, tangled strands around my face as I hustle to the front door. When I step inside, I expect to find Toby and the rest of our roommates sprawled out on the couches, watching a movie or battling it out on the PS5, not a dark, empty living room.
Where the fuck is everyone?
Normally, I would be relieved by the peace and quiet, but I haven’t seen Toby in over a week, and I miss him more than I’m comfortable admitting.
It’s been us against the world since fifth grade.
I flip a light on and head to the kitchen for a glass of water and to check the dry erase board for messages, since no one bothered to text me. Front and center on the refrigerator door, scrawled in Jake’s chicken scratch, is the answer to my question.
Went to the Sigma Chi party. Meet us there.
It’s not like Toby to go to frat parties, especially without me, so I jog upstairs and lightly knock on his door in case he’s sleeping. When there’s no answer, I peek inside, disappointed to find an empty bed that’s still made up exactly the way it was a week ago. I gently shut the door, rest my forehead against the cool wood, and close my eyes for a moment. I’m fucking tired, but I guess I’m going to a party tonight.
