Author's note: Sorry for the delay, y'all. Back at university and working a lot, but will work on getting back to a weekly basis.
The brothers take us back to the house and dismiss us from there. A general anxiety settled over the boys after the announcement that the following events would be invite-only. I head for the door after they dismissed us, most of the drunk boys forming some sort of mindless wobble down the steps. As I cross the door, Carter stops me.
“Can you spend the night?” His eyes are possessive, but the tender Carter I know is home.
I glance back at Gian, who’s down the sidewalk now chatting it up with other boys. “Am I allowed?”
“Of course, Cameron,” he replies, almost like my question is unreasonable. “You’re with me.” His lips twist into a half smile that trembles around the edges. “It’s been awhile since you have.” Once the door closes behind, Carter pulls me into a short kiss, eyes searching mine.
“Sure.”
He steps back, his hand still on my arm. “C’mon,” he says low. We get in his truck and head to the upperclassman house.
Though I’d honestly rather be in my own bed after such a long day, the staleness and cleanliness of the upperclassman house was nice enough. Teddy's already begun making a mess of our room and I haven't got the balls to confront him about it. Carter’s bedroom is messier than usual, probably from how hectic rush has been.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much,” he says, closing the door behind him.
“That’s okay, Carter. I haven’t been around either. I’ve been needing to focus on myself.”
“That’s a good thing– I’m glad you’re doing that.”
“I’ve just– missed you. A lot more than I thought. Even, y’know, even though you’re still around. I don’t see you as much. Lachlan’s kinda been on my ass about his definition of special treatment, and he told me that you’d have to earn your way through like the other boys.”
“I get that.”
“It’s just pissy because now he thinks any time I spend with you is special treatment because you get the insides of the frat without being in it. I just think it’s shitty.” He combs through his hair and pushes his mustache down with his thumb and pointer finger. “I haven’t even been able to ask how you’re feeling about rush so far.”
“I think it’s going really well. I lean back against his armchair and disarm. It’s a lot, not gonna lie. I think it’s okay but I don’t know where I stand.”
“I think you’re fine. I’ve been pushing for you, and so have the other boys. We like you.”
“Even Llywelyn?”
“I think so. He’s testy, like Reuben. Reuben’d kill me if he knew I said this, but he respects ya at least a smidge now, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, we have meetings every night about it. They take fuckin’ forever since we gotta go through each pledge. You’re number one on the roster, by the way.” He smiles, a cool thing, and settles down onto his bed.
I whistle under my breath. “Number one, huh?”
“It’s not a symbol of status. Just where you ended up since I added your name in July. You’re clearly clicking with the PNMs. They really respect you– like, deeply respect you after tonight. They think you’re tough as shit.” He smiles like he’s recounting a legend. “Just keep on, yeah? Like, don’t get too wild or let anyone get in your head," he taps his temple "because you know Reuben will keep trying to do something about it if he can.”
He stands and pats me on the shoulder. “I gotta go to that deathly long meeting.”
“Can I join?”
“You serious, Cameron?” he asks in playful disbelief.
I shrug, leaning back and stretching my hands over my head. “Just figured I’d ask to see how much I can get.”
He chuckles. Shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, Sutton,” he mumbles, stepping closer to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell you what– can’t let you in, not tonight. Lachlan would absolutely kick my ass, and I’m already on thin ice with him. But,” he takes my chin in his fingers. “Stick around after. I’ll fill you in on what matters. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I walk downstairs behind Carter and make myself comfortable on the couch. The boys filter down the hallway somewhere I’m not quite sure of, their voices fade and tunnel. Screw it. I get up, moving quietly and trailing their sound until I’m standing outside a heavy wooden door in a part of the house I’ve never seen before.
The door’s solid, probably oak, carved, and it feels like it’s guarding the sanctum of this frat. I lean in, my ear brushing the cool wood and catching snippets of their conversation. I figured they’d begin with me, being number one and all, but they’ve jumbled their notes. They tear through names with a brutal efficiency that makes my stomach twist, some more favorable than others but still critical. It’s a mix of cold analysis and locker-room bullshit. “Too scrawny” or “too fat.” They talk over each other and snicker at comments too. They compare the PNMs based on what would devolve the frat into “feminine faggotry” and what would leave others revelling in the image of “real men,” as if Carter and Jaeger aren’t sitting neck-deep in their own faggotry.
Someone— Reuben, definitely, I decide— Reuben grumbles about Gian. The boys add their praises while one raises concerns about his wildness. But the accent, and the body, and the pure god-like athleticism coated in even, vanilla caramel tan.
“What about his sidekick?”
I perk up. What about him? My ear presses tighter against the door, the humidity suctioning it to the wood. My heart slams against my ribs and I hold my breath so I can hear everything.
“Sutton?”
“Motherfuckin' Sutton,” one of the brothers replies.
The room rolls into a low chuckle.
“You saw them work together today at the pool. Kid was the top recruit in North Carolina out of high school for wrestling, and one of the top recruits for lacrosse, too. We don’t want another frat to have that firepower.”
I kinda blush, kinda get hot and a bit woozy.
“But kid’s a liability,” Lachlan weighs. “Had him here over part of the summer and he was picking fights with Reuben every day.”
I shake my head. Bullshit. Carter speaks up. “Cameron’s got his own fire. That’s why I recruited him to wrestle. He makes us look strong and I think you’ll regret it when he brings home a national title and another frat, like Mason said, gets the press and accolade.”
His words hit like a shot of adrenaline. He’s fighting for me like he said he would. The room goes quiet for a beat before another brother shoots off. “I’d say stop dickriding him but you’ve already been balls deep.”
The entire room breaks into laughter and I step back, face hot. The laughter dies and so do my eyes.
“Is it nice?”
“What?” Carter replies.
“Does he have a good ass?”
Silence. “The best, bro,” he finally responds.
“Attaboy,” one responds as laughter fills the room.
“Gonna have to tap in on that,” one says, jokingly probably. I shudder.
“Run a train on the faggot.”
“Shit if he’s the frat bitch he’s in.”
“Heard he’s here tonight.”
“Alright. Enough. Next pledge,” Lachlan steps in.
I pull away through heavy breath. “Fuck,” I mutter as I slink back to the couch.
The door opens some time later and muffled voices return. I straighten up, wiping my palms on my pants, trying to look casual. Some of the boys nod at me while Carter sits next to me, fingers in his mustache. Reuben, Jaeger, and Lachlan join him. They talk for a while, but I begin to yawn and eventually I’m too tired to hold my eyes open. Carter leads me to his bed and I pass out.
Thursday is bullshit. I forgot to do a reading and I looked like a fucking idiot in my class when I got cold-called. Why is that still a thing? Why do professors need to humiliate their students and practically jizz all over a student’s face just to prove a point? The campus house didn’t impress me that much, either. It was nice, sure, but it was just a frat house. Plus, I had seen the best parts of it by now. Large kitchen and old leather couches, a piss stained basement that smelled like it, too. There were long hallways of cinderblock walls with small rooms, but at least each room only had one bed. I haven’t been in a good mood all day, so I just kept quiet while they fed us whatever they had in the fridge. The wood on the stairs is stripped, peeling in some places. The paint peels as well from the humidity, but for the most part the furniture isn’t stained and for, it doesn’t smell like shit outside of the basement. I guess if I wanted something that’s crazy nice I gotta spend most nights with Carter.
Friday rolls in with the same suffocating humidity. High, angry clouds billow like the peaks of a bicep, providing occasional relief by spitting rain overhead. I’m dressed casually to the demands of Lachlan. He told me I had to fuck off from the house an hour before we were supposed to arrive so it didn’t look like I had been before.
Campus is alive with its chaos of boys fucking around and using the pointlessness of syllabus week to get drunk. I stand outside the entrance to the upperclassman house with the other brothers who have made it. Gian walks up and a smile tumbles into a laugh as he greets me.
Lachlan comes outside. “Welcome, boys. Long as you don’t fuck up, drink in the faces around you. This is your new group.” There’s about forty of us left. I don’t see Dalton or the other kid who was with him. The boys blubber over how large the house is, its framing, its modernity. “This is the upperclassmen house,” Lachlan begins. “Juniors and seniors get dormed here. We have our chapter meetings and rituals here, too, as well as most private functions, so– you’ll get to see it plenty. It’s the nicest house on campus.
“I like it. We have a big kitchen connected directly to the living room. It feels more like a house than the industrial shit we have on campus. We have a butler’s kitchen, dining room, screening room, several lounging areas…” his voice trails while we walk down a maze of hallways. “This is my office. When here, you’ll have a workspace for your academics nearby. They’re locked today, just because… I honestly don’t fucking know." He laughs. I look around and images being on all fours shoot around my eyes.
We then walk down a dark green corridor with brown trim to another series of rooms. “Screening room,” he files in. “Through there, we have pool, ping pong, indoor basketball.”
“Indoor basketball?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs like it’s normal.
“I haven’t even seen that one before,” I whisper to Gian.
Lachlan leads us down a set of stairs to the basement, and the vibe shifts. It’s like stepping into a dungeon. Cold, humid air and the echo of our footsteps makes each step feel heavier, slowly muddying until our flesh dampens it completely. But it’s decked out with French doors opening to an outdoor patio and a massive backyard that slopes down from the front of the house. The basement’s lit with fake-neon fixtures, their eclectic glow bouncing off refined, deep mahogany furniture. There’s a bar that looks like it could stock a club recessed into raw, cut rock.
One of the pledges, a lankier boy with a twunky build points to a heavy door tucked in the corner, obscured by a cut tapestry split down the middle. “What’s that door?”
Lachlan turns, his smile slow and indulgent. “That’s for y’all later.”
Carter is at my side now. “Stay focused, Cameron. They’re watching.” I nod, but my eyes don’t break from that door. It’s got something carved into it. Symbols, greek, I can’t see it from here. We walk back upstairs to the main dorm hallways. I pay extra attention to which boards creak and which don’t, and how the cream wood crown moulding matches the yellowed paint on the ceiling.
They’re all elegant inside. I’ve seen inside most of them, but they’ve been cleaned up and the posters of naked women have been stuffed carelessly into closets. We round the corner down to the portion where Jaeger and Carter live. Jaeger lazes, spread out in nothing but a pair of tight briefs that do little to hide his thick cock head. He’s posted like he’s there for the cover of his own magazine, and I think he notices how I stare at his caramelized summer skin. He stares me down.
We turn back and go to the other side of the staircase. There sit more rooms which form a horseshoe around a lounge at the far end. Plush, royal blue couches, a flat screen, and a bar cart recently restocked with liquor no college man could afford. It’s all meant to dazzle– to make us hungry and desperate to be in this frat. It seems so fake but there it is right in front of me. Who can pay for this? We climb another, almost hidden staircase which juts off the back of the lounge to the third floor. I guess I should have expected a house this grand to have one, but I assumed it was just an attic.
“This is where the most successful brothers live,” he says, gesturing at the excessive decadence. Each of the rooms has a single brass nameplate on it. “Get a second year on exec, you get a year up here. Only committed men stay up here.”
I nudge Carter. “Why didn’t you get up here?”
“I actually prefer my corner room. I turned it down.”
Huh.
Right. The third floor’s much quieter. A tad warmer. The rain drums against skylights down the hallway as we pass six doors on each side. Framed charters and composites stay here. Years pass by until the photos are so grainy you can hardly make out the brother anymore. The wood smells like barrel whiskey and the air feels crisper. I can’t say I’m not absolutely fucking blown away. There’s no way this is how some people live here. I’ve been to other frat houses. Shit, I’ve been in my uncles mansions. They’re nothing compared to this.
“Anyway, boys,” he says. “You’ve got an hour to chill before the party tonight. It’s in the basement, with women. Don’t worry about dressing up, worry about getting your hands on some tits.” We shuffle awkwardly back downstairs to the foyer. Some of the PNMs leave to get food, and some disperse around the house to lounge in the shine of almost precipitous chandeliers.
“Wanna go get food?” Gian asks.
“Top dogs stay in the house,” Carter suggests, but his words implore more than anything else. I look over my shoulder at the rain, steady against the concrete and finally helping against the oppressive heat.
By half eight, the basement has turned into a pulsing chaos. EDM and rap shakes the mahogany beams while sorority girls in tight dresses sway lazily with red cups. The neon fixtures and LED bulbs cast jagged, dark shadows across the stocked bar. I’m weaving through the crowd aimlessly hoping that a girl might come up to me so I fit in. Gian owns the beer pong table with a brunette at his side, and Llywelyn stands with Hunter scanning over the crowd. Llywelyn eventually gets distracted enough by a girl who could do better than him.
Once everyone has found someone to distract them, I slip back upstairs and grab water from the kitchen. The quietness of the house soaks me, embalms me for just a second. The cold water brings back a lucidity that escapes the moment you step downstairs, wicks my sweat into the dry, processed air from the HVAC. It doesn’t take long before the floorboards behind me creak. Lachlan’s voice ruins my peace.
“What’s up, Sutton?”
“I just needed a breather.”
“Breather, huh?”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“You should be downstairs. Top dog needs to be downstairs.”
“I’m pacing myself. Big night, right?”
“Smart. You’ll need that head of yours later.” He leans closer. “You're doing well, Cam. Top dog, with Gian. The frat likes you, but that don’t quite mean you’re safe. We all want to know what you got, beyond just being good at water polo.”
Before I can respond, Carter’s in the doorway. His mustache twitches while his eyes slide between us.
“Everything alright?”
“Was curious why Cam’s not enjoying the party,” Lachlan replies.
“Just need to get that shirt off,” Carter teases, his smile tight but playful, trying to cut the tension and ease my own unsteadiness. “Come on, bub. I’ll join.”
He slips his shirt over his body to reveal his smooth muscles, now covered in a light blond fuzz from a few weeks without shaving. I drink him in, my pulse spiking despite myself.
“Alright, showoff,” I mutter. I tug off my shirt. I’m not one to be outdone. The cool air crinkles its fingers around my skin while I toss my damp shirt onto a barstool.
Lachlan just chuckles and bobs his head. “Shit, Sutton. Guess I didn’t realize how big you’d gotten this summer.” I smile but my cheeks deceive me with a rosy color passing across my face. “Fuck it,” he finally mutters. His fingers hook the hem of his shirt, and then with one swift motion, he peels it off. The fabric sticks briefly to his massive chest, then it slips free.
He stands there like a wall, so overwhelming with his sheer brute design. His shoulders taper into a thick chest, and his arms have such thickness that even when rested his bicep and tricep heads still separate. His abdomen’s built like it’s meant to absorb impact and deal it back tenfold, his abs soft looking but the light dusting of hair emphasizes each valley. His traps roll up into a thick neck, and his lats flare like he might take off. There’s no softness to him, even in the way he stands.
My eyes rake over him. Goddamn. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him shirtless before. And now, I’m not sure how I didn’t notice his weight and presence. No wonder this is the president.
“You’re staring, Sutton,” Lachlan says, plainly.
I smile down at the ground.
“Well, boys,” Lachlan snaps the tension. “Downstairs?”
“Gimme a second.”
Carter runs upstairs and returns with three pairs of bright blue briefs. I raise my eyebrow. Lachlan and I look over at each other before he tumbles into laughter.
“What you implying, Carter?” Lachlan asks.
“I’m thinkin’ you need to have more fun.”
He shakes his head incredulously. “I am fun.”
I shake my own head. “Not sure I’d describe you as that.”
“Well–” he stammers, possibly for the first time in his life. “I’m gonna need several shots.”
He drags a handle of Tito’s from the pantry and flicks the cap off. He takes a few swigs and winces it off, then he runs his tongue under the faucet, inhaling some water to rinse his throat. I shrug and follow suit, handing off to Carter. after. Lachlan drops his pants, but the fucking countertop obscures him just enough that I can’t get a glimpse of his dick. He pulls up the briefs. Carter smirks and paws a container of oil from the cabinet.
“Oh hell nah,” Lachlan rejects.
Carter bursts with a hearty laugh and lathers himself. “Cameron? You going all in with me?”
I hesitate and look over at Lachlan, considering him for a second, but I can’t say no.
And here we go. Three oiled up college jocks in nothing but tight briefs now walking down the stairs into the party. Lachlan nearly stumbles down the first step and I stifle a laugh, but I collect myself once Carter shushes me. I giggle to myself as the music fills our ears again. Carter emerges first, slipping into the basement as the neon lights reflect off the oil on his body, mostly unnoticed among the crowd. Lachlan follows a step after, his undeniable brutality and pragmatism crumbling away as I watch him strike a ridiculous pose.
I train behind the two of them, and hands brush my pecs, down my chest, around my ass and thighs. The crowd’s bubble tightens around us as we dance up against each other. Lachlan faces me for a moment, his eyes flat and lips thin, but the corners of his lips tug into a deep smirk.
Gian abandons the pong table, striding over while he pulls his shirt off and joins me in the center of the madness, clapping my shoulder with a beer-slick hand. “You fucking legend,” he shouts while everyone faces us. Everything just seems to collapse around me for a moment, and then it crashes back and forth in a constant wobble between reality and some strange euphoria that keeps telling me maybe I do belong here.
The music swells, thudding against my chest like it’s trying to steal my heart from me. Bodies press in tighter, and now no one’s too shy to put their hands on me. I close my eyes for a second, letting the buzz lift me off my feet and into the air thickened with breath. I turn to find Carter spinning off with two chicks, orbiting them and rolling his hips with an almost theatrical confidence. Lachlan doesn’t have the same rhythm that Carter and Gian do. In fact, he’s knocking girls back while he tries to shimmy, but the absurdity somehow works.
Eventually, all of the women do have to leave, otherwise the University classifies a party essentially as an orgy. I chatted with a girl named Savannah, from… Savannah. She didn’t seem very happy when I asked her the most obvious question. I mean, come on. Savannah from Savannah? Okay. I don’t know why she’d still go by Savannah.
“Cameron,” Gian calls.
I open my eyes and notice I’m dancing alone. Why the fuck would– “Gian you’re not gonna believe this,” I say, stumbling over to him. “Why the fuck– Why the fuck. Just listen. This girl, right? Her name is Savannah.”
“Holy shit you’re pissed.”
“I’m not mad–”
“Righto. Pissed is drunk.”
“Ohhhhh," I laugh.
“You need water.”
“Stop– interrupting me!” I slur. “This girl, Savannah. Right? Savannnnahhh." I tap my tongue against my teeth. "She’s from fucking Savannah. Do her parents hate her? If her parents believe in God, God played them.”
Gian laughs. “Holy fuck, mate.”
“Providence,” I breathe sharply. “Providence to name your child something so fucking stupid.”
Gian nearly doubles over, one hand on my shoulder. “You’re gone, man.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, which is possibly one of the least convincing things I’ve ever said. My feet feel like they’ve got opinions of their own, and I sway hard and catch myself on Gian’s bicep. “Like, think about it,” I continue.
“I’m thinkin–”
“DON’T–” I pause, hunching over slightly, “interrupt me. Think about it. That’s biblical punishment. Exile.” My arm shoots up.
“She probably thought you were cute until you said that.”
“She was cute, but I don’t know if I can get over it.” I pause, eyes widening. Savannah. What if I was named Chapel Hill? What if? “What if– get this,”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think I’m gonna end up with someone named Chapel Hill?” A tear falls down my face. “I don’t want to do that, Gian. Who would name a child Chapel Hill?”
Gian wraps an arm around me, guiding me through the boys cleaning up around us. Carter’s still talking to a girl in the corner who managed to stay somehow.
“Do not let me talk to anyone else named after a city,” I mutter as he drags me upstairs. “If someone says their name is Dallas, just punch me.”
“Deal.”
I wake up with probably one of the worst headaches I’ve had in awhile, like someone’s using my head as a drum of war that makes me wonder if I’d rather be dead. I’m folded across the couch, my limbs are leaden, lips dry and cracked.
I gag, and lurch upright off the couch as the room tilts around me. Back and forth, back, and then I fall forth with it. I gag again on bile that claws its way up my throat, threatening my tongue while I run to the bathroom. I make it to the bathroom on muscle memory alone, collapsing over the toilet in a graceless sprawl.
The mirror above the sink is cruel. I blink back blankly and pull down the skin on my cheeks until it snaps back. I have something smudged on my cheek, my armpits are sticky from the oil, and there’s sharpie mixed with sweat forming what was probably a hand outline. There’s glitter on my collarbone and in my eyelashes. My mouth tastes like I chewed through the metal cap of a liquor bottle and washed it down with the entire bottle.
And then I remember her. Savannah from Savannah. I gave her my number, too. I groan, leaning my forehead against the sink’s cool granite rim, a supplication to anything that might ease my head. “God.”
Footsteps creak on stairs above, slow and uneven. Gian stands behind me with water and a bottle of Advil. His hair’s flattened on one side and he’s got his shirt on inside out.
“You alive?”
“Define.” I chug the glass of water and pop four or five Advil. I don’t know. “Did I cry about girls?”
“You said–” his laugh breaks apart his words. “You said if anyone named Dallas ever flirted with you, I should punch you in the mouth.”
“I’m never drinking again.” I bury my face in my hands.
Gian hums. “Sure, mate.”
I lift my head slowly. “Did I make a total ass of myself?”
He considers it. “Yeah,” he says. “But like… gracefully?” He chuckles. “You had the crowd. You baptised yourself in beer and prayed at Lachlan’s feet.”
I squint. “Lies.”
“You also danced with a barstool.”
“Okay…”
“You tried to give a toast with a cup you’d just spilled on yourself after the party ended and you forgot what you were saying halfway through.”
I groan again, sliding down to sit fully on the cold tile. “I feel like a bad example.”
“A walking caution sign,” Gian says, easing down next to me and resting his hand in my lap. I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the cabinet. “Do I owe anyone an apology?”
“Maybe the barstool, and maybe for making Lachlan blush.”
“Did Carter see any of it?”
Gian winces, a harsh thing that doesn’t need any words.
“You mean yes.”
“You pulled him away from a few boys and said, ‘I forgive you.’”
I crack one eye open. “Forgive him for what?”
“No one knows,” Gian says. “Not even Carter. You looked very peaceful, though.”
“I think maybe I’ll die here.”
“Nope,” he mutters. “Get up. Before you fuse to the floor. Up, boy.”
My heart flutters. Boy.
He says it like a joke, but his voice cracks just right through me.
“Up.” I take his hand, the tops of the palms calloused from lifting, a little clammy from last night. He pulls me to my feet with a solid yank, and for a moment we’re too close. The world tilts around us and my head pounds again. “Easy there, easy now. Are you always this dramatic in the morno?”
“Only when I’m deeply humiliated.”
He huffs warmly. “So, daily.”
I let out a soft, rasped laugh. He brushes a stray curl off my forehead and his face eases. “Let’s get you water before you confess your sins to a chair again.”
“Barstool,” I correct.
“Righto. My apologies to the barstool.”
Gian guides me steadily toward the kitchen; his grip is firm, but gentle. I’m still kinda dizzy, but I feel myself finally coming around. The sunlight filters weakly through the blinds, and none of the other boys have roused yet.
“Water first,” Gian insists, pulling open each cabinet to find the glasses. He fills two until the bubbles splash over.
The coldness of the water soothes the edges of my eyes. I put my face down on the countertop and watch the sun dance through the glass. “Are we the only ones here?”
“I don’t reckon so.”
“Where did the other pledges go?”
“They were sober enough to go home. Carter insisted on watching you here, and I insisted that I would stay.”
“Thanks.”
“No worries.”
I glance up to Gian leaning on the counter, the muscle in his tricep catching the sun– to fucking perfection. “You think Carter’s still up?”
He shrugs. “I reckon he’s tuckered out from being the mum of the frat.”
“VP’s got a lot of weight to carry.”
“Including you,” Gian laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Too easy.”
I groan into my arm. “You’re lucky you’re damn cute.”
Oh fuck. No fucking way I let that slip. Gian blinks, his laugh settling quickly. I lift my head an inch, eyes lucid now.
“I didn’t mean–”
He tilts his head. “No?”
Shit. I open my mouth. Close it. “I’m still drunk.”
Gian smiles, slow and lopsided. I don’t face him directly. He shifts his weight and leans over the counter beside me. “You seem pretty coherent.”
“I’ll deny it either way.”
A beat passes. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he shrugs. “But I do like women.”
“I get that. I assumed.”
“But I’m not gonna yuck your yum. I am flattered.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.
“Come on. You make it easy to take as a compliment.”
I finally meet his eyes. There’s no mockery, it’s just earnest. He squints them a little.
“Still wanna die a little.”
“A hangover will do it to ya. Add it to your list. Right under confessing to a barstool and we’ll cross it off someday.”
I shake my head, cheeks still burning. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
“Not a bloody chance,” he says, raising his glass like a toast.
“How you going now, anyway?”
“Getting there.”
He eyes me. “Don’t make me carry you again.”
“You carried me? Goddammit. Kill me.”
“Nope,” he says, swinging around the counter. “Still got a whole day ahead of us, Romeo. Including rush.”
“Rush. Right.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll lie and say you were a charmer.”
