[ THE FRAT BOY ]
Through an opened window, the noises of evening traffic, rumbling engines, and not-so-distant police sirens drift in like a storm. Brett sits on his bed in a pile of clothes he’s tried on and flung right off. He can’t settle on a look, and every time he peers at himself in the mirror, he only sees panicked eyes. But Brett’s restlessness began long before he got home …
1
I can’t escape the butterflies when I’m at work, cranking out coffee order after coffee order, a smile forced on my face underneath my cockeyed hat.
I can’t escape the butterflies on my lunch break when I’m out back in the alley, pacing around as my boss Bethany—permanently sleepy, raccoon-eyed, forty, and thin as a half-melted popsicle—talks my ear off about her girlfriend’s annoying habits between puffs from an herb-scented cigarette.
I can’t escape the butterflies hours later when I’m on the subway heading home, hand gripping the bar above me, my ass probably in someone’s face, trying to tune out the crying and shouting of a little boy somewhere in the crowded train.
That’s me. I’m that little boy, shouting, crying, wanting a piece of candy I can’t have.
Skylar’s the candy. And he’s in town—my hot college crush I haven’t seen since I dropped out. He’s here, inexplicably, and he wants to see me. How am I supposed to just carry on with my day-to-day life like that news doesn’t turn my whole world on its head? I almost brushed my teeth with hair mousse this morning, for fuck’s sake.
And by five o’clock when I’m home and still a mess, I can’t take another second of it. “Connor!” I shout out, gripping a t-shirt in either hand.
My roommate Connor hurries to my door. He averts his eyes at once. “Brett, I can see your—”
“You gotta help me, bro. I need to look hot.”
“Can you put on some pants first?” he suggests as he blinks his big blue eyes, staring somewhere at my ceiling. The overworked, slender, and tragically boyish guy is still in his shirt and tie from work.
“Really? You and I have been roommates for over a month now, Connor.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“So when are you gonna stop squirming when you see me in my undies?”
“Um, those aren’t ‘undies’. That is a jock, and it is giving me way too much information.”
I ignore his protests and fish out a pair of jeans from the pile on the bed. “Should I go for these, or some kind of … stylish shorts, maybe …?”
Connor sighs and gives up averting his gaze to glance at the jeans. “Are those your skinny jeans or the ones with the—?” He answers his own question when he draws close enough to give them a look. “Yeah, wear these ones. They show off your bum. Let’s face it, that’s basically your moneymaker.”
I smile. There’s the helpful, cheery Connor I know and need. “Alright. Now pick out a top for me.”
“That one, the red one. Red’s your color. Why am I dressing you, by the way?” His eyes go wide with excitement when it hits him. “Wait a sec! Is tonight the night??”
“Yep.” I peel off my shirt and toss it at the bed, then search for the neck hole in the red shirt. “He’s in town. I’m going to see him for the first time in—”
“No way!” Connor is instantly ten times more lively than he’s been in days. “This is huge! And here I was, thinking we still had a week or two to get ready. I mean, I don’t want to blow this up into a bigger deal than it is,” he adds suddenly, fretting, “but if you’re planning to invite him over, I need to straighten things up around here.” He winces at the messy pile on my bed, now focusing on everything except the fact that I’m standing here in just my jock fishing the sleeves out of this inside-out red shirt. “Phew. You’ve got a mess in here. I can clean up a bit while you’re out with your guy. Where’re you taking him, by the way?”
I stop fussing with my shirt for a second. “I … haven’t decided. Somewhere uptown, maybe?”
Connor’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “Dude! It’s Friday night! Everything will be booked! You won’t get a reservation anywhere!”
“It’s alright! I was just gonna meet up with him at a bar. Maybe the old one I used to go to.”
“Are you talking about a straight bar? Wait a sec.” He brings his voice down, as if someone may overhear. “You mean he’s straight? This fraternity guy you’re crazy for is straight? Oh, Brett …”
Damn, now I gotta endure a grilling from him? “You all got the wrong idea,” I tell him. “You, Lex, and Omar all went and assumed I’m going on some date with this guy. That’s not what’s happening. We’re just catching up like a pair of old pals, alright?”