“You have been out of the game for too long, friend,” Hunter announces as soon as he opens his front door.
Like seemingly everyone else in Little Haven, Hunter lives in an old place on the edge of the woods. Nothing too big or expensive, just enough room for him and the three pit bulls I see poking their heads out from behind his massive legs. He ushers them back now and shuts the door behind him as he follows me through.
He slaps his barrel stomach, which is in no way fat, but still far bigger than mine.
“This is barbeque,” he says as we walk. “You need the superstore pants with the elastic waistband, and a shirt you won’t be ashamed to get stained.”
I smirk up at him. “Stained? Are we also hunting the animals before they’re barbequed?”
“Cute,” Hunter remarks, glancing down at me. “But it’s clearly been a long time since you’ve been to Dirty John’s.”
“Shit, we’re going to Dirty John’s?”
A million high school memories come flooding back at once. I’d all but forgotten about the restaurant. Back in high school, Dirty John’s was a tiny shack of a place that packed in its customers in blatant disregard of comfort or fire code.
Hunter stops walking suddenly and eyeballs me aggressively. He crosses his arms.
“Wait, did you go vegetarian since you moved to the city?” He asks, eyes narrowing. “Are you gonna embarrass me and ask for a salad in there?”
I laugh. “You’re as mean as your sister when it comes to New York City.”
Hunter shrugs his shoulders and keeps walking. “I might like my tourists, but I’ve got a few ladies on the line here in town. Can’t have you mucking up my game, prancing around in your skinny pants and ordering sushi.”
We round a corner and there it is. Like the rest of town, Dirty John’s is almost completely unchanged from when I was in school. It needs a new paint job and the whole structure leans slightly to the left, but when the smell of ribs and potatoes hit my nose, I’m hurtled back in time.
“Christ. I think I just gained five pounds from smelling the place,” I tell him. “No way Coach Gunderson is going to have me back when we’re done here. Physically, I’ll be ruined. It’ll be a terrible example for our players.”
Hunter grins down at me. “So, you approve?”
My stomach rumbles in response, giving me away.
“I bought out half the place last year,” Hunter announces, his smug smile trained ahead as I turn to him in surprise. “Figured I ought to expand the repertoire, or whatever it is the business guys say.”
“No shit.” Color me very impressed. Dirty John’s might be a shack, but it’s a damn popular one. Even now, as we approach, the line is wrapping out the door and around the side of the building.
“Extra money, the admiration of women everywhere, and free barbeque? How could I pass up an investment opportunity like that?” He winks at me before waving to part the crowd. “’Scuse us, folks.”
He guides me through the doors, and we head through the crowded restaurant to the space behind the counter. Hunter grins back at me before pushing through the double doors that lead to the back, and I’m struck with a sense of how easy it is to pick up where we left off in our friendship.
Hunter and I never stopped talking to each other. We texted occasionally, swapped FaceTimes around the holidays. But we were friends of a certain time and place. He was a marker of who I was before New York City. And now… now we don’t have too much in common. He’s this big, beefy camo-wearing barbeque king, and I’m the sleek-dressed guy that’s getting judged by every self-respecting meat-lover in this restaurant.
Even so, I can’t help but like him. I can’t help but root for his success and feel that pull to open up to him the same way I did two decades ago.
Hunter pulls me into a crowded back office and starts rifling through papers.
“Pop a squat on my stool,” he instructs. “Promise we’ll get to the food soon. I’ve just got to set out some paperwork for one of my girls in the back real quick.”
“I’m seriously fucking impressed,” I tell him. I glance out the tiny office window, watching cooks and counter staff rushing around to fill orders. “Are you sure you’re the same guy who used to bum homework answers off me in Algebra 1?”
He grins over his shoulder at me, still sorting through papers. “And Mrs. Alberts used to shame me, saying—”
“You won’t always have a calculator with you in the real world!” We say it together and laugh.
“So, was expanding the repertoire the only reason you put money into this place?” I ask. “Or was it a purchase made for legal reasons? Like, Dirty John was under fire with the health code guys because of all his counter girls you screwed around with back in high school? I have a distinct memory of you and Amy Hitchcock trying desperately to clean up the inside of the walk-in fridge before John could see it the next morning…”
Hunter turns to me, his cheeks beet red. “You can’t speak of that to John if we see him, Gray. He can’t know all the nasty things I did here in my reckless youth.”
“So, you’re done screwing counter girls here? It’s strictly business?”