Page 12 of Twisted Needs

“Drugs?” Charlie guesses.

“Yes,” I say slowly, nodding once. “But also…” It’s hard to hide my grin as I pull my phone out from my back pocket and scan a QR code on the table that automatically opens to a sign-up form.

Aviva sees it first, her eyes widening, and immediately covers her mouth in horror. “You did not.”

“What did you do?” Lee asks in horror.

“We’re doing karaoke,” I beam.

A symphony of disappointment and annoyance appears across the booth, taking over my friends’ bodies and turning them into boring robots.

“No!” Charlie shouts, covering her face with her hands. “Anders, no. You can’t do this to me.”

“But I’m so sad and single,” I pout, batting my eyes.

“Maybe you’re single because you’re a shitty singer,” Lee mutters. “I’m not going up there with you. I’d rather do a solo.”

“Wait, we have to,” Aviva protests suddenly, fully amused. “Anders needs our support.”

“Lee, I chose your favorite song,” I tell them. As if that makes it any more appealing. Their face just somehow manages to look even more horrified.

“Wait, I thought Lee’s favorite song was that fifteen minute song by Joanna Newsome,” Aviva says. “The one that sounds like you’re stomping around in some bog or shit.”

“Dancing in the Moonlight, guys. C’mon.”

“No,” all three of them say in unison.

“Single and friendless,” I sigh dramatically, slumping back against the booth and clutching my chest. “What has the world come to? This is blatant homophobia and sexism.”

“Sexism?” Aviva snorts. “You’re a man.”

“Exactly,” I retorted. “Two women and one nonbinary lesbian walk into a bar...”

“Anders, I’m about to hit you,” Lee warns.

I grin, dragging my beer towards my lips.

CHAPTER 4

BABYSITTING GIG

ANDERS

When I get home from the tavern, I don’t expect there to be company.

But when I finally made it inside, I saw Parker and Logan Bishop are shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen counter, both leaned over a sheet of paper like they’re planning a military operation instead of whatever hockey-related bullshit has them so insanely focused.

Parker looks up first. The second his eyes land on me, something in his face softens. “I thought you were gonna be home for dinner.”

Bishop turns next, immediately cheesing. “Holy shit,” he laughs. “I thought this asshole was joking when he said he had a live-in babysitting gig.”

“Bish,” Parker warns flatly.

“What?” Bishop snorts before opening his arms dramatically toward me.

I laugh under my breath and let him pull me into a hug because Logan Bishop has always been impossible not to like—despite being a walking STD. He smells like pricey cologne and wintergreen Zyns, and he always squeezes me hard enough that I nearly burst at the seams.

“Look at you,” he says, holding me at arm’s length afterward. “All grown up. I swear to God, last time I saw you, you were sitting on Luca’s shoulders eating arena pretzels.”