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I blink. “You mean for picking up guys?”
“Yeah! Well, a specific guy. His name is … uh, I don’t know, actually.” Brett laughs nervously and scratches at a spot on his arm. “All I know is, he goes to Pogo’s every single night, according to Lex. I hope I don’t sound like a stalker. Ugh, I do.” He laughs again. “I just wanna kinda … make us meet, you know? But in a seemingly accidental way, kinda like … a funny coincidence, know what I mean?”
I think about me and Alan running into each other against all odds at an airport, and then the lobby of Wales Weekly. “Sure,” I say with a smile as I head into the kitchen, snatch a bag of ranch-flavored chips, lean against the counter, and scarf them in handfuls. “So you’re into this guy? A lot?”
Still kicked back on my bed, Brett nods at me through the doorway. “He came to one of my, uh, spontaneous house-party things. Dante sees him at our gym Weights & Mates every now and then. Also, I swear he’s come into Bailey’s a few times—y’know, the bookstore where I work as a barista—but he never comes over to get coffee.” He rolls over with a huff. “I sound like a schoolgirl, don’t I? I’m not usually like this, bro.” He turns his head my way. “Dude, you hungry or something?”
“Starved,” I say through my mouthful of chips.
“Don’t you get lunch breaks at your big fancy internship?”
“Nope. As it turns out, Wales Weekly doesn’t believe in food. Guess it isn’t in their budget,” I add acidly, then toss the (now empty) bag of chips at the waste bin and struggle to suppress my negativity, which might also have a little to do with a snarky remark Jay made at me today. I already regret insisting to Bree in the elevator that we give him a chance. That third-generation Harvard guy really does have a stick up his ass. “So you want me to come with you to Pogo’s?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble. Just be my reason for being there, and then you can leave us be. I’ll text you if I need rescuing. Will you do it?”
“Hmm. Why not,” I decide with a shrug.
Brett’s off my bed the next second. “Hell yeah! Uh, now I gotta get ready.” He leaves my room, makes it halfway to the hall, then stops and turns back to me. “Bro, will you help me pick something out? I need to look fucking hot.”
I push away from the counter and quickly dust the ranch chip crumbs off my hands over the sink. “Connor to the rescue!” I announce, following an uncharacteristically anxious Brett to his room.
An hour or so later, we’re smack dab in the heart of Pogo’s, a cramped bar with billiard tables and a jukebox. All around our tiny, dimly-lit table, I hear the smacking of pool balls, chatter, and a TV in the corner playing 90s-era music videos on loop. A smoky haze fills the space, making me squint as I text back and forth with Alan while waiting for Brett’s guy to materialize from thin air.
“Bro, you’re smiling.”
I look up from the phone. “What? Oh. It’s this guy from—”
“—from the airport? Lex told me. I’ve been all about me-me-me tonight. What’s going on with you and this sexy new airport guy? You should bring him by the place sometime! I wanna meet him and do the whole best-bro-approval thing.”
I fight off my annoyingly persistent blush. “It’s still kinda new,” I reply vaguely. “He took me out to dinner after my first day interning. We’ve met up a couple times this week. I don’t want to rush it, you know?”
“Hey, I don’t wanna pressure you or nothing, but you can’t go at your slow Oklahoma country-boy pace, bro. Not here. Things here happen fast.” He snaps his fingers, then looks up. “Oh. He’s here.”
I blink. “Who? Alan?” I follow his gaze.
“My guy,” he says, then wrinkles his face and looks at me. “How would I know what Alan looks like?” He laughs, then quickly draws quiet as he watches his baby-faced, slender, freckly twink come in. The guy looks like an angry gamer who just rage-quitted his favorite game. He wears shorts and a band t-shirt with a sideways cap over his messy red hair, and despite his total baby-face, he wears a permanent scowl, like he was just grounded.
I lift an eyebrow. “That’s your type? You look like you could sit on him.”
“Wish me luck,” he tells me, then scoots away from the table at once and makes his way for the bar, taking a seat right by the angry gamer. It isn’t ten seconds before he points at something, gets the twink’s attention, and then the pair of them chat. He makes the twink crack a smile.
