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I take another sip. “It’s an internship.”
“Intern—?” Lex’s eyes grow double. “Those pay for shit, if at all. Tell me you’re joking.”
“Not this internship! My college professor has a friend in high places—my boss, Irving Wales, of Wales Weekly, do you know who he is?—and got me an internship.”
“An internship at Wales Weekly?” Lex looks me up and down. “Country boy from Kansas …?”
“I’m really great with words. My degree is in journalism. I mean, this is a dream job for me. Heck, if I do well enough, I could work my way up to becoming one of their senior editors someday! I’m really great with words. Did I mention that already? To land an internship like this is something everyone in my class would’ve killed for. And at such a smart and daring publication as Wales Weekly, no less.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the same Wales Weekly I know? The greedy suits who buy out and suffocate every smaller publication, magazine, or website that steals their spotlight?”
I proceed to leave Lex behind in the dust of my excitement, barely acknowledging his words. “I will be compensated well enough to live on, trust me.” I shoot him another wink. “Nope, Brett won’t have a thing to worry about with this one.”
He studies me dubiously, then shrugs and lifts his own glass. “Phew. If you’re wrong, then it was nice knowing you. I just didn’t take you for a sell-your-soul type. Ugh, this vodka tonic is flat.”
“Did you know they hold the record for having interviewed the most now-deceased celebrities?” I point out after taking a sip. “Not to mention how many awards they’ve won for their incredible feats of journalism. Including the ever-coveted Phoebe Wordsmith Honor eleven years in a row … with the unfortunate exception of last year. I could clearly talk about it all night. Should I? No, never mind. You can tell I did my research though, right? I mean, I have to have a few intelligent things to say on my first day …”
“Oh.” Lex stares up at the stage. “Fuck me. I thought he was off tonight.”
“Who?” I ask, following his gaze.
On the main stage past the half-naked sailors, a third dancer has emerged. He’s slender, but ripped, and his black ball cap casts his face in shadow. The colorful stage lights pour down his tatted fair skin, making him look like ten neon lights. His low-rise jeans hang under his hips, showing off the bright white waistband of his underwear, and the bottoms of them bunch up upon a pair of bright red high-top sneakers. His chest is bare except for an opened tuxedo vest, which he grips, with a black bowtie squeezing his tatted neck.
“Fourth lesson,” Lex adds snappily, his eyes on that dancer. “Don’t go anywhere near that guy.”
“Why? Who is he?”
“Trouble. That’s who he is. An asshole, too.” Lex sighs, then leans toward me so he doesn’t have to shout to be heard. “Sorry we brought you here. I honestly thought he was off tonight.”
I keep my eyes on that third dancer, who does his moves on the main stage. Every time he almost pulls off his vest, he somehow sneaks it right back onto his body.
It’s like his striptease will never end.
“He doesn’t seem that bad to me,” I point out.
“Don’t even think about it. Avoid him. You’re gonna see him now and then, too, as he lives right across the hall from you.”
I peel my eyes off the dancer and stare at Lex. “He does?”
“His name’s Zak. And if I catch you anywhere near him,” Lex warns me, “you’ve only got yourself to blame. Drink up. We’re going after this round.”
I frown thoughtfully as I drink and stare at that third dancer between the legs of one of the sailors. I always keep my ears open because it’s important to listen to whatever you’re told.
But I keep my heart and mind just as open, because everyone deserves a fair chance.
“Now tell me everything about this airport cutie,” says Lex. “An Uber all the way from out there sure isn’t cheap.”
I smile and face Lex. “He was back from a trip to P-town, wherever that is. He’s half Chinese on his mama’s side. And he hates his dad. Well, kinda. And …” I add, lifting my phone up and giving it a wiggle. “He wants to get a bite with me sometime.”
Lex’s eyes turn wistful. “Young love,” he sings, shaking his head slowly. “You’re so doomed, my pretty-faced friend. You’re so, so doomed. Here.” He pulls out his own phone. “Let’s get out of this joint, and I’ll give you a lesson in all the gay cities of America you must know—especially P-town.”
And with that, we ditch our half-empty glasses, join Brett and Omar at the bar for one last bro-ish hurrah for our night out, then head for the door. I make sure to sneak one last peek at Zak the dancer before we go, curious what his big dark mystery is.
