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And Cleo was always around. She rushed the Zeta house, and we were partnered up with them that year. Max couldn’t avoid her, and she made his life a living hell as often as she could.
But it’s been three years. They need to move on. We’re about to start our final semester of college. What may or may not have happened back then is no longer relevant. Or at least it shouldn’t be.
Especially since it’s starting to affect the rest of us. Me, in particular, since I have to meet with her tomorrow.
“I don’t care who you invite or don’t. We need the gig, though. So if you’re cool with the cover charge covering our fee, I’ll deal with Cleo and her feisty attitude.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Thanks, man.” Max pulls me in for a hug, patting me twice on the back before practically bouncing off his stool, then turning to leave.
“What? Not staying for our set?” I call after him. The bar’s starting to fill up, the scent of body odor now masking the stale beer and piss. Almost.
His response is to flip me off over his shoulder as he maneuvers his way toward the door.
I would have expected nothing less from him.
