LA wasn’t sure why, but he could feel his face heating up. “Oh, well, uh, thanks. A friend of mine used to say he wanted to show some of my stuff at his gallery—”
“You have a friend who owns an art gallery?”
“Yeah, Brandon. We went to high school together. Used to be pretty close.” LA took another swig of rum. “You know, until Gavin and everything.”
“You mean Gavin manipulating you into sabotaging your friendships?”
“Yes, that.”
“Well, why not reach out to your friend? See if he’s still interested in showing any of your work?”
“What? Why?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to reconnect with a friend, right? And it might be an opportunity to get your art out there.”
“I’m not going to be an artist.” LA scoffed. “I need a real job.”
“Being an artist is a real job.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to make it as an artist?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.” Cass batted his eyes.
LA glared.
“It won’t hurt to try,” Cass said gently. “If nothing else, you get to see Brannon!”
“Brandon.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, maybe. But look, it’s more like he owns a coffee shop and lets people hang shit on the walls.” LA snorted out a little laugh. “It’s not exactly a big fancy art gallery.”
“So?” Cass nudged LA. “Why not go see him and ask if you can hang some of your shit on his walls?”
“You’re serious?”
“Why not?” Cass shrugged. “You don’t have anything to lose.”
“I guess.” LA pulled out his phone to scroll through the menu. He ignored the text messages from his mother and what were no doubt very colorful ones from Gavin, thumbing his way over to text Brandon.
Fuck.
Their last text exchange was almost six months ago.
“What do I even say?” LA stared at the screen.
“Usuallyhellois a good start.” Cass rubbed LA’s shoulder.
LA locked his phone. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“What about—”
“I said tomorrow.” LA shoved Cass’s arm away as he struggled to his feet, his head swimming. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Right now?” Cass frowned, standing up and offering his paws to steady LA. “Isn’t it a little early for—”
“Yes, right now.” LA grabbed Cass’s paws, in more need of the assistance more than he wanted to admit. “Got dumped, lost job, blah blah blah, and oh yeah, there’s a big monster in my living room who wants to talk about feelings and bullshit that I don’twant to fucking talk about. I really just want to go to sleep and not deal with fucking any of this. Do you understand?”
