“Any luck finding a new job yet?”
“A new job would imply having an old job,” I pointed out. “And as my dad would be all too eager to explain, the band wasn’t a job. It was an avoidance tactic.”
“Knock it the hell off,” Jordan scolded me. If he was standing in front of me, I had no doubt he would’ve cuffed the back of my head. “Self-pity isn’t your style, Slade. And fuck what your old man says. He’s an asshole.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I quipped. I opened the fridge door out of habit, slamming it closed when I saw the bottom shelf was as empty now as it had been for the past week. No money equaled no beer. I really,reallywanted a drink.
“Okay,” Jordan said cheerfully. “Since you’re not doing anything, we’re having a housewarming party next Tuesday and you’re coming.”
“I am, huh?” I settled for a glass of water. Of course, that meant having to clean a fucking glass first. I listened as Jordan rattled off the details. Apparently, the guys had insisted on hosting a party, something about symbolic bullshit to welcome Jordan to his new home.
It was so sweet it made me want to fucking puke. I set my glass of water down on the milk crate that doubled as an end table, flopped onto the couch, and kicked my legs up on the coffee table. It gave a wobbly warning. One of these times, that thing was going to collapse, sending even more shit to the floor.
I didn’t want to go to their happy little homemaking party. I wasn’t in the mood to plaster on a smile I didn’t feel, and pretend I was over the moon happy for my best friend and the two men he was now shacking up with.
Quit being a prissy little bitch. Alcohol would be really fucking nice. At least when I was blitzed, I didn’t have to listen to that damn voice. And, if there was one thing I could count on, it was that Jordan’s boss/partner wouldn’t skimp on the booze.
Fine, I was happy for Jordan. I was also jealous as fuck of how everything seemed to be working out for him. And I wasn’t so self-absorbed that I didn’t realize what an asshole that made me. A good friend would be happy without all the residual bullshit.
“Did I lose you?” I shook my head a couple of times to clear the cobwebs. If I didn’t get my shit together, Jordan was going to figure out how screwed in the head I was and he’d be over here, dragging me down to The Dandy Ginger.
That was the last fucking place I wanted to go. Rusty, the owner, had made all sorts of offers when I called to let him know that we needed to bail on all the dates he had booked us to play at the bar. I didn’t want Rusty’s charity. There were several things Ididwant from him, like just one night of him putting aside his stupid fucking moral compass so he would bend me over and fuck me so hard I’d forgot every man who had been inside of me before him.
Rusty was a big guy. Bulging muscles, matted with thick, coarse hair and absolutely everything I looked for when I went out. He also had enough baggage in his past to fill the lost and found room at an international airport. He kept telling me I didn’t want him whenever I made a pass at him, but he was wrong.
Maybe I should head down there and try again. I could probably get Rusty to throw me a few free drinks. Not enough to get hammered, just enough to quiet the voices in my head.
“You’re doing it again,” Jordan pointed out. His words were slow and drawn out.
“Sorry, trying to figure something out over here,” I told him. That wasn’t a lie. I was trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to keep myself alive.
“So you’ll be there?” he asked hopefully. “I’m not taking no for an answer Slade. I know you’ve been a bit of a hermit and that worries me. You are a beautiful little social butterfly and staying cooped up in that shithole you call home is bad for your soul.”
There are a lot of things that are bad for my soul.I bit my tongue to keep from letting that inner thought escape.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Let me know what time.”
“You really weren’t listening to a word I said, were you?”
I let out a long sigh and bumped my head against the back of the couch a few times.
“No worries man, I was just giving you shit.” He chuckled, and I pulled the phone away from my ear to scowl at it. His perkiness annoyed the fuck out of me.
“Eight o’clock, Tuesday night, at our place. You know how to get there?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I scoffed.
“Just checking,” he responded.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask Jordan what he was doing tonight. He could come and hang out with me, help me take my mind off shit for a while. And if I asked, he would pick up a six-pack, no questions asked. But I wouldn’t do that. Because even if he thought he was just doing me a favor by stopping at the store since he was out, I would know. And I wasn’t a charity case, even when the other person had no clue they were donating to the keep Slade sane fund.
Apparently, I was quiet long enough for Jordan to notice. “Slade, is everything good? Really? Don’t try to bullshit me.”
“Just trying to figure shit out,” I told him. Great. Now my head was throbbing. Within an hour, I’d be curled up on the couch with my eyes clenched shut, trying to will the pain away. I rubbed my forehead, desperate for any slight relief.
“No luck on the job front yet?”
“I have some feelers out,” I lied. I wasn’t about to tell Jordan I had barely started looking for a job. In the back of my mind, I still had at least six months before I had to worry about it.
