He’s leaning against the bar, working his magic on the bartender, who seems appropriately dazzled.
I try to back away, but Chad’s head turns like he’s got a radar for ex-boyfriends he cheated on. Which, statistically, must be a lot of people by now.
“Nick!” He says my name like we’re old friends, not like he fucked his yoga instructor in my bed. “Wow, you look”—his eyes scan me up and down—“exactly the same.”
Which, coming from Chad, is definitely not a compliment.
“Chad.” I aim for neutral but land somewhere around “stepped on a LEGO.”
“Still wearing the college-student chic, I see.” He gestures at my admittedly ratty hoodie.
“Some things never change,” I say neutrally.
“Any chance your uptight attitude has changed?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because that really needed to be updated.”
The bartender snickers. Actually fucking snickers. While Chad smirks like he’s won something.
“I’m not uptight just because I didn’t want to share you with half of Manhattan,” I snap.
“See, this is what I was talking about,” Chad says to the bartender like they’re already best friends. “The guy is so rigid. No sense of adventure. I tried to help him explore, expand his horizons, but…” He shrugs like I’m a lost cause.
“You tried to get me to have a threesome with your CrossFit trainer.”
“Like I said, rigid.” Chad turns back to the bartender with a conspiratorial smile. “Probably still listening to the same five playlists on repeat. Let me guess, Nick—still obsessed with Anthony Devine?”
My face burns. “I’m not?—”
“He has this whole shrine of Anthony Devine in his bedroom,” Chad continues. “Posters, albums, merchandise. It was cute at first, but then it was like, grow up, you know?”
The bartender is fully smirking now, and I want to sink through the floor. Through the foundation. Through the earth’s crust. All the way to the planet’s molten core.
This is why I don’t go out. This is why I stay home and message people who can’t see me turning red and stumbling over my words.
My cheeks are on fire. There is nothing to salvage here.
Defeated and drinkless, I head back to my table, where Teddie’s forehead is creased. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say.
It’s a lie. All I want to do is go home and message AntD. The one person who makes me feel like I’m not a complete disaster.
I stick it out for another hour before pleading tiredness to Teddie and making my escape.
As soon as I’m on the subway, I message AntD.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
Hey, you around?
AntD
Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?
Despite the fact that AntD and I have been messaging constantly for weeks, we haven’t exactly gone into heavy details about our personal lives. But I really want to vent to him right now. Need to, maybe.
This feels like crossing some invisible threshold, giving personal information. Moving from “guy I joke around with” to “guy I trust with the ugly personal stuff.” And maybe I should be more careful about that. But Chad just made me feel about two inches tall in front of a smirking bartender, and careful is not really in my emotional wheelhouse right now.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
