Page 26 of Give Me What You Will

“Yeah, it’s been a long day.” Sam nodded toward the bar at Mikey. “Let me get my stuff.”

“I’ll pull the car around,” Mikey replied eagerly. Too eagerly.

Sam headed into the bar, catching Joel snorting a drunk wink at Mikey as he passed. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

Once he entered the bar, he saw that it was surprisingly empty. He hadn’t noticed people clearing out, or how late it had gotten. He’d been so lost in his head about the near fight that he had with Frankie that he didn’t realize the bar had closed.

“Here,” Frankie’s voice was gruff behind him, and he jumped slightly, turning.

Frankie motioned to the backroom lounge. “I moved your bag into here when it got busy.”

“Thanks.”

Frankie pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the lounge door.

When Frankie’s father went into the retirement home, there was no more use for the lounge. Lou, Frankie’s father, would host card nights here with his friends, and they’d drink, smoke, and gamble throughout the night. Now, it looked like it served mostly as storage for the bar. Boxes were stuffed into corners, and the old poker table had a dusty sheet draped over it.

“Shit,” Sam marveled, looking at the old, framed photos on the wall. Some of the men he recognized. Lou was a notorious gambler and loved his poker nights. “I haven’t been back here in years.”

Frankie dropped his backpack onto a dusty leather booth. “What are you doing?”

Sam frowned. “What—?”

“Leaving with fuckin’ Blue-Balls?”

He stilled. Frankie had never once judged him for who he went out with or tried to date. Not once. Granted, Sam rarely ever dated when he lived here. But whenever he had, Frankie was the first one to ask how it went.

“Yeah, I am—what’s it to you?” Sam replied.

“The fuck you are.”

“You my mom now?”

“Who you fuckin’ kiddin’?” Frankie scoffed. “Your mom doesn’t care about who you fuck.”

He felt the dagger of his words edge up his back. “Low blow, Frank.”

Frankie exhaled irritably through his nostrils. “I thought you said there was nothin’ between you two?”

“There isn’t.”

“That kiss said differently, Sammy.”

“Is there anything between you and Brit?”

Yet again, Sam had tortured himself by watching Brit, the pretty bombshell, press herself against Frankie all night long, occasionally making out, with blatant tongue sucking and ass grabbing. Brit was Frankie’s usual stand-in hookup whenever he was horny. Tina, mercifully, had peeled Brit off him, and the two women had left together. Except Frankie hadn’t left with Brit. He stayed, drank, and played ping pong instead.

“That’s different,” Frankie said with an indifferent shrug.

“Not different. A hookup’s a hookup.”

“Is that what you’re doing with Mikey?”

“Again, don’t need your permission. Have a good night, Frank.”

Sam grabbed his backpack and turned to leave. He was done with this ridiculous conversation. He didn’t have to justify who he fucked. And he certainly didn’t need Frankie messing up his life anymore.

Frankie was suddenly on him, a hard, calloused hand on his arm, spinning him around and slamming his back against the wall, pictures rattling beside him. A shocked rush of air left Sam’s lungs. Frankie’s hands fisted onto his shirt, eyebrows furrowed into a predatory glower. “Are you seriously leavin’ with a guy we used to make fun of?”