1
Evan
I tug at my best friend Frankie’s hand.
“Come on, come on,” I urge him, pulling him away from our crew.
“It’s almost time. And it’s our song,” I tell him.
Frankie smirks, and despite how tense he is and the cross look he’s giving me for signing him up against his will, he caves as he always does whenever I beg him to karaoke with me. Because really, I know he enjoys it more than he’d ever want to admit to our friends.
“Looks like you’re up,” Frankie’s buddy Jackson tells him. Frankie grabs his beanie and tugs it down as though he wishes he could cover his face with it.
Our friends hold our drinks and follow Frankie and me to the living room, where the karaoke is set up.
It’s not as big as the crowd on karaoke nights at Flirt—like five people are here, but if there’s karaoke, I’m all in.
When a guy standing beside the wall-mounted big-screen TV stops singing, a girl seated behind a table in the corner of the room calls out our names.
“Kill it, Evan!” my friend Derek says as he races into the entryway of the living room. He raises his glass in full support.
These past few months since my shit-tastic breakup, I’ve become a lot closer to Derek and the rest of the guys he hangs around. And Frankie and I started rooming together, which has been really fun since he’s been so much more than a roommate. He’s been a great friend.
Frankie and I take the first singer’s place and approach two mics on stands, looking to the big-screen TV as the tune of our song starts up. As soon as the lyrics appear on the TV, I begin singing to G-Eazy and Halsey’s “Him & I.” Frankie can’t keep a straight face as he watches my performance, and when it’s his turn, he launches into G-Eazy’s rap.
There are a few boos and hisses during our set.
Haters.
Am I the best singer in the world? No. But that’s not going to keep me from belting out these lyrics like I’m Ariana Grande.
When our song ends, we join the guys, who’re gathered around the living room, still applauding our performance.
Derek has shots on a tray, which he passes around to the other guys.
Derek hands me my shot before Frankie asks, “Are you good?”
“I’ve only had that one drink,” I say.
“I know, but you weigh like, what, twenty pounds?” He winks. “Hell, I’d think that shot alone could kill you.”
He wears a warm, friendly smile. Even though he’s playing it off as a joke, I know he’s looking out for me.
He’d never want to stop me from enjoying myself or having a good time when I go out with friends, but he’s protective.
That’s the thing I’ve learned about being friends with him. It comes with him being a little protective, but in the ways I’ve really needed since I broke up with my dickbag ex—a guy who encouraged me to remain isolated and away from others. Frankie’s not like that at all. He encourages me to get out and have a good time, which has been a hell of a lot easier when I know he’s there to keep me company and from feeling like I’m all on my own.
We spend about half an hour more laughing, chatting, and dancing around with friends before everyone starts separating off into different groups.
My friend Gary greets me with a hug. “How’ve you been, man?” he asks.
Gary and I have an…interesting history. We both have the same dickhead in our past—Peter. For a long time, I thought Gary was a dick, and apparently, he thought the same thing about me, but we both learned who the real bastard was.
“I’ve been really good.”
“How’s the job at the coffee shop?”
“I love it. It’s great getting to meet so many new people every day. And I get to make myself free iced caramel lattes during my break. How about you?”
Gary talks to me about his fiancé and their plans for their upcoming wedding. It’s nice being able to stand here and chat with him like this. He’s great, and I know his influence is largely the reason why his crew embraced me so much after I left Peter.
After some more time passes, Gary heads off before returning to tell me, “We’re all about to head over to Pump, just to give you a heads-up. And Derek wanted me to give you another drink.” He hands me the shot, and I laugh.
“Oh my God. Does Derek want me to be on the floor?”
“I’m pretty sure the one who’s about to be on the floor is Derek.”
He turns and I follow Gary’s gaze to Derek, who is making out with Jackson in the corner of the room.
Daddy Jackson’s hands greedily feel their way around Derek’s twinky body, and I can’t say I don’t feel a little jelly.
“I want to be manhandled like that,” I tell him.
Gary chuckles. “You and me both.”
His fiancé, Travis, comes up behind Gary, wraps his arms around him, and says, “If you insist, Superass.”
I’m about as jelly of Gary’s nickname as I am of what Jackson is doing to Derek in the corner.
Travis spins Gary around and claims his mouth. My face flashes with heat before I slip away to let them have their private time. I find Frankie as he finishes chatting with some guys.
He runs his hand down his beanie. Those familiar brown eyes settle on me as his smile stirs the dark scruff on his chin. I’m not that short, like five-five—okay, maybe five four and a half—but whenever I get near Frankie, who stands at a little over six feet tall, I feel like I must’ve lost that half inch.
“You want to head to Pump with everyone?” I ask him.
He glances around and shrugs. “I can be done for the night now if you are. I know you have to work tomorrow.”
“I’m good to go.”
“You want to finish your shot?” he asks.
I shake my head, and he smiles before taking it and offering it to one of the guys he was talking to.
We text the other guys in our crew to let them know we’re heading back to Metropolis, the condo building where we live. Well, the condo where most of my friends and I live…along with a ton of other gay guys. It’s practically a joke how many gay guys are in the building. Grindr heaven, some call it. Not that I use Grindr much, but Frankie is always eager to joke with me about the guys he hits up on there.
Frankie and I read the follow-up texts from our friends out loud to each other on the walk from the house on 8th Street to Metropolis. The guys give us some hell for sneaking off early, saying we’re probably leaving to have a fuck-fest back at our place.
They’re just teasing, though. They know we’re just friends and roommates. And more than anything, they’re echoing the comments about Frankie and me that run wild through the Midtown rumor mill. Everyone’s convinced there must be something between us because we went from spending a lot of time together to living together, but really, that’s all it’s ever been.
Don’t get me wrong—he’s hot as fuck.
He doesn’t go to the gym much, but I guess he doesn’t have to because even in the thermal he’s wearing tonight, his impressive bis and tris push at the fabric where the sleeves are bunched up by his elbow. They’re the kind of muscles that let me know he could throw a guy around in the sack when the inspiration strikes. And between his hot bod and his pretty face, it’s no wonder I was so attracted to him that night we first met—when he made sure I was okay and took me home after Peter hurt me, but he did so much more than that.
I was so alone and felt like so many people in Midtown had written me off, but he actually listened to me—my hurt, my pain. He was one of the few people who gave a shit. And he didn’t just walk away and let that be that. He got my number, and we kept up with each other, hung out, and for the first time in my life, I finally came to understand what it meant to have a good friend.
“Did you like my performance?” I ask Frankie as I unlock the door to our unit.
“It was very passionate, as always, Karaoke Kid,” Frankie says, using the nickname Cody came up with for me.
“Well, I think you can work on your rap bit, but—”
“Shut up!”
As I open the door, I stumble over the lip leading from the carpeted hall onto the polished cement floors of the unit.
I hardly even lose my balance, but Frankie ducks down and wraps his arms around me before throwing me over his shoulder.
He guides me into the condo, the door closing behind us.
I can’t stop laughing.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I’m not even drunk. I had like two drinks and a shot.”
“Whatever. You like when I throw you around.” He tosses me onto the couch before plopping down by my feet. Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, he turns on the TV.
“Wanna watch some more Big Little Lies?” It’s a miniseries we just started, one the rest of our friends have already seen, so we’ve been trying to play catch-up whenever we both have free time, something that can be tricky with his job as an EMT. “If you wanna just go to bed,” he adds, “we can wait.”
“No, no! I want to see what happens!”
I pull out my phone and start keying in when he asks, “Mongolian chicken?”
I shake my head. “Mongolian beef. I know that’s what you really want.”
We always debate between the two, in addition to our usual order of General Tso’s and sesame chicken, but Mongolian beef has really grown on me since he opened me up to it.
After I finish ordering our food, we watch some of the show, and when the Chinese arrives, we stuff our faces. Soon, I’m lying across the couch, my head in his lap. He strokes the back of my head gently, something he’ll do when I lie like this, which is why I typically end up in this spot.
I take a deep, relaxing breath. God, I love the feel of hands in my hair.
It’s nice to chill with Frankie after a night out.
I’ve been lucky since I’ve gotten to know him.
Frankie’s a good listener. I don’t know why, but I’ve never really felt like people listen to what I say much. Frankie does, though.
He gets me in a way other people can’t.
I roll onto my back and look up at him. He gazes down, his brown eyes sparkling with the TV light.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“This reminds me of the first night I met you,” I say. “Chinese food, staying up all night talking.”
He smirks, and I can tell he’s enjoying equally fond memories. “It reminds me of that too. Who would’ve thought that we’d be living together already? We’re basically married.”
“It’s kind of funny that they all think we’re running around, having some super-secret relationship behind their backs. Makes us seem very mysterious.”
He laughs, clearly amused by my silliness about the whole thing.
“You don’t think so?” I ask.
“I think they just look for things to talk about. They don’t get us. And they don’t need to. Now, I think it’s time for bed. You have to be up in a few hours.”
“Will you swing by work tomorrow? I’ll make you a free bagel.”
Sometimes on Frankie’s days off, he’ll stop by the coffee shop and sit around, even if just for a few hours. It’s nice having him there.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he says.