“This one’s for you, buddy!” Tom shouted, clinking his shot glass to mine before we took what felt like our hundredth tequila shot of the night. We were at Club Casa Fuego, and the music was blaring so loud that we had to shout over it. The place was packed with sweaty, dancing bodies and flashing lights, and Tom and I were leaning against one of the long, blue-backlit bars taking shot after shot.

“How ‘bout another?” Tom asked, a crooked smile across his face. His usually perfectly manicured blond hair had fallen over one of his eyes, and I could tell he was even drunker than me.

The thought of buying yet another round of shots practically made me feel my credit card burning a hole in my pocket.

“We gotta stop,” I said, shaking my head.

“You said you needed to get wasted tonight,” he said, slapping me on the back.

I nodded, picking up the beer that I’d been nursing. “I think we have handily accomplished that,” I said.

“Hey, I’ve been talking your ear off about Camilla all night. Your turn. What’s got you drinkin’?” Tom said.

I shrugged one shoulder. “Y’know, just the small fact that I fucked up last week.”

“What did you do this time, Kade?” Tom asked with a laugh. “Have sex with Tara again? Or wait—was it Bryan?”

“God, no,” I said. “I haven’t seen either of them in months.”

“Well, you’ve always got somebody, don’t you?” Tom asked.

“I fucked up worse this time,” I said. “Lost a potential client.”

“Shit,” Tom said. He knew full well how much I needed a new client this month. “What happened?”

“Oh, you know. I sidled up to him at the pool table. He was sexy as hell. And I couldn’t fuckin’ stay away.”

Tom burst out laughing. “Yep, that’s my Kade,” he said. But I couldn’t join in the laughter.

“It was dumb, and that’s all there is to it,” I said. “I need a client more than I ever have.

Tom shrugged. “I mean, I know you don’t want to hear this, but you could always go back to work at the shop. If you need it.”

I glared at Tom, saying nothing. He should have known better than to suggest me going back to the shop. For years, I’d worked in a woodshop that specialized in custom furniture and restoration, and it had been a point of pride. The money wasn’t great, but the work had been satisfying and fulfilling.

Then Mr. Higgins, the owner of the place, had walked in on me kissing my then-boyfriend. He’d shouted at me, telling me he didn’t realize I was “one of them,” and kicked my boyfriend out.

I quit before he could fire me, but I was in a bind. I didn’t have a résumé to speak of, and I’d never gone to college.

It was only by chance that I’d ended up starting my confidence coaching business—I helped a friend with his trouble being assertive at work, and it had gotten him a huge promotion. He later told me that his sister was a life coach and that she could get me up to speed on becoming one, myself.

The rest was history. I’d hustled so hard that first year that I was taking multiple clients at a time, and I was able to make a decent living. This year, the work had dried up, though. Sometimes I thought that everybody in Mistview Heights had somehow achieved perfect confidence and nobody would ever need my skills again.

“He was a fucking perfect client,” I told Tom, shaking my head. “Picture perfect. The kind of guy who struggles with shyness, but also is a real, solid worker… good head on his shoulders. With a little coaxing, he could be incredibly confident.”

“So why’d he say no?” Tom asked.

“Too scared,” I said. “Second-guessing himself. And I’m sure it didn’t help that I sucked his dick in a dirty broom closet.”

Tom howled with laughter. “What the hell?” Tom said. “After a blow job that good, he still didn’t want to be a client? Now, I say that means there’s something wrong in his brain.”

“Maybe so,” I said.

“Speaking of which…” Tom said, gazing off toward the bathroom. “How ‘bout you come suck mine for a few minutes?”

“Not in the mood,” I said.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “Camilla will be here soon. We could do a have some fun. You suck me. She’ll suck you….” He waggled his eyebrows.

“I just can’t,” I said. “Not feeling it tonight.”

“Party pooper,” he said, turning back to his beer. “You really must be feeling bad if you’re refusing sex.”

Tom and Camilla and I had been occasionally hooking up ever since I’d met them. They were a couple who loved to have sex anywhere and everywhere, with anyone they found attractive. The arrangement had worked out for me because there was no threat of attachment. They were married; I was just a bonus.

I liked it that way. Being a lone wolf.

But even the thought of Camilla sucking me off tonight sounded wrong to me. I had never been so upset to lose a client before.

“I should probably go, actually,” I said. “But thank you for the tequila.”

He reached over to give me a tight hug. “Things will look up when you least expect it, Kade,” he said. “I promise.”

“Sure hope you’re right.”

“And hey!” Tom shouted after me. “Don’t forget! Housewarming party next Saturday. You better be there. Our new place is insane, Kade. Never seen anything like it.”

“I’ll be there, Tom,” I shouted back, waving him off as I walked away.

My drive home was short, but I spent nearly all of it watching the needle on my gas meter start to point toward E. I swung by the gas station on the way back, balking at the price. I paid for three dollars’ worth in quarters and made it the rest of the way home.

The front entryway to my apartment building had never looked good, per se, but tonight, it was really taking the cake. Stray leaves had blown in the ever-open front door, and there was an empty liquor bottle tossed on the side of the hall. Two of the mailbox doors inside were wide open, and one of them had a McDonald’s wrapper stuffed in it. And one of the overhead light bulbs had burned out, casting the whole entryway in a dim, dusty light.

I made my way up the stairs as quickly as I could manage. When I finally made it to my door, I heard the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat behind me.

Instantly, I tensed up, and I turned around, plastering a fake smile on my face.

“Hi, Mr. Mapleton,” I said, smiling at my landlord. He looked the same as he always did: thick-rimmed glasses, gray hair sticking up in every direction, a toothpick sticking out of the side of his mouth.

He peered at me, his caterpillar-esque eyebrows raised. “Hello there, Mr. Thompson,” he croaked at me. “Don’t suppose you have a check with my name on it for me tonight?”

I shook my head. “Sorry to say I don’t,” I replied. “I’ve got it coming, Mr. Mapleton. I promise you. I just met with a client last week, actually.”

“Right, right, a client,” he said, crossing his arms. “Listen, Kade, I’ve given you a lot of free passes in the past year, but this is becoming more than just a grace period. You haven’t paid rent in 43 days. Any other landlord would be serving eviction papers around now.”

“I know,” I said. “I know, and I apologize. I really do have it coming your way. Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime? Is your coffee table wobbling again, or do you need any more help with the sink plumbing?”

“My sink’s fine,” he said, staring at me like he wanted to pin me to the wall. “Rent, Thompson. That’s all I need.”

I nodded. “You’ll get it.”

“I’ll be back to check on you,” he said, waving me off and walking up the set of stairs at the end of the hallway.

Mr. Mapleton had owned the building since the late seventies, and he lived on the third floor. He’d always been nice, if a bit strange, but ever since my money had gotten tight this year, he’d turned on me pretty quick.

I didn’t think he would evict me this month, but I really couldn’t tell.

I made it inside the apartment and dropped my keys onto the coffee table before collapsing down onto the couch. It looked sparse where it once had looked lush: I’d sold two of my guitars, and the only one left was a cheap old acoustic, one that I got as a seventeen-year-old kid. There were empty spaces on the wall that used to house framed, signed movie and concert posters, and my music and studio equipment was long gone.

All that was left in the living room was a small TV, the table, the couch, and a couple of empty bottles of Jack Daniels.

For a life and confidence coach, I sure didn’t have the whole “life” part figured out for myself.

I kicked off my boots and lay down on the couch, exhaustion hitting me like a ton of bricks. Within minutes, I had dozed off, and many hours later, when the dull blue light of dawn had started to come through my window, I woke from a dream.

It had felt like heaven. In the dream, my apartment wasn’t bare and depressing, but full of Christmas decorations. A tree sat at the corner of the room, glittering with lights and garland, and the whole room smelled of pine.

In the dream, there was a knock at the door, and when I answered it, Mason was standing there, a small smile on his face. I picked him up, and he wrapped his arms and legs around me, squeezing me tight, as I brought my lips to his in a kiss.

“I missed you,” he whispered between kisses.

“I needed you,” I replied.

I woke up with a start, cold and confused in my empty, dull living room.

What the hell had that been? Some dream about Christmas, about being happy, about Mason? I typically didn’t dream, or if I did, I didn’t remember them much. But this had been intense and very vivid. Mason had looked so good and had been completely irresistible to me.

The strangest feeling wasn’t that I’d dreamed about him, though. What stopped me cold was that it hadn’t been some lurid sex dream, some graphic detail of his mouth wrapped around me.

Instead, when I’d seen him at the door, I’d only had one thought: he’s home.

It was awful, and it felt like wearing some wrong glove that didn’t fit. I prided myself on never wanting to be attached to anyone else, on never wanting commitment or marriage or anything that the rest of the world wanted.

But in the dream, it had been undeniable. Seeing Mason at the door had just made me feel more whole.

I got up off the couch, headed to the kitchen, and quickly chugged two glasses of ice-cold water. I knew I couldn’t fall asleep again after this, and I had to do anything to put my mind somewhere else.

And for God’s sake, I had to get out of the apartment.

I threw on my running clothes and a hoodie and was out the door and jogging in another two minutes. I ran all morning, up and down the streets of Mistview Heights, watching the sunrise and trying to forget Mason Hartley all over again.