Page 4 of The Quirky Vet

I position myself so I have a clear line of sight to Fitz out on the dance floor. "What would you like to know?"

"So, you met when you were ten."

"Yeah. That's right."

My eyes travel across the dance floor, and I don't like the way the blokes are crowding Fitz in and getting handsy with him. He's completely unbothered because of course he loves the attention. But give the man some room to dance, fellas.

It's a…safety thing. Yeah. Safety.

Hot under the collar—literally, why are all these clubsskimping on air con?—I don't feel like getting into the full story right now.

It's long and complicated, and how exactly do you succinctly yell to a stranger in a loud club that my mum met Dad in a small town when she was travelling through outback Australia with friends. That he was killed in a motorcycle crash when I was four. That she then moved us back to Sydney where she's originally from and married Derrick, a drunk arsehole coincidentally from the same small town Dad was from. We moved back to Scuttlebutt when I was ten. After years of abuse, she finally left him when I was fifteen, married a rich city wanker, and dragged me back to Sydney. I stayed there until I finished vet studies then moved back to the only place that's ever felt like home.

The place where the two people I love most in the world lived—Fitz, and my grandfather.

So I give the guy the abbreviated version. "I met Fitz on the first day of grade five at Scuttlebutt Primary school."

"Scuttlebutt?" He gives me a strange look. "That's a real place?"

I chuckle. This is a pretty common reaction from city folk. "Yeah. It's a real place."

"And let me guess. You became instant besties?"

"Far from it." Another thing I don't want to get into is the trauma shitstorm Fitz was living through at the time, so I bypass that by saying, "But when we did eventually become friends, we were like this."

I cross my fingers—or try to. It takes me three attempts to get it—and lift my hand. The guy smiles. "I see. And when did you fall in love with him?"

"Excuse me?"

His smile softens. "Dude, come on."

"Dude, come onwhat?"

His eyes drill into me, and it feels like he can somehow see into me, into the parts of me I've kept buried and hidden. My chest burns hot, and I shift uncomfortably.

He can't know how I feel about Fitz.Heck, Ibarely know how I feel about Fitz.

"Sorry. I've overstepped." He pushes to his feet. "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry."

I let out a long breath, my chest still crackling with heat. "It's okay."

He lingers by my side for a moment. "I'm going to dance. Wanna come?"

"Nah, thanks. I'm good here."

He hits the dance floor. I order myself two more shots, down them, then lean back against the bar and watch the guys for a while.

When did you fall in love with him?

That's a more loaded question than the pizzas we order back home for our PlayStation marathons.

Fitz is my best mate. We're both straight. Those two things automatically rule out any possibility of anything more… Don't they?

I dwell on that for a few minutes before the guys return, and Fitz declares it's time for us to move on.

Gladly.

We bid farewell to our new muscle-bro friends with a round of sweaty hugs and hit up two more spots where we make even more new sweaty, drunk friends.

---