Page 1 of Love Is Ale You Need

ONE

SINGLE BROS. LIFE

Trey

Humans are not swans. Outside the obvious regarding appearance and being able to fly, though it would be pretty sweet to fly, we’re not meant to mate for life. Not me anyway. I can’t even call myself a wolf because guess what? They also mate for life. Suckers. One by one all my friends have been pairing off because they’ve found the love of their life. Their soulmate. Their better half. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them, but again, it’s not for me. There’s only one person I can depend on. Myself. And it’s better that way. Less feelings. Less complications. Relationships are a hard pass and Single Bros. Life nights are for exactly that.

“Can I have your attention?” With a heavy hand, I smack the gavel against the table, sending vibrations through the wood. “Attention, everyone.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I hit it again but this time in rapid succession until everyone turns their head toward me, including all the customers in the main room of Porter’s as everyone goes whisper silent for a second. Well, shit, maybe that was a little harder than needed. Soon enough the chatter and clinking of glasses resume in the main bar area while a hush settles over the small crowd in front of me. By small, I mean three people. Placing the gavel on the table, I roll up the sleeves of my white dress shirt. When I glance up, I’m met with a menacing glare from a six foot four, broad shouldered Jake stalking toward me.

Since he always sports a resting glower face, I offer him a wide grin in return. “Are you joining us for our meeting tonight? These guys could learn a thing or two about being single from you.” I hold out the gavel and wave it over the table, where three guys are seated. “I’m sure we can find another chair for you.”

Jake comes to a halt inches away from me. His face is stoic, like a marble statue, but with much harsher lines and a distinct tick to his stone jaw. With every flare of his nostrils, I have the urge to boop him on his nose, but with the storm clouds rolling in his eyes I’m sure it would lead to him booping me on my nose with his fist, so I think better of it.

“Oh. Um. I stand up here. Everyone else sits down there.” I point my gavel over the table again.

Without saying a word, he rips the gavel from my hand so fast I’m surprised I’m not left with splinters, or at least wood rash.

“If you use this,” he holds up the gavel, “in my bar again, I’m going to be forced to use it on you.” He’s so close his hot breath rolls over my face. “I said you could host whatever meeting you're doing, but you’re not disrupting my bar with this shit. Got it?”

My lips press together, and I nod. “Duly noted.” Don’t poke the bear. Don’t poke the bear. If my face wasn’t so pretty, I’d totally poke the bear. “Can I have my gavel back?” I stretch out my arm to grab it, but Jake pulls it away.

“No.” He twists around and storms off.

“So, we don’t need to find you a chair?” I ask as he departs. “I guess that’s a no,” I mumble to myself.

I shift my attention to the table in front of me. “Sorry about the interruption. Thanks for coming to Porter’s for our Single Bros. Life meeting.”

Shortly after graduating from college, I created SBL. That’s what happens when your heart is ripped out of your body and tossed to the ground. From then on, I realized relationships weren’t worth the hassle. Everything is tremendously less complicated when all you offer is a few hours of companionship. And by companionship, I mean fucking. Nothing more.

A hard and fast rule of mine is to always go to her place, it’s a lot easier to run away than it is to convince her to leave. I’ve heard all the excuses: I’m too tired, I don’t have my car, I don’t want to wake my roommate. My response is always: here’s a cup of coffee, I’ll call you an Uber, and I don’t care about your roommate. I don’t actually say the last one, even though I really should. Maybe it will drive my point home. Most importantly, no sleepovers. My plan works because nine times out of ten my phone is ringing asking for a repeat. That brings me to my next rule. No more than twice. A third time screams this could lead to more and I don’t want to send mixed signals.

“While the man cave is under construction, we’ll be meeting here over the next few weeks, since no one else has a place we can go.” My gaze narrows at every single guy sitting before me.

“Sorry. My apartment is too small. Two of us could sit in the living room, one in the kitchen, and someone in the bathroom.” Owen shrugs with a sheepish smile.

“With how much you don’t clean, I don’t think anyone wants to do that,” Miles says.

“What about your place?” Owen counters.

“My place is spotless right now. Mostly because my parents are visiting me for the next month and Mom cleans when she’s bored and I’m not going to say no.” Miles adjusts his black-framed glasses.

“So, your house is the cleanest, why don’t we go there?” Darren asks.

“Because my dad’s idea of relaxing is sitting in front of the TV in his underwear,” Miles adds.

Everyone’s faces scrunch like they got a whiff of rotten cheese.

“Remind me to never sit on your couch,” Owen says.

“I just got a cat, Mittens, who hates everyone, including me.” Darren rolls up the sleeve of his button down dress shirt. Giant red scratches stretch from his wrist to his elbow. “I’d hate to subject anyone else to this type of violence. Who knew a cat named Mittens would be so angry?”

“Cat therapy.” Owen points a finger in the air, turning toward Darren. “It’s a thing. My co-worker goes with his cat.”

Darren digs his phone out of the front pocket of his khakis. “That’s an idea. Do you know who does that?”

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