Page 9 of Advanced Chemistry

“We need to prepare for our meeting in less than forty-eight hours.”

“SpringFest is today. Let’s check it out. We’ll walk around, grab some drinks, listen to the bands.” I put my hands on his shoulders, feeling the corded muscle under my fingertips. I leaned my forehead against his for some friendly mind melding. His hazel eyes sparkled back. “Seb, let’s take one afternoon to bask in our potential success. One afternoon where we allow ourselves to count our chickens before they hatch. Tomorrow, we can go back to business.”

3

SEBASTIAN

It was a good rule of thumb not to fall in love with your best friend. An even better rule of thumb was not to give up a wrestling scholarship and start a business with said best friend you were in love with. My whole life, I was so good at following rules.

But I failed completely when it came to Anton Akbarian.

Was it pathetic that I fell for him the first day we met?

Probably.

It wasn’t so much that he looked good in his wrestling singlet, which he did, his dark Middle Eastern skin, intense eyes, and spiky black hair popping against the red uniform. But then he had the audacity to stretch his thin, red lips into an easygoing smile directed squarely at me. He had this confidence that rattled me, a warmth that drew me in, and this sublime trust in the world that things would work out. Unlike me, he never thought about worst case scenarios, or any other scenario with a less-than-ideal outcome.

From our first interaction, we just vibed, as if we were already in the middle of our friendship. I couldn’t really explain it, but it was the same instinctual feeling of knowing when two puzzle pieces were a match seconds before putting them together.

Anton came out freshman year of high school, and I followed suit in the summer. He was the first person I told, under the fireworks blanketing the sky on the Fourth of July. I thought that would be the evening where we would have our first kiss. The setting was perfect. But my coming out didn’t change Anton’s feelings for me. It didn’t inspire him to reveal that he, too, had a secret crush on me.

“My first gay friend!” he’d exclaimed that night, genuinely thrilled for me, for us.

But a gay friend was still in the friendzone.

From then on, I buried my feelings for Anton deep down inside me. He was an amazing friend—loyal, kind, never missing a chance to remind me how awesome I was. I wasn’t going to toss that away just because he didn’t want to be anything more. We remained the best of friends, our friendship strengthening with each passing year.

When he proposed we work on Beverage Solutions full-time in lieu of college, I locked my feelings away permanently and hoped they suffocated from lack of air. I didn’t agree to partner with him because of a crush; I said yes because it was a great opportunity, because I knew what my life would hold if I went to college. This was the road less taken, and I wanted to see where it went. If we flamed out, I was young enough to go back to college.

I wasn’t going to fuck up a business partnership with feelings. Now that I was an adult, I signed up for apps, I dated, I hooked up with a few guys, convinced that getting out there would ensure that I didn’t fuck up our friendship or partnership.

So far, I hadn’t met any guy who could remotely stack up to Anton, and those locked-away feelings hadn’t suffocated to death yet. But I remained hopeful.

And Anton remained…Anton.

“Cheers.” He held up his plastic beer cup branded with the Stone’s Throw Tavern label, his smile unleashing his two dimples that were weapons of mass attraction. “To victory and legally drinking alcohol.”

We’d both recently turned twenty-one, but thanks to the wild antics of our wrestling teammates, we were no strangers to drinking.

“There’s no victory yet. It’s one meeting.”

“We’re going to close them. I can feel it.” His confidence would be unnerving if we weren’t on the same team.

I hated how much it turned me on.

We stood around a high top table watching the flurry of activity at SpringFest. Harried parents chased after kids with painted faces. People ducked in and out of local craft vendor tents while snacking on freshly made food from downtown restaurants. I’d lived in Sourwood for six years, and there was no other place I wanted to be.

Anton downed half his beer in one powerful gulp.

“Easy there,” I said.

“I don’t want to take it easy, Seb. I want to celebrate! We’ll rock out with the live band later. Maybe the mayor will even play some guitar. We’re going to ride SpringFest hard.”

“Don’t forget that we have work to do tomorrow.”

“Relax.” He put a hand on mine, unleashing a flutter of feelings that were supposed to be repressed.

I knew that I sounded like a killjoy compared to Anton’s burst of life and energy. I was the responsible one; Anton was the free spirit. That was our dynamic, and it suited us. But it was also a form of self-preservation, a way to fight off succumbing to his charm and revealing things that needed to remain unsaid.

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