Page 7 of Stags

Stockton nodded. “Sure, I do.” Even though he’d grown up close with his father. Even though he didn’t feel lonely, not most of the time.

Athos sipped at his gin and tonic. “Are you going to the midnight run?”

“I have to sit through one of the orientation lectures first,” said Stockton.

“Oh, well, I can tell you everything they’re going to say,” said Athos. “Red means stop.” He toyed with his ear. “They have red earrings. If they have red earrings, you do not come in them.”

“I know about that,” said Stockton.

“Stop means stop,” said Athos, laughing. “Because, what he says is, ‘If there’s a dispute’”—his voice went deep and mimicking, “‘between you and a doe, the Center will side with the doe no matter what she says.’”

“He?”

“The guy doing the orientation,” said Athos. “If someone files a report on you, you’re out. For life.”

“Wow,” said Stockton.

“Yeah, but it’s actually controversial,” said Athos. “Because what they don’t do is share it with the authorities. And those reports don’t get filed until the doe gets back here. And they only go through them after each session. So, if I’m a rapist, and I wanted to, I could probably have a heyday out here, three or four does in one of these sessions. Then, get kicked out, but no real consequences. I could go up and down the coast, joining these things—”

“That’s disgusting,” said Stockton.

“Yeah, I read a big opinion piece on it,” said Athos. He took a big gulp of gin and tonic. “Anyway, that was all they said in orientation. Oh, and not to gore each other, obviously.”

“Gore each…?” Stockton realized a second late. He touched his own antlers. “Right. With these.”

“You lock in and spar, but no serious damage to anyone,” said Athos, grinning at him. “Anyway, if I see you out there, I promise not to fight you, even if you’re after one I like. And since I bought you a drink, I think it’s the least you can do in return.”

Stockton chuckled. “I see you had an ulterior motive.”

Athos chuckled too. “Nah, it’s not like that. I just saw you out here and I thought you probably don’t have a lot of discretionary funds when you’re an intern.”

“Thanks,” said Stockton, “you’re not wrong.”

“Even with that uncle of yours, whose profession seems to be ‘being rich.’”

Stockton laughed outwardly, but inwardly he groaned, because Athos wasn’t going to let this go, and he was going to have to come clean, and what sort of excuse could he use for lying?

The thing about lying was that it was almost always impulsive. You didn’t think it through. You made a decision quickly and then you had to commit to it, and it was a huge pain, because you had not thought through the longterm consequences of such a thing.

Stockton didn’t lie often.

Every time he did, he pretty much regretted it.

Damn it.

Change the subject,he thought at himself. He racked his brain, looking for some other turn in the conversation with which to entice Athos away from the subject of Bruin once and for all, and then somehow he was saved by three does, who were trying to get in to the bar to order a drink.

“Oh,” he said to one of them, “are we in your way?”

“Excuse us, ladies,” said Athos.

He and Athos parted, each going to the other side of the three women, and the three of them, all in a clump of big eyes and cute ears and white little tails, smiled at him and smiled at Athos and smiled at the bartender.

Okay, then, he was definitely in a rut, wasn’t he? Sun and moon, they looked good. His pelvis was practically tingling. His pants were too tight. Suddenly, it became clear to Stockton that it was his first priority to get to one of those orientations so that he could make it to the midnight run tonight. He could not miss it. It was very necessary.

The girls—That’s reductive, call them women,he thought—all leaned on the bar, propped up on their elbows, and this had the effect of making each of them stick out her backside, those three little white tails on display.

He gaped.

---