Page 7 of The Chemist

“So, what do we have here?” Diesel asked, passing his eyes over the hordes of food.

Smiling, Chase turned, holding a beer out to his friend.

“Here, try this!” He shoved the bottle into Diesel’s hand before picking one up for himself.

There was a large maple leaf plastered to the label, no doubt a way to remind Canadians that they were actually Canadian. Kind of like how Americans hang American flags on every single property that they own. Civic pride? Or mass amnesia?

Diesel didn’t need a reminder that he was English. Born and raised in Essex, he struggled against the poverties of society and managed to claw his way out of the slummiest parts of London before ending up on Matteo’s doorstep. That was enough of a reminder for him.

“Cheers.”

They both raised their bottles before taking a sip together. Brotherhood at its finest.

The taste was smooth, with a slight sweetness that captured your tongue at the end. It wasn’t bad. It was just… different. Diesel was mostly a whiskey drinker, but when he dabbled in the beers, he usually stuck with the European brands. But, hey, this was a special occasion, and he needed to support his Canadian brother.

“Good, right?”

“Yeah. I can feel the hockey flowing through my veins as we speak.”

Speaking of hockey, their attention was temporarily diverted to the group of angry men shouting insults and death threats at one another while they slashed at a rubber ball with hockey sticks they angrily gripped in their hands.

Down on the lawn, a ball hockey rink had been set up, complete with homemade hockey nets and paint outlines on the grass.

“Nothing says Canada like a bit of hockey,” Chase explained with a gigantic smile on his face.

“Hmm, drunk CEOs with hockey sticks sounds like a great idea.” Diesel was always the enthusiast. “Now, back to the food.”

“Yes! Over here, we have Montreal-style smoked meat. Fucking delicious when you put it in a brisket with a pickle.” Chase kissed his fingers like he was some sort of Italian master chef. “Next, we got poutine, the best friggin’ fries you’ll ever eat.”

The man continued down the buffet, shoving samples of food into Diesel’s mouth, sometimes not even waiting for him to swallow in between dishes.

Was this how Italian kids felt when they visited Nonna’s house? Being force-fed spoonful after spoonful of delicious, heavenly food.

Seeing Chase so excited was just so… unnerving.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sipping Canadian beers by the pool, chatting up men, and trying to avoid offers to join in a friendly game of something called “lacrosse.”

Sometime around three or four in the afternoon—his memory was getting a bit hazy thanks to all the celebratory drinks—the ball hockey game morphed into something somewhat different. The hockey sticks were suddenly swapped out for sticks with nets attached to their ends, and suddenly, the goal was to keep the rubber ball in the air instead of on the ground. It was like Canada had a flip side to it.

As it turned out, Canada apparently had two national sports—ice hockey in the winter and lacrosse in the summer—although if you ask most Canadians, they will only recognize the one game played on slivers of blades. Gorillas on ice?

Both games looked violent as shit, and both involved running back and forth chasing a piece of rubber. Diesel had no interest in playing either.

Floating on his giant inflatable unicorn, Diesel watched his friends around him enjoying the day with their fiancés and significant others. Levi had Chase, Isaac had Jared, and even Matteo now had Ares. Slowly, everyone was coupling up. Everyone but Diesel.

Raising his glass of whiskey—yes, he finally switched to something that might actually get his ass drunk—he downed the remainder of the amber liquid.

“You look bored as shit.”

Diesel turned his attention to the handsome gentleman swimming beside him.

“Yeah, this party is getting kind of stale.”

“Want to take this party someplace more private? I got a little something that will help fix the mood.” The man slid his finger discreetly across his nose, indicating that he had some blow to share.

Guests who came to party atLa Maisonusually had the good stuff on them. Hey, if he was going to get high, he may as well do it with someone who’s got the good stuff.

“Sure, sounds like fun,” Diesel said, sliding off the majestic beast and following his new friend out of the pool.

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