Page 23 of Tobias

I don’t need the money, and we both know it, but it’s not about the money. It’s about holding Asher to his word because he’s a snake.

“How’s your brother?” I ask, trying to make small talk as I reach for my shot and slide the other to him.

“Miserable prick, as usual,” he mutters as he brings his shot to his lips.

“Here’s to bar fights,” I say.

He chuckles and we take the shots. I hiss before gulping a mouthful of beer to wash away the taste. I don't know why I do so many shots when they taste like shit.

The bouncer comes back in, taking up his spot against a wall that overlooks the pool tables. Everyone is back to playing, almost like they forgot what happened.

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Asher asks.

“Same shit as usual. Grand feast at my parents' house. You?”

Asher frowns at me with pity in his eyes. He knows how strained my relationship is with my family. I've been friends with him a long time, and since he doesn't come from some prestigious family, he's dealt with the looks and remarks from my parents same as me. So many times growing up I wish I could have been his brother, that I had his loving parents.

“Our parents are coming over, but they probably won’t stay long. Not sure if Max will stop by or not, but probably. Morgan's sister won’t.”

“Family sucks,” I mutter, reaching for my beer.

“Don’t I know it?” He finishes his beer, sliding the glass to the end of the counter. When Morgan comes by, she fills it for him. Mine is still half full, so she leaves it. I don't really feel like getting drunk tonight. It feels like one of those nights I'll drink until I'm sick but never get drunk.

“We should find some time to pick out our tuxes,” I say.

“Did Marianne finally decide on a color?”

“Mauve,” I say with an eye roll.

“Mauve?” he asks, visibly shivering. “What the fuck kind of color is that? It sounds old.”

“Pale purple.”

“So why the fuck can’t they just call it pale purple?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Women,” he mutters, shaking his head and grabbing his beer.

Fucking, tell me about it.

“So, I, uh… went on a date with one of those guys," I carefully say.

Asher stills, turning his head toward me so slowly it’s comical, brow raised. “And you’re only telling me thisnow?”

I shrug, grabbing my beer to empty the glass. Morgan takes it right away to fill. She's an attentive bartender. That, mixed with being hot, makes her a killing in tips.

“It was only a week ago.”

“Only a week—fucking hell, Theo. A week may as well be a damn year. What happened? Did you fuck him?”

“Jesus, Asher. Shut up. I already told you they aren’t prostitutes.”

He scoffs. “As if I believe that.”

“Well, believe it, because he’s not. In fact, he was very professional.”

“Bor-ring,” he says.

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