Page 41 of For the Boys
Berkley: Besides, you’re Brent Jean. You already had my attention.
Brent: I did, huh?
Brent: But yeah, the guys thought I was a little crazy to just blurt that out but I’ve been dying to get it off my chest for a while. I was really worried about you. I’m just glad it all worked out.
You’re really laying it all out there, Jean.
Berkley: Definitely ;)
Berkley: I still can’t believe someone drugged us. We just figured we went a little too hard and couldn’t make it home so the hotel was the next best thing. We all really appreciate you taking care of us, though :)
Brent: My pleasure! It explains why you were dumping drinks over your shoulder at your party ;)
Berkley: Omg, you saw that?! But yeah, we’re all definitely pretty wary of taking drinks from anyone these days.
Brent: Haha totally understandable!
Berkley didn’t say anything for several long minutes, and it made Brent anxious. So anxious, he sent another text before he could think about it too much.
Brent: Soooo when are we hanging out?!
Berkley: You really want to?
Brent sighed.This girl.
Brent: Of course I do. I’d like to think I’ve made that clear by now.
Berkley: Well, I don’t know. I guess.
Brent: A real vote of confidence, Berkley.
Berkley: Haha okay fair. What did you have in mind?
Brent: I’m not sure yet.
Berkley: Well you let me know when you figure it out, and maybe I’ll say yes ;)
Brent thought it over while he moved around his house, starting a load of laundry and running the dishwasher. He was in the middle of putting fresh sheets on his bed when his phone started buzzing on the nightstand. The screen showed Mitch’s name.
“Sup, bro?” Brent said when he answered the call, tapping the speakerphone button.
“What’re you doing tonight?” Mitch asked. “We’re off until Monday, and I want to have a loft party.”
“Deal,” Brent said without missing a beat.
Mitch snorted on the other end of the line. “That was easy. Let me guess, you asked Berkley to hang out, and your bitch ass is too afraid to unless you’ve got backup.”
Brent rolled his eyes. He was too damn transparent sometimes. “Yes,” he answered honestly.
“Perfect,” Mitch said. The sound of a car door slamming came through the phone, followed by a muffled thunk, then, “Shit!” from far away.
“Mitch? Are you good?” Brent asked, stuffing one of his pillows into a slate grey pillowcase.
“Fuck,” Mitch said. “Yeah, I’m good. Dropped my phone and cracked the screen though.”
“Ouch, bad luck.”
“I know. Now I have to go get it fixed,” Mitch whined. “But okay. Loft party. I’ll have my bartender show up around eight, so you guys can come by anytime after that. And tell Berkley she can bring friends!” The line went dead.
