Page 40 of Dangerous Pursuit
I get to my duffle and instead of grabbing a towel to wipe sweat off my face, I check my phone. And I find exactly what I was expecting—an empty lock screen. No missed calls, no voice memos, no cringeworthy memes or weird card references I never understood, something I always intended to research eventually, but have no reason to anymore. In other words, no sign of Xander.
If only he was willing to vacate my mind with half the ease with which he vacated my life.
***
MY HAIR'S STILL wet from the shower as I make my way back home from the dojo thirty minutes later, the chilly November breeze biting into my scalp.
I window-shop my way home, trying but failing to focus on the premature Christmas decorations, all in an effort to get my mind off my mute phone and the one responsible for its uncomfortable silence.
"Hey, big guy!" a familiar voice reaches me from my left, providing a much needed distraction.
My head snaps to where Sawyer raises his hand in a greeting gesture from across the street. Blake, his new boyfriend, mirrors his motion at his side, both sporting semi-formals under long winter coats.
Blake looks nice.
Sawyer looks ridiculous.
"What's with the attire, dude?" I ask as I cross the street where I'm not supposed to.
"Last exam, baby. We're officially free."
He shakes my hand, fist-bumping Blake at the same time, and only then I notice another pair of eyes glaring at me from above their shoulders.
"Afternoon," Xander says in a cadence more formal than the graphite suit he's wearing.
Hell. I forgot they're all in the same Uni.
I answer him with a nod, adjust the strap of my bag that's suddenly digging into my shoulder, and stuff my hands into my pockets, not knowing what else to do with myself.
The air around me thickens with awkwardness and words unspoken. Both Sawyer and Blake seem blissfully oblivious.
"Where you headin’?" Sawyer's tone seems way too inviting for the question to be random, and before I can come up with an answer, Blake chimes in.
"With us, that's where. Come. We're celebrating."
I'm just about to politely decline the offer, my brain graciously supplying an idea of an imaginary neighbor's cat that needs to be fake fed, but I don’t miss the scoff and exaggerated eye roll of a certain blond behind them. And before I can think better of it, my mouth curls into an ironic smile and I say, "I'd love to."
That's what happens when you leave your body to its own devices.
***
THE SECOND WE enter the tiny dive bar, and cigarette smoke mingled with the smell of whisky and sweat hits me, I’m sure Sawyer picked the venue.
As we push our way between tiny, scraped tables, I can only hope the stay here will be better than the road here. It couldn't possibly be worse. Or funnier.
We’d been walking for about ten minutes, during which Sawyer and Blake led the way, while Xander and I strolled side by side behind them. Not talking to each other, not looking at each other, actively avoiding it.
At one point, when I was explaining something to Sawyer, I got a bit too excited waving my arms and accidentally bumped shoulders with Xander. The hostility I felt before I even looked at him was uncanny, and when I did, I had to physically stop myself from bursting out laughing because Xander looked at me like I just murdered a kitten.
Blake points to a free table in the corner, and we follow him. There are only two chairs. Sawyer and I both grab free ones from around the neighboring tables.
Sawyer passes the chair he grabbed to Blake and Blake takes a seat.
I pass mine to Xander.
But Xander gives me another dead stare and makes a point of taking two extra steps to reach for a different chair. It's both hilarious and annoying.
As we settle, Sawyer glances toward the bar, signaling the bartender with four fingers. Initially, I consider asking Sawyer what he's ordering, but then I look around at the patrons, lost in conversations between lungfuls of smoke, and at the makeshift stage where a few men fumble with theirrespective instruments, something which I refuse to call playing because they seem to live by the philosophy ofWhat are notes, anyway?,and the only person semi-remedying the situation is the woman with the microphone being the only one in key. Needless to say, I decide Sawyer knows best what's safe to order.
