“Shut that thing,” he said, chin jerking in the direction of my laptop. “We’re going for a drink.”
“I can’t, I have to plan this article—”
Hunter’s chest puffed up as he folded his arms and directed me a hard look. “Can’t or won’t, Liam?”
I pushed up my glasses. “This article has to be perfect or my father won’t let me work for him.”
Hunter nudged his chair forward, pressed save, and shut my laptop. I just watched, twiddling my pen as he did it. “You’re smart, there will be other people to work for.”
Numbly, I nodded, but when Hunter slipped my laptop into its gray skin, I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s just about the position,” I said quietly. Standing up, I packed the rest of my bag and followed Hunter to his van.
He drove with purpose and speed—in the opposite direction of home.
“Where are we going?” I asked, gripping my seat belt as we whipped around a corner.
“Cryptions. A bar on Liberty Avenue.”
“Since we could get a drink on Ellsworth without the detour, I am guessing something else is at Cryptions. Perhaps a someone else?”
Hunter grinned, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Mitch texted me. He said he’s working there and wants to see me.”
“And I am here because . . .?” I clung onto the arm of the door as Hunter swerved around a deep pothole.
“Because I like your company, you need a stiff drink, and I like having someone to yak with until Mitch gets a free moment.”
The parking lot was busier than I thought it would be for a Tuesday. Inside, a thick crowd of mostly male students undulated to noisy music. I stuck close to Hunter as we threaded our way through the crowds. Thankfully, most were decent enough to make way for Hunter’s chair, though Hunter’s You better fucking move look was likely helping.
“What can I get you?” Hunter yelled over the noise as I squeezed into a free spot at a corner booth.
“Some peace and quiet would be nice. But seeing that’s unlikely, a Coke will do.”
A mid-twenty-something with a double nose-piercing leered at me. I quickly choked out, “And spike it with bourbon!”
Hunter chuckled and left, and I studiously avoided eye contact with anyone. Taking out my notebook, I sketched a few ideas for my environmental angle, and when my phone beeped, I took it out and read the new e-mail from Mom:
Liam,
I don’t want to disturb you, love, but a couple of things:
1) What are your plans for Thanksgiving? I have been asked to work that day, which would be great for getting in the good books with this new job, but I wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with it?
2) We have a new neighbor here. Every morning at seven he walks his Persian cat by our house and waves. I think I shall introduce myself to him.
Look forward to hearing from you,
Mom
I quickly wrote back:
Mom,
1) I have plans for the weekend, so no problem.
2) Introduce yourself. Tell me the details.
Liam
Hunter bumped his chair against mine and snagged my notebook from the table. “I’m confiscating this until our bro-date is over.” He slid it down one side of his chair. “Drinks are on the way.”
I glanced toward the bar. Mitch was at the far end, wearing a net T-shirt and thick eyeliner; his skin glowed the same red as his hair in the orange lights above him. “Did you get to talk?”
“Not yet, he said he’d come over soon.”
At that precise moment, as Mitch filled a glass with ice, he looked across the room toward us.
Hunter shot him a wink, and Mitch fumbled with the glass, ice scattering over the counter. “He’s adorable,” Hunter murmured. He focused back on me, his lips curving downward at the edges. “I had another chat with Jill today.”
“You did?”
“Caught him hunched over a book at the base of a tree by the cathedral.”
That explained why it was only Jack in the office today. “Bit cold for that, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I thought. It was almost as if he were waiting for someone. Anyway, not great news on that front.”
“Did he tell you to fuck off?”
“Among other things. He’s got a foul mouth for such a pretty boy.”
“The foul part is right.”
“Yeah, well.” Hunter scrubbed the back of his head and casually locked his fingers together. “He’s not ready to talk. It’s more than the arm and fear that’s hurting him, I think. Can’t push that.”
Mitch set our drinks down and scouted the booth for seats, but nothing was free.
Hunter slapped his lap. “You can sit here if you like.”
Mitch grinned and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I picked up my drink and sipped. Sweet and smoky.
Hunter snagged Mitch’s fingers and drew him forward one step. “Yeah, and I’d like it even more if it came with an answer.”