Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Frankie’s jaw tenses up again like it did when he mentioned what Peter did to me tonight. “That’s horrible.”
“Don’t worry. I never went. It was just…they didn’t handle me coming out very well, and to cut another long story short, I haven’t seen them since then.”
I feel weird sharing that with him, but considering he opened up to me about his family, I felt comfortable doing the same. And there’s something about Frankie…something that disarms me…like we’ve always been friends. I imagine Frankie’s that way with a lot of people. That he can just sort of, set them at ease and make them feel like they’ve been friends forever.
“I was pretty much on my own after that,” I add. “Until Peter. And now I’m on my own again, I guess.”
“Well, you’re not alone tonight, kid. Now get over here.”
“What?”
“Come here,” he demands.
I’m uneasy, but for some reason, despite some lingering suspicions about his intentions, I trust this guy.
I scoot across the couch, and he comes at me, offering a gentle hug.
At first, I’m alarmed by it, startled even, but it’s a really good hug. I relax into it before I tremble because I could really use a shoulder to cry on.
He runs his hand up and down my back gently. Such a simple movement, but it makes me feel so appreciated. So cared for, especially considering how he was about my injury and how he’s being about all this.
As I force myself to pull away from him, Frankie says, “Free hugs. From one friend to another.”
Suddenly my concerns about him trying to use this opportunity to try and get a lay out of me dissolve as I realize I’m looking at a really good guy.
My lips curl into a smile. If only he knew how much better he just made me feel. “I like you, Frankie,” I tell him.
“I like you too, Evan. But I’ll like you a hell of a lot more when our damned Chinese food gets here.”
He winks, and I burst into a fit of laughter.
It’s nice having a friend tonight. What began as such a shitty night and became so much worse all of a sudden doesn’t seem so bleak, and I know it’s because of him.
It gives me some hope. Frankie gives me some hope.
I’d be lucky to have a friend like him in my life.
1
Evan
I tug at my best friend Frankie’s hand.
“Come on, come on,” I urge him, pulling him away from our crew.
“It’s almost time. And it’s our song,” I tell him.
Frankie smirks, and despite how tense he is and the cross look he’s giving me for signing him up against his will, he caves as he always does whenever I beg him to karaoke with me. Because really, I know he enjoys it more than he’d ever want to admit to our friends.
“Looks like you’re up,” Frankie’s buddy Jackson tells him. Frankie grabs his beanie and tugs it down as though he wishes he could cover his face with it.
Our friends hold our drinks and follow Frankie and me to the living room, where the karaoke is set up.
It’s not as big as the crowd on karaoke nights at Flirt—like five people are here, but if there’s karaoke, I’m all in.
When a guy standing beside the wall-mounted big-screen TV stops singing, a girl seated behind a table in the corner of the room calls out our names.
“Kill it, Evan!” my friend Derek says as he races into the entryway of the living room. He raises his glass in full support.
These past few months since my shit-tastic breakup, I’ve become a lot closer to Derek and the rest of the guys he hangs around. And Frankie and I started rooming together, which has been really fun since he’s been so much more than a roommate. He’s been a great friend.
Frankie and I take the first singer’s place and approach two mics on stands, looking to the big-screen TV as the tune of our song starts up. As soon as the lyrics appear on the TV, I begin singing to G-Eazy and Halsey’s “Him & I.” Frankie can’t keep a straight face as he watches my performance, and when it’s his turn, he launches into G-Eazy’s rap.
There are a few boos and hisses during our set.
Haters.
Am I the best singer in the world? No. But that’s not going to keep me from belting out these lyrics like I’m Ariana Grande.
When our song ends, we join the guys, who’re gathered around the living room, still applauding our performance.
Derek has shots on a tray, which he passes around to the other guys.
Derek hands me my shot before Frankie asks, “Are you good?”
“I’ve only had that one drink,” I say.
“I know, but you weigh like, what, twenty pounds?” He winks. “Hell, I’d think that shot alone could kill you.”