Page 8 of Keep

Mac took it. His eyes were wet. “You always were too good for me. You know that?”

Chad said nothing. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t be either cruel or a lie.

“I should go,” Mac said, already backing toward the shadows at the alley’s end. “Thanks, Chad. Really.”

“Be careful.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “You too.”

He disappeared into the dark, and Chad stood there in the alley, alone, the dumpster stinking beside him, and the distant thump of bass from somewhere down the block the only sound.

Mac. Jonathan. Two for two. Your picker’s broken, buddy.

He stared at the place where Mac had been.

And now you’re going on a date with a closet case in a baseball cap who won’t tell you what he does for a living.

Three for three?

He shook his head and called the Uber.

The ride home took fifteen minutes. Chad tipped the driver, climbed the two flights to his apartment, and let himself in as quietly as he could manage.

The living room was dark except for the blue glow of the TV. Ricky was sprawled on the couch in his underwear, fast asleep, a telenovela playing on low volume. Chad grabbed the remote and killed the TV, then tossed a throw blanket over his roommate.

Ricky stirred. “You’re home.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“Anything good happen?” Ricky mumbled, eyes still closed.

Chad thought about Hank. About warm brown eyes and a Southern lilt. About a kiss that lasted less than three seconds and was still buzzing under his skin.

“Maybe,” he said. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

But Ricky was already gone, snoring softly.

Chad peeled off his clothes, collapsed into bed, and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

A text from an unknown number: Hey, it’s Hank. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe. I hope that’s all right. See you Thursday.

Twenty-something words, and still managed to sound like a man who’d drafted and redrafted before hitting send.

Chad smiled.

He typed back: Home safe. Can’t wait for Thursday.

The reply came almost immediately: Me too. Sleep well, Chad.

He set the phone on the nightstand and lay there in the dark, listening to the city—the distant sirens, the murmur of traffic, Ricky’s snoring through the wall. His feet throbbed. His back ached. He had a 9 a.m. class in six and a half hours and a stomach growling louder than Ricky.

He thought of Hank’s face when he’d kissed him. That look of absolute, stunned wonder.

Like seeing color for the first time.

Don’t get used to it, Chad.

But it was too late. He was already smiling.