Wait a second… was Jake puffing out his chest? The way he stood like an oak tree that spontaneously grew next to me, an arm still across my shoulders, with his back straight and chin high… holy shit, Jake was trying to intimidate this guy. Maybe the fight from this morning got to his head?

It seemed like Ron got the hint. He dipped his head and said a couple of nice things about us before turning and disappearing in the crowd, winding through some people and going past the bathrooms, likely heading upstairs.

“Sorry,” Jake said, still not deflating. “I should have figured out if you wanted to talk to him. I just kind of assumed with the way you were standing that you needed some help. Did I fuck up?”

“No,” I answered, patting his stomach. “I think it’s physically, spiritually, and emotionally impossible for you to fuck up.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. My arm stayed on his stomach so that I could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath, his firm muscles just a couple of threads away from being against my palm. “You give me too much credit.”

“I give you just enough. You’re going to have to work for the extra credit.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm,” I said. Before he could ask me to elaborate, my drink order was complete, and my tab was paid off. Jake helped me with the drinks, and we came back to our table, where an animated discussion on who deserved the most recent Drag Race crown was going on. At first, I was a little worried Jake would feel out of place, considering my friends could be a little domineering, but he slipped right into the conversation with ease.

Soon, hours had passed, and all of us were slightly (okay, very) drunk, empty cups stacked on our table. I definitely wasn’t ready to call it a night and would have been pretty annoyed if I had to get into my own bed drunk and alone, so imagine my surprise—and utter excitement— when Jake turned to me and asked if I wanted to order pizza and hang out at his place.

The two of us got out of the bar so fast that I was sure there was a dust cloud left in our wake—zigzagging, of course, because I was sure neither of us was walking in a straight line.

Although through the drunken haze, a face did strike out at me.

Mason. He was standing at a bar top by himself, nursing a beer, looking pensive.

At least I thought it was Mason. My foggy beer-goggles made it difficult to register faces. Except for Jake’s, of course. His face (along with the rest of him) kept me distracted for the rest of that entire night.

18. Jake Perez

18

JAKE PEREZ