Brandon barks out a laugh. “What the hell are you going to do with two rolls of quarters?”

“Spend within my means, is what I’m going to do.”

“We’ll go down in a minute,” he says. “We need to get lit first.” Whistling, he flips his suitcase open—and unveils several large bottles of vodka and whiskey and a mind-blowing assortment of travel-size liqueurs.

Slack-jawed, I spring out of the bed and peer inside his bag. “Holy shit, so that’s why you needed to check it at the airport.”

“Exactly,” he says, wearing a self-satisfied smile. “I’m not drinking watered-down liquor for my thirtieth birthday.”

“You brought Solo cups too,” I say, my voice rising an octave as I take in Brandon’s level of preparedness. Bartending is his partial vocation; it figures he wouldn’t rely on someone else’s drinks to achieve his long-anticipated birthday buzz.

We transfer the alcohol from his suitcase to the top of the executive desk, which Brandon has pulled to the center of the room. He stands behind his makeshift bar counter as if he’s poised to make magic. “Any requests?”

“Surprise me.”

And boy, does he. I take a sip of the drink he’s made me and choke. “Good God. Is this grain alcohol?”

He places a hand over his chest and drops his chin. “You wound me.”

“I’m a lightweight, my friend. My inability to handle liquor has nothing to do with your skills.”

“In any case, we’re toasting to the day I was born, and you’re going to drink it as if it’s yummy and delicious and you can’t get enough of it.”

I nod. “Got it.” Then I raise my red plastic cup in the air. “To Brandon. You’re one of the sweetest, gentlest, funniest, and most talented men I know.”

“One of?”

“Yes, I know others. Lots of ’em, in fact, so it’s not like you’re special. Don’t interrupt again.” I take a deep breath and resume my toast. “You, my friend, deserve every single good thing that happens to you, and I know your light is only going to grow brighter in the coming years. Cheers.”

“And cheers to the new job. Breaking in a new roommate would have been a nightmare.” We clink plastics, then he knocks back the entire contents of his cup and pounds his chest.

I follow suit, and this time, the alcohol goes down smoothly, the simmering heat settling in my belly like a warm hug. “Another!”

After a few cocktails, Brandon and I move the party to our respective beds. We’re lying on our sides, facing each other, a foot of space between us. Despite the distance, I can smell the alcohol on his breath from here. He’s at the pity-party stage of inebriation.