Out for the Night (Browerton University #4)(4)

"Thanks, Aditi. I love you."

Matty signed off and gazed at the screen, feeling the loneliness that crept up whenever he got off a call with his family and returned to the quiet of his room.





Chapter 3





Coop





Coop cued the beat on his computer and bobbed his head until he became one with the rhythm. He stood in the center of his room and imagined the wall in front of him was actually a packed audience of eager fans. 

Welcome to college

I'm gettin' more knowledge.

I be partyin' all night and sleepin' all day

And I be cutting the crusts off my own PB&J

[thank you very much!]



I can eat what I want.

And smoke when I want.

And drink when I want.

And fuck when I want.



Rollin' outta bed for twelve o'clock class

Still hungover from chasin' tequila and ass.

Man, that night was one for the books

College is da bomb. I don't give no fucks.



I see that hottie in the front row

Don't care 'bout her name.

We'll be havin' discussion section in my bed

Cuz she can't deny my mad Tinder game.





Coop looked at the lyrics scribbled in his notebook in disbelief that this was the best he could come up with. Discussion section in my bed? Tupac would be rolling in his grave, if he were actually dead. And rapping about sleeping with a girl? Maybe one day, when the rap world was less homophobic, he'd rap about bedding dudes.

He felt there was something missing in all of his lyrics, and no matter how much time he dedicated to writing, he feared that he'd never be able to find it. It was like they were just words with no meaning.

Coop ripped the pages out of the notebook, tore them into tiny pieces, and watched them flutter into his trashcan. After all this time, he thought his rap game would've improved more. But he kept coming up with total shit like this.

He glanced at a poster of Copenhagen on his wall. Maybe this would be the year. Any extra cash he had he was saving for attending the International Songwriters Conference. But he couldn't network with the top artists and producers in music on his way to becoming a world-famous musician if his music sucked. He had to keep practicing, keep writing. And keep hustling, because airfare to Norway was expensive as hell.

When his phone rang, Coop started beatboxing to the ringtone before picking it up. "Hey, Dad."

"Evan, how are things?" His parents were one of the last people alive who still called him by his real name.

"Things are good."

"Good. Listen, I had some bad news." That was how his dad started many sentences nowadays. Coop liked to remember him as the strong Dad from his childhood, the guy who carried him and his sister Erin on his back, who rolled the windows down and sang "Free Falling" at the top of his lungs. His shoulders now had a permanent slump that killed Coop.

"I know your mom and I said we'd get you a new computer. We really wanted to, but we're hoping you'd be able to get by with your current laptop for the rest of the year. We'll get you a brand new one before fall quarter."

"My laptop works great! I don't even see the point of me getting a new one for fall."

"Really? I thought when you were home, your laptop started smoking when you turned it on."

"I got it to quit. It's on the nicotine patch. Doing really well. Seriously, that thing is built to last." His parents were adamant about getting Coop a new computer over spring break. Coop remembered when they got a flashy new iMac years ago. It was now on its last legs in the living room. Coop's computer almost caught fire when he tried to go online, and so he retired it to his bottom desk drawer for a permanent vacation. Fortunately, Browerton provided loaner laptops to students in need. He wasn't able to view porn on it, but things could be worse.

"I promise you we will get you a brand new computer before you start sophomore year. I have a second interview at this printing company, so fingers crossed. I don't know why they wouldn't want a fifty-year-old project manager." Dad tried to make a joke, and Coop humored him with a hearty laugh. "How are your side businesses going? I hope they aren't taking away from your studies."



       
         
       
        

"They are most certainly not. Business is going well."

"That's great."

Coop didn't know how to say what he wanted to say next, an idea that'd been on his mind since Christmas. "You know, I can send you some extra cash. I'm happy to chip in."

"No. That's your money."

He knew his dad would say that. Now Coop's shoulders were slumping.

"It's going to be okay, Evan. Everyone finds a new job. My co-worker who was in my department just got a new gig at Trader Joe's. They pay well and provide health benefits. Who knew?"

"Tell him to hook me up with some Jo-Jo's," Coop said. "But I'm serious. If you ever need … I'm happy to help. I want to help."

"I appreciate it. I really do. I love you, Evan."

"I love you, too."

When he hung up, he thought about his family. He'd left for college right as the bad times got worse, when the optimism about finding a new job gave way to fear. Their car had broken down and his sister broke her arm, both of which had burned though a chunk of their savings.

Coop dug through his sock drawer and pulled out his lucky Copenhagen sock, named that for the wad of cash it stored. He peeled off an assortment of fives and twenties (no students ever carried tens on them for some reason) and slipped them in an envelope.

A few minutes later, Coop's roommate opened the door. He jammed his lyrics notebook into his nightstand drawer.

"Rafe, what's the good word?"

"Don't worry, Macklemore featuring Ryan Lewis. I didn't hear or see any of your greatness." Rafe had a head full of bouncy brown curls that fit his personality. He tossed his books on his bed. "You know, one of these days, I will get to hear one of your dope raps."

Not anytime soon. Coop's work was not ready for public consumption.

"There are open mic events on campus. You should perform at one. You'd be great."

"I'll take it under consideration."

Coop hit the roommate lottery. Most times, a freshman roommate was a reality show waiting to happen. Two complete strangers, from wildly different backgrounds, being forced to live together. Yet Coop got lucky. Not because he got a great roommate. No, his first roommate was a loud, obnoxious rich kid from Orange County who loved talking to friends at two in the morning. But a month after starting school, that roommate was busted for selling drugs and kicked out of school. And that allowed Coop's friend Rafe to escape his weird roommate and move in with him.

The two of them had hit it off after bumping into each other at the same parties and classes. Most people were suspicious of two gay guys deciding to room together. Coop and Rafe were friends through and through, no sexual tension, no awkwardness, no accidentally dating the same guy. Coop figured that one of the reasons why Rafe and him never got together was because Rafe was too busy falling in love with somebody else. 

"So, I just thought you should know, that I've found my soulmate. I think. I think I probably found my soulmate, possibly."

"That's great, buddy," Coop said. To him, Rafe claiming he was in love was like somebody saying it was hot in Florida. He was dead set on finding a college sweetheart. "Can we talk about it later? I'm going to the gym."

Coop pulled his gym bag from under his bed and hooked it over his shoulder.

"You go to the gym like every day!"

Coop gestured to his muscular chest and arms. "This doesn't happen by chance."

"I'll go with you. I'll spot you."

That meant Rafe would talk while Coop did all the work. "Fine."

Coop grabbed the envelope from his desk. "Hey, do you have an extra stamp?"

Rafe peeled one from his book, and Coop plucked it off his finger. Rafe peered at the address. "Letter for Mom and Dad?"

Coop gazed at the envelope and felt the weight of it in his hand. "Yeah."



Twenty minutes later, Coop felt the burn doing bicep curls while Rafe sat on the bench with a five-pound dumbbell in his lap.

"His name is Spencer. I love that name. We eat breakfast in the dining hall at the same time every day. He has this really sexy way of chewing his Cheerios. Like it shows off his jaw." Rafe zoned out to picture his breakfast crush. Sweat trickled down Coop's face.

"Rafe," he said through clenched breaths. "Finish your damn story."

"Right. So my plan is that when he goes up to refill his coffee, I'm going to slip an envelope with a bow tie and a note inside under his tray. The note will say 'Find the guy in here also wearing a bow tie. He's your new boyfriend.' And I'll be wearing a bow tie. And then the note will say, 'To find out where he's taking you on your first date, put on the bow tie.'"

Coop put down his weights. He wiped sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.

"So what do you think?" Rafe asked.

"I think you need a new plan."

"What's wrong with this one?"

Coop walked over to the water fountain, and Rafe followed, still holding onto the five-pound weight. "Why can't you just walk over and ask to sit with him? Or find him on Grindr?"

"Because that is not a grand romantic gesture."