Which I don’t. I’m here to hang out. That’s it.
“Let me get you a drink,” he says suddenly. “What do you drink, Dessie? I’ll get it for you. On the house. I know people. Just name it, they got everything.”
I smile mutedly. “Tea?”
He frowns. “Except that.”
“Water, then.”
“I mean a real drink. The bartender who’s working tonight, mmm, she makes a mean martini.”
“Just a water.”
He studies me for a second. “You don’t drink?”
I fondly recall the hangover I enjoyed last weekend after my night at the Throng & Song. “No.”
Brant nods, appraising me with smiling eyes. “I think I like you. I hope Clayton keeps you around.”
I fight one of my stubborn blushes that’s coming on. “We’re just friends,” I insist, checking my phone again. Thirty-five minutes late. What the hell, Clayton?
“Well, hey, why don’t you come over to our lane?” He beckons me with a wave of his hand as he backs away. “Dmitri and I are hanging out. Oh, you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Dmitri, Clayton’s least favorite roommate. He isn’t drinking tonight, either. His major is poetry and general arty-fartiness, so you two will get along just fine.”
Figuring it to be safe, I give a mild shrug and follow him into the noise. The bowling alley is packed tonight with people of all ages, from families with children to college students. Even a pair of elderly couples occupy lane fifteen.
It’s lane twenty near the wall where the guys are set up. Dmitri rises from his seat, a short, chalky-skinned guy with black spiky hair and thick glasses that remind me so much of Sam’s, I’d think I was staring at her if it weren’t for the blue and red tattoo running up his arm. He wears a black tank top and dark grey shorts that cut-off just below the knee.
“This is the one,” Brant says in half a whisper to Dmitri, though I hear it perfectly.
They lean into each other. “What one?”
“The girl.”
“Clayton’s?”
“Yup.”
Dmitri pulls away from his friend and shoves his hands in his pockets, facing me. He even smiles the same as Sam, his lips flat-lining. “Hi. I’m Dmitri.”
“Dessie,” I return.
Brant sighs. “Oh, hell. The fuckers are here.”
Dmitri squints through his glasses. “The who?”
“My dipshit opponents from Sigma Phi Dildo,” he answers, “whose asses I’m gonna whip into Saturday.”
“It is Saturday.”
“Sunday, then. I’ll get your water, Dessie,” he tells me suddenly, then hops away through the crowd.
The benches opposite us are quickly filled by the loud frat boys I saw in the arcade. Two of them give me a more-than-obvious once-over. I turn away, not appreciating the attention and growing more and more annoyed by the second at Clayton’s absence.
“You okay?”
I look up at Dmitri. “I’m just wondering where Clayton is, to be honest.”
“I could text him,” he offers, pulling a phone out of his pocket. “Not like him to be late to anything.”
“Thanks.” In stark contrast to Brant, he has no southern drawl at all. “You’re a poetry major?”
“That damn Brant! I’m a creative writing major.”
“Oh, okay.”
“And I’ve probably told him twenty or thirty times and he just blanks out. Poor guy can’t process a damn thing past his wiener, I swear.”
I laugh, then cross my arms and glance at the frat boys who’ve occupied the other half of our lane. There is at least ten of them, but only four seem to be changing their shoes. I wonder for a moment who else is on Brant’s team, as the only other one who seems to be here is Dmitri. Isn’t this supposed to be some kind of tournament or something?
“It all goes down at nine,” Dmitri explains to me.
I nod. “And Brant’s team is … where?”
“Who knows. I’m only here to support him. Oh, I forgot about Clayton. All that about Brant calling me a poetry major got me distracted.” He starts typing into his phone. “Clay … ton … exclamation point … Where … the … hell … are … you … question mark,” he narrates as he types. “And send. There we go. I bet he’ll walk right through the door any second.”
It all starts at the corner store.
I go to pick up some drinks and a couple other things we’re out of. I don’t want to be presumptuous or assume I’m bringing Dessie back to our place, but just in case we do hit it off, I want our apartment to be in a good state and adequately … equipped.