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makes a difference.” With that, he heads back into his room to pull something out of his wardrobe.

I turn my definitively sour glare onto Brett, who misinterprets my sourness for nerves, of all things. “Whoever this guy is you’re trying to find, he’s lucky. You’ll have a great time tonight, man.”

This is the worst fucking idea ever.

6

Also, Lex is full of shit.

Cute guys don’t just re-pop-back-up in Mayville.

Connor and I have spent several hours in three different nightclubs with no sign of him. Our busy asses have been hit on by so many guys tonight, I’m ready to just start saying I’m straight so they’ll back the fuck off.

Twink Whisperer Connor over here isn’t fazed one bit. He just sits there looking pretty with his vodka tonic in hand, smiles sweetly, and says, “No, sorry, I’m taken by my awesome boyfriend Alan.”

As if this extra element is what I needed tonight.

To hear about how perfect his boyfriend is.

How happy he’s been.

How he just somehow fell into this big city like goddamned Dorothy from Kansas, discovered his place right away, landed the perfect bro roommate, found love within a week, and can’t be happier.

“Are you annoyed by something?”

I throw Connor a look. “I’m not annoyed.”

He squints at me awhile, studying my face, and (wisely) decides to let it go. He asks something else: “Can you tell me about this guy we’re lookin’ for?”

“No.”

“Alrighty.”

We ditch another nightclub and spill onto the street. It’s a particularly louder-than-usual night. Or else it really has been so long since I’ve gone and forced myself into the noise of a Friday night.

“I probably sound like a broken record about Alan,” Connor volunteers suddenly when we stop at a corner waiting on the traffic light to change, “but I’m worried … about what’s ‘next’.”

I lift a questioning eyebrow at him.

“I mean, there’s an upside,” he explains. “The distance is sort of working in our favor right now. Alan still has his space while we continue building our relationship, and I still have mine … but …” He frowns. “Since Brett and I both have boyfriends now, it just feels strange, you know?”

“Strange how?” I ask, inwardly catching myself off-guard. Why am I investing myself in his life at all?

Connor appears ever so glad I asked, and ever so glad to answer: “It feels like we’re playin’ some game of tug-of-war with our significant others … who are halfway across town.”

The traffic stops, the lights change, and the pair of us start our way across the street. “You just got done saying you’re happy you guys have space,” I start to say, confused, “and now …”

“Would Brett be, like, super mad if I left Piazza Place, do you think?”

I stop halfway across the street. “Say what?”

Connor stops too, eyes wide. People go around us. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Look, I know I just got here a few months ago, but the thing is—”

“Leave? Fucking leave??” I can’t blink. I can’t seem to decide whether to be hurt or angry. “Do you have any idea in that tiny brain of yours how many terrible fucking roommates Brett has gone through before finally finding you?”

“But you didn’t hear me out!” Connor protests, scooting out of the way as a pair of drunken idiots pass between us. “Skylar would replace me! I’m at Alan’s half of the time as it is, really, so it’s only natural that I—Oh.” He winces. “No, no. It’s … It’s way too soon to move in with my boyfriend, huh? We’ve barely known each other three months. Oh, God, I’m one of those guys who moves too fast, aren’t I? Maybe this was all a bad idea …”

“Yeah, it was,” I snap. “A bad fuckin’ idea. And not your first bad idea. I heard about the pill.”

“How’d you hear about that?? Ugh, Brett. We should probably move before we’re hit by a bus.” Connor grabs my hand—surprising me—and pulls me with him to the other side of the street as a car whizzes by, honking angrily at us.

We slip through the doors of our last resort: a place I just remembered suggesting to the kid called Club Spades, the logo of which has the name over a diamond with a broken heart next to it. We take a pair of seats on the side, not wanting to mess with the throng of sweaty, hairy men conglomerating in the middle. Some pair off and go through a curtain in the back which, for a