Grace and Halston are here.

     It's Friday night. I'm on a mission to get drunk and stop thinking about Dres.

     It's a noble mission, all things considered.

     All things being that Dres is ignoring me and my feelings for him have only amplified now that I know there's no possible way he can reciprocate them.

     I don't know what I was expecting to walk into the following day of work. I thought Dres would just fire me at this point. Maybe I was even hoping for it. Put a guy out of his misery.

     But it was worse than that. Worse than any cold shoulder I'd been expecting. Dres wasn't looking through me. He was looking right at me and treating me as nothing more than an employee. Which, like, yes, that was all I was technically speaking, but like was that really all I was?

     Whatever. It doesn't matter and I'm actively not thinking about it tonight. Nope. I'm on a noble quest to get drunk. A noble quest to stop thinking about Dres. Maybe I'll even find a hot hook up on Grindr. I deserved to feel wanted by somebody.

     So when Grace suggested we attend Louisa's party, I was more than down. Louisa's parties are always chill with ample alcohol to go around. Her older brother scores it for her and her dad's regularly out of town. No supervision, alcohol, and all the dating apps on my phone. Why the fuck not.

     I start the night with a few shots before I swap to beer. I want to get drunk but I also have to go home at the end of this and my mom's a freaking sleuth. And, anyway, I've got a meet the next day. The more buzzed I get, the more prominent my thoughts of Dres get, which is stupid. Whcih is not what I signed up for.

     I try to distract myself with some beer pong. And when that doesn't work, I throw back a few more shots before heading upstairs. I catch Grace on the landing. She's got Andre behind her, her hand holding his over her shoulder as she leads him downstairs. "You good?" she asks eying me.

     "Yeah, no yeah, 'm fine," I answer pushing forward because I don't want to be stopped.

     Upstairs, the party is just as alive. Flip cup's going on in the dining room and there's dancing in the living room. I don't really want to get involved with either so I head for the front door. Once I breach the outside, my head clears. The cool air nips at my intoxication, trying to bring me back.

     I need to walk some of it off. I'm too drunk too fast and I feel dizzy. I shove my hands into the pockets of my denim jacket, curling inside it for warmth as I start walking. It's a cool night, but the alcohol keeps me from feeling the full extent of it.

     Once I put some distance between Louisa's house and myself, I start running. I don't know why I'm doing it because I'm not wearing the shoes for a nighttime jog, but hell if I care. I like the adrenaline and how light I feel on my feet. My blood rushes to my core and my chest aches as it tries to pull air into my lungs.

     Down the road some, covered in the dark, is a man jogging with two dogs. He looks like somebody who does this regularly, nightly jogs, which makes me self conscious of the fact I'm jogging in jeans and am also kind of drunk. He's a dark figure, tall and lean, dressed in all black. The dogs flanking him on either side are energetically keeping up with his pace.

     There's a streetlight between us and I get there first, bathing myself in the warm glow. He slows down immediately, but his dogs don't, running up to me. I crouch to pet them, rubbing their heads and under their necks. They're puppies actually. One's a Husky and the other's a German Shepherd so they won't be little for long.

     "They're so cute," I say as they both fight for my affections. "Oh, you guys are just so friendly, aren't you?" I coo as the Husky rolls onto its back so I'll pet its stomach. I decide right then that the next time I see my mom I will argue us getting a dog.

     When the owner says nothing, I look up and it's Dres. Dres is the owner.

     I'm so surprised I lose my balance and fall back onto my ass. His puppies seize the opportunity to climb all over me but I don't care, too focused on Dres. He's staring down at me, his chest rising and falling quickly.

     "Oh," I say fumbling to hold back the German Shepherd as it goes to lick my face. "This is unexpected." He says nothing, tugging on the leash to pull the dogs away. His stare is hard to match so I avoid it, struggling to get to my feet.

     He throws a hand down at me but I shake my head, shuffling to my feet unsteadily as I mumble, "I got it."

     Once I'm standing, Dres shifts away from me. I try not to take it offensively but I'm still offended. Now that he knows I'm gay, and maybe realizes some extent of my feelings he's going to keep a certain distance between us? I want to tell him I'm not going to throw myself at him, if that's what he's thinking. I've got some semblance of self control.

     "You're drunk," he says accusingly.

     I frown. What does that even matter? "I didn't realize you had puppies. You never mentioned them."

     "I just got them," Dres says wearily, eying me.

     "What're their names?"

     He pauses and then says, "Charlie and Delta."

     I point to the Siberian Husky. "Charlie?" Then I point to the German Shepherd. "Delta?"

     Dres shakes his head, points to the Husky and says, "Delta," and then to the Shepherd, saying, "Charlie."

     "Cute names," I say as I pat Delta's head and ruffle her ears. "Charlie's kind of plain though. In comparison to Delta, anyway."

     I look up and Dres is eyeing me in a way that hits me low in the belly, makes my blood simmer in my veins. It's no good. Not when I'm drunk, and his hair is damp with sweat and slicked back. His shirt catches all the planes of his chest. I don't let my eyes drag further, nearly positive he's wearing sweatpants.

     "I'll see you at work," I say abruptly, turning to leave. Dres steps into my path before I can walk away, though, and his sweatpants are dark grey, more like joggers.

     "Where are you going?" he asks and I shrug, pointing in the general direction I was running towards before I ran into him. "You're drunk," he repeats.

     "Yes, that's usually what happens when you consume alcohol," I respond.

     "You're not old enough to drink," he says.

     "I'm not refuting that."

     He frowns, slightly. "So then why are you drinking?"

     I think it's a stupid question. Why does anyone drink, really? And, anyway, the answer is him. I'm not going to tell him that. "So you're a runner?" 

     I realize with the way he's built that of course he does some type of physical activity. I expected as much, but I always imagined he was more of a weights kind of guy. I could see him with a grungey garage gym, bench pressing late into the night. Running makes sense. A solitary activity for a solitary guy.

     He gives me a weary look before nodding his head. "Yes, it helps me sleep," he says more open and honest than I expected. I make a thoughtful sound, taken by surprise. "How are you getting home?"

     "My designated driver," I answer coyly.

     "Is this where the party is?" He gestures towards the houses beside us.

     I shake my head. "No, it's back up the street."

     "Then what're you doing down here?"

     "I wanted to take a walk."

     He goes, his tone all accusation, "You were running."

     I recant my statement. "I wanted to take a run."

     "Let me walk you back to the party," he says suddenly.

     I look at his shoulders, the tattoos that creep along his neck to his jaw, the nose ring that glints in the streetlight. All of the things that make him him. Dres is a stranger, I realize. I know nothing about this man.

     "Okay," I say before I turn back around and start walking in the direction I came.

     Dres keeps up with my staggered pace, standing close enough my jacket brushes his arm as we walk. "So you live over here, then?" I ask.

     "A few blocks over. Llewellyn Drive."

     "Oh!" I exclaim excitedly. "They've got the best deli. King's. Have you been?"

     Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dres nod his head. He's smirking a little. I don't know at what, though. "Yeah, I have." That's it. That's all I get. The elusive Mr. Gibson. "Who's your designated driver?"

     "You don't know him," I say and I'm not entirely sure why I say it.

     He's frowning. I can hear it in his voice, when he says, "No, no, I wouldn't, would I?"

     "His name is Tony," I tell him, honestly. Usually Halston is DD but she's been drinking moscato all night, started drinking it before we'd even left my house, so tonight it's Tony.

     Dres hesitates for a second, looking uncomfortable, and goes, "Is Tony...a good guy?"

     "Huh?" I exclaim turning to give him a look. "What?"

     Dres shakes his head. "Never mind."

     I blink at him, confused. We come to Louisa's house and I stop, turning to face him fully. "This it?" he asks, nodding his head up at the house.

     I nod. "Yeah. Uhm. Thanks for walking me?"

     "Don't mention it," he says with a small lift of his shoulders. I think he means it. That I shouldn't mention it. Neither of us moves. I stare at him, not sure what's going on; his expression gives nothing away. He says, finally, his voice quiet, "Just — don't do anything stupid tonight."

     I wonder what constitutes as stupid to him. Hooking up with a random boy? Is that stupid to him? Does he care?

     "I won't," I say and I mean it, deciding I'm holding out on Dres. Deciding I am an idiot.

     My alarm wakes me Saturday morning and, rather begrudgingly, I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom to shower. It's not the worst hangover in the world, but it's certainly not great, either. I take two Tylenol with my breakfast to help ease the throbbing in my head, thankful there isn't any nausea to accompany it. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea drinking before a work day or a swim meet. 

     It's going to be a long day.

     I get to work, clock in, and then take over the counter for Dolores, finishing up some orders she had started. Dres is nowhere in sight, not that it's all that surprising. He's been holed up in the kitchen during all my shifts lately. I don't expect that to change. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't, I decide, because today's not a good day to be distracted.

     The line grows and I'm happy to focus my attentions there, filling to-go boxes with cupcakes. I'm counting out four Espresso Your Love's when Dres joins me behind the counter, calling the next customer up. 

     I halt slightly at his presence, confused that he's joined me. It's not that busy that I need his help and since he's been in the habit of avoiding me, this is a sudden turn of events. He finishes a coffee order then steps out of the way so I can ring up the cupcakes.

     He leaves the last customer to me, stepping out of the way so he lean against the back counter, eyes tracking my movement as I work. I'm bothered by his presence, am trying not to be, and find myself utterly aware of every step I take to make a cappuccino and plate a Mint Condition cupcake.

     When the last customer walks away, he says, "You're here on time."

     I quirk an eyebrow at his statement. "Keen observation," I say. Dres makes a face like I just smacked him. My stomach drops and I regret my snarky tone almost instantly. "It's not like I have a habit of coming in late," I add, trying to alleviate the bite of my first response.

     He crosses his arms. "Do you make a habit of drinking on Friday nights?"

     "I fail to see what one has to do with the other."

     Dres gives me a look. I give him a look back.

     "You're opening up," he says abruptly.

     I balk. "I could say the same for you."

     We stare at each other and I think that's it, that this is all we'll ever be. Two people who don't say the things that matter. Maybe we're opening up, but not enough to get anywhere. If we're opening up than it's just to add space between us.

     He clears his throat, and goes, "Listen, about the other night..."

     I raise an eyebrow. "Yesterday night?"

     "No, the other other night—"

     I feel my face burn with embarrassment. "I'm not talking about that."

     Dres is frowning at me as he says, "I just—."

     I give a sharp shake of my head, meaning this. "No. You had days to say something and instead you just walked around ignoring me. So. As far as I'm concerned, its history."

     Dres sighs. "Okay."

     "Okay," I repeat with a little too much tone.

     He stays for a moment, looking like there's something else he wants to say. I'm done with this conversation though, and move to clean something, turning my back on him.