“Are you talking about Stacy?” His client asks.

“Unfortunately. Of course, it was Stacy.”

“Whoa. I always knew that bitch was crazy.”

“No, no, no,” I say. “Back to the story. So, he was about to fight you and then what?”

“The bartender confirmed that I never hit her and I offered him a drink. Turned out, he’d just dumped a crazy ex the night before, so we just started laughing about them both over beers. He found out I did tattoos for a shop I used to work at across town, I did his first sleeve, and the rest is history.

“Hmmm. How interesting,” I say, now wondering who the so called “crazy” ex-girlfriend Dean dated was.

I wonder if he screwed her over, too...

“Moving on...” I change my tone. “Do you remember how you said you’d do anything to make me comfortable while I’m staying at your place?”

“No.” He smiles.

“I figured. So, I want you to know that I don’t feel comfortable with Dean living there with us.”

“Well, tough shit, Mia. And yes, I said ‘Mia’. He was here first.”

“No. I was here first. Hos before bros.”

“It’s ‘bros before hos’, Mia.” He shakes his head. “Why are you so wound up about him anyway? You hardly even know him, so let it go. He’s a cool guy, I promise. You’ll learn to love him.”

I already did...That didn’t work out....

I’m not sure why I don’t automatically launch into a tirade on why Dean is like the plague to me, or how he shattered my heart into pieces and deserves to be beaten to a pulp by Eric’s fists, but I don’t. Something tells me to hold my emotions back.

Eric stops his tattoo gun and looks up at me. “You know what? Go ask Angie at the desk to give you a few gallery brochures so you can focus on what you really came to Portland for. It’s to finally pursue your art dreams, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, so go focus on that shit for the rest of the day and then make sure you’re back at home in time for my party.”

“Party?”

“Yep.” His client looks up again, nodding slowly as if he’s about to pass out. “Third Thursday of every month. Can’t wait.” He nods one more time and falls off the chair and onto the floor. Hard.

“Fuck...” Eric jumps up. “I should’ve known he was drunk.” He grabs a few ice packs and waves me away. “Go look up the art shit, Mia. I don’t want to hear you shitting on Dean for at least three hours.”

“So four hours from now is fair game?”

“Out, Mia.” He points to the steps. “See you tonight.”

***

I stay away from home for as long as I can. I read every word of the twenty brochures his receptionist gave me, and bookmark each of the galleries websites on my computer so I can look them up later, and apply to their openings.

When the sun sets, and I force myself to head home, I can hear tons of loud voices as soon as I step off the elevator. Before I have a chance to unlock the door, it swings open and two guys stumble out with beers (and dates) at their sides. I step back as they keep stumbling toward me, clearly not in control of their bodies or minds right now.

I move inside the doorway and scan the living room. I see nothing but tattooed guys—very attractive, tattooed guys, and they are everywhere: sitting on the couch, laughing in the kitchen, and drinking in the foyer. There’s also a few couples in the hallway, caressing each other against the wall, looking as if they’re seconds away from fucking each other.

Confused, I walk into the kitchen where I find Eric. He seems oblivious to everything that’s happening and his full attention is on a pretty brunette in all red.

“Hey, Aim!” He looks up at me as I grab a water. “You find any potential jobs to apply for?”

“A couple.” I take a sip. “I thought you said this was a party. This looks like everyone is watching a game, except for the people who look like they’re going to have sex in your hallway.”

He laughs. “It is a party. UFC fight night viewing party.” He takes the water from my hands and replaces it with a beer. “I know it’s going to be hard for you, but try to relax. Try to be the opposite of what you normally are.”

“Fine.” I suddenly hear a familiar deep voice in the living room and Dean comes into view. He’s standing in the corner of the room, beer in one hand, his other hand wrapped around a blond wearing a tight black dress. She’s clearly into him, she’s whispering into his ear, and whatever he’s saying back, is making her blush.

As she turns around to face him completely, Dean’s eyes meet mine. They pin me right to the spot, preventing me from taking a single step.

I try my best to look away from him, but I can’t.

My heart starts to beat a rhythm I once knew years ago, but it quickly stops when his date pulls him forward and kisses him on the lips. Thoroughly.

Her hands are in his hair, her arms are around his neck and her body is pressed against him. But for some reason, his eyes are still locked on mine.

Disgusted with their kiss, I chug the rest of my beer and grab another one. Then I quickly slip through all the people in the living room and head out to the balcony. I notice another cooler stuffed with beers near the railing and quickly down the one in my hand, so I can have a third.

Ignoring the soft rain that’s falling over me, I shut my eyes and lean against the railing.

Do not let him affect you. Do not let him affect you. It’s been ten years, PLEASE do not let him affect you...

“So, I still affect you?” Dean’s voice is to my left and I can feel him stepping close to me.

I don’t answer, though. I don’t have to.

I hear him let out a sigh and then I hear the sound of him popping open a beer can. “I think we should set some boundaries, Mia. Since I clearly affect you—”

“You fucking revolt me.” I glare at him, taking three steps back.

“So, you are capable of talking to me today?” He rolls his eyes. “Why are you out here, since the fight is in there?”

“Surely you can ask the same question to yourself.”

“I’m not big on UFC fighting. I’m more of a football guy. Surely you remember that.”

“The Dean I remember hated football, but I don’t waste my time thinking about anything from the past.”

His lips turn up into a slight smile, and he looks as if he’s about to speak, but I beat him to it.

“For the record,” I say. “I want you to know, that whether you and my brother are butt buddies or not—”

“We're not butt buddies, we’re best friends.”

“Same thing—regardless of that, that doesn’t mean I’m your friend. As a matter of fact, I will never be your friend, and outside of this current moment, I hope our future conversations won’t last as long as this one has.”

“They won’t.” He grips the railing. “But considering we live together now, it means we’re going to be seeing each other a lot, unfortunately.”

“If it’s so unfortunate, why don’t you go and entertain your bimbo of a date instead of bothering me?”   I walk off, leaving him alone on the balcony. I force a smile onto my face and I walk back through the party, re-claiming my spot in the kitchen.

I try to calm down, but the more I think about it, the more questions that pop in my head. How much do they hang out? I also wonder why Eric’s never told me about Dean. Even though Eric and I haven’t talked as much as we used to over the past few years, we’ve still talked regularly. But then again, he never told me his business was doing so well either.

Dean returns to his date, his white V-neck t-shirt is damp and clinging to his abs, and his date clearly approves. I watch as she traces her fingers along every muscle in his chest, and as she playfully tosses her brown, wavy hair against him. I can’t help but wonder how long they have been together and if they’re serious.

I notice a ring on her finger, and I immediately look for one on his—thinking I’ve missed it somehow, but there isn’t one.