Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PERCY
I’m not surprised to find Public School—the most popular bar just off campus—packed on a Friday night.
The fact that everyone just spent the week turning in essays or taking midterm exams only makes it rowdier.
I came here a few times during undergrad, and stepping inside now, I’m reminded why it’s been a handful of years since my last visit.
The floors are sticky and a girl who doesn’t look old enough to drink immediately bumps into me.
Thanks to Butch’s insistence that we work on my fast twitch muscles over the past couple of months, I manage to jump back fast enough that the red slushie drink in her cup spills onto the floor instead of all over my clothes.
She slurs an apology, and I give her a tight smile in return.
Maybe I should text Butch and tell him there’s been a change of plans.
We could go for a jog in the park or pick a different bar far, far away from campus, where adults hang out instead of barely legal children who can’t hold their booze.
“Percy!” I hear my name over the crowd, and I crane my neck to see John, along with a few other PhD students—Lanie, Marcus, and Bruce—sharing a booth.
Ugh, too late to turn around and get the hell out of here then.
I weave around tables and swaying bodies until I reach the little group.
While almost everyone else in the bar is downing beer or dangerous, fruity mixed drinks that are bound to leave them clutching a toilet before the night is over, John, Lanie, and Bruce each have a glass of wine in front of them, and Marcus is drinking what looks like Scotch.
Another drunk bumps into me and I stumble the last few feet towards the table, catching myself on the edge of the booth with an awkward laugh. Marcus gives the drunk a stern look and Lanie shakes her head, then takes a small sip of wine.
I’m tempted to ask why they picked this bar instead of going a few blocks away where we could have found somewhere quieter and more sophisticated, since they’re obviously not here to soak up the college vibes.
If I wanted to be generous about it, I could assume that it’s the anthropology major in all of us, wanting to experience the culture even if they don’t want to participate in it.
But I have a feeling that the looks and the headshaking are the true appeal.
To come in here and feel superior for a few hours over a couple of cheap yet overpriced drinks.
John gives me a not-at-all-subtle once-over and a slow smile forms on his lips.
“I thought you said you were bringing someone along. Did that fall through?” He glances around like I might have an invisible companion who’s about to shimmer into existence.
“He’s on his way.” At least that’s what the last text Butch sent said.
Not going to lie, part of me wondered if he suggested meeting here instead of coming together so he could bail at the last second, but I’m choosing to believe that he wouldn’t do that.
I look towards the door, and I spot Butch in the throng.
My stomach flutters the way it always seems to any time I set eyes on him or even think about him.
It only takes a second for him to spot me, and as soon as he does, a big, goofy smile stretches across his whole face.
I wave, even though I know he sees me. He points at the bar, and I nod, then turn back to my friends.
Or maybe colleagues is a better word? Cohorts?
Peers? Friends just sounds like a strong way to describe the passing interactions I’ve had with any of them.
Lanie and I co-TA’d a class together last year, but even then, almost all of our conversations were about the professor or the students.
I don’t even know what she’s writing her thesis on.
I snag a couple of empty chairs and drag them over so we won’t have to squish into the booth, and Butch appears with a pitcher of beer and a stack of plastic cups.
“Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Butch,” I introduce him. “Butch, this is John, Marcus, Bruce, and Lanie. They’re all getting their PhDs in anthropology as well.”
“Nice to meet you, guys. First round is on me,” he says, setting everything down on the table and cranking up his friendly grin to a thousand.
For a second, I’m too focused on the way Marcus barely holds back a look of derision at the pitcher of beer to notice how Butch is dressed. But as soon as I do, I have to blink several times to make sure I’m not seeing things.
He shrugs off his jacket and instead of his usual gym-appropriate attire, or even the jeans and T-shirt combo I’ve seen him wear several times, it looks like he’s raided my closet.
Well, except for the fact that all the clothes actually fit him—kind of—and mine definitely wouldn’t.
He has on a light-colored polo shirt, stretched tight across his chest and straining to contain his biceps, like if he were to flex the whole thing would just burst into scraps of confetti.
The khaki pants he’s wearing fit better but still look odd as hell on him.
Not to mention the loafers he finished the look with.
“Butch, what—”
He cuts me off with a quick kiss. “So, this is a college bar, huh?”
“A bit cliché, right?” Marcus chuckles and swirls his glass, the ice clanking against the sides, before taking a sip.
“Totally,” Butch agrees, pulling two cups off the stack and pouring beer into them. He hands me one and then glances around the table. “Anyone else?”
“I think I’ll stick with wine,” Lanie says. That at least sounds polite compared to the way John simply snorts at the offer.
“Where did you go to college, Butch?” Bruce asks. “I’m guessing not U of C if you’ve never been to Public School before.”
“Oh, uh…” Butch takes a sip of his beer and clears his throat.
I put my hand on his arm and give Bruce a tight smile. “Butch was smart enough not to put himself into a quarter million dollars of high-interest debt. Unlike the rest of us.” I throw in a laugh so I sound a little less bitchy.
“Preach.” Lanie raises her glass. “I’m thinking of starting a Fans page. If showing strangers my asshole can start to pay down some of the balance before I graduate, then dignity be damned.”
I snort a laugh into my drink and give her a grateful look.
“You really can’t put a price on a good education though,” John says, his attention fixated on Butch and his expression less than friendly. “So, what is it that you do without any kind of college degree? Bouncer?” He eyes Butch’s physique again, and I bristle.
“Fitness trainer. That’s actually how Percy and I met.”
“Fitness trainer?” John echoes dryly.
Butch sits up a little straighter, and my stomach twists itself into knots. I shouldn’t have subjected him to this. I should have known that these guys would be elitist snobs.
“Yeah. But we don’t need to talk about work all night.” Butch looks down at his hand, subtly glancing at his palm, then back to John. “Let’s talk about something more interesting, like, uh, philosophy.”
“Philosophy?” Bruce repeats with a cold laugh.
“What were you thinking, Butch?” Marcus says his name like it’s a punchline. “Moral relativism? Existentialism? Dialectical materialism?”
“Maybe the philosophy of push-ups.” John snorts a laugh into his drink.
“Alright,” I interject, setting my cup down with enough force that beer sloshes over the sides onto the table.
“You guys are being complete assholes. Good for all of us, we know big words and memorized a lot of books written by dead guys with suspect morals and beliefs. Thanks for the invite, feel free to shove it up your ass next time.”
I shove my chair back noisily, and Butch looks startled as I stand up, but he follows without argument. I’m almost positive he gives them an apologetic look right before we storm out.
BUTCH
Percy’s footsteps are heavy, and his breathing is harsh, the cold air turning each of his exhales into a puff of fog in quick bursts as I follow him down the block, away from the bar.
My heart is in my throat. I didn’t even make it through one drink without embarrassing him.
Hell, I barely opened my mouth before they all clocked me as being out of place.
Do smart people not drink beer? I should have asked Ezra when he was helping me shop for clothes and giving me pointers on topics to talk about.
I should have asked more follow-up questions too.
Although I would have run out of space on my hands for more notes.
Who knew philosophy was such a can of worms. Good thing I didn’t ask what books everyone was reading like he suggested.
That John guy probably would have known immediately that the last book I read was The Great Gatsby in the ninth grade, and I didn’t even make it past the second chapter before trying to decipher what the hell the author was talking about gave me a headache.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as we round the corner and Percy finally slows down.
“What?” He turns towards me and frowns.
I shake my head and rub the back of my neck. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends. I should have seen that coming. I’m never going to fit in with them. Guys like that—”
“Guys like that are insecure assholes.” He takes a step closer.
He tilts his head up and slides his hands under my jacket.
“Seriously, fuck them. Those aren’t my friends.
They’re just people in the same PhD program.
I didn’t know they would be such elitist pricks to you, but I should have guessed.
And I’m the one who should be apologizing for subjecting you to that. ”
“He was right though,” I mutter, glancing back. I’m not exactly expecting John or anyone else to march out here and insult me some more, but I wouldn’t be surprised either.
“He’s not,” Percy says firmly, sliding one of his hands out from under my coat and bringing it up to my face like he wants to make sure he has my full attention. As if he’s had anything less than my full attention since he agreed to arm wrestle me. “You’re smart, Butch.”
I open my mouth to argue, to point out the lifetime of proof I have to back me up on this one, but he covers it with his hand before I can say anything.
“I don’t give a shit that you weren’t great at school.
That’s one small part of life, and it doesn’t make you smart or not.
Being good at school just means you’re good at school.
” He kisses my chin softly. “You’re smarter than me in a thousand ways.
You have emotional intelligence that most people will never match, you learned how to coach people without ever taking any classes, you know all that stuff about nutrition and muscle groups. You are smart.”
He lowers his hand and loops both arms around my neck.
“Yeah, I guess.” I hear the logic in everything he’s saying, it’s just hard to shake a lifetime of teachers and other people telling me I’m an idiot. But if Percy believes in me, if he sees something more than just a dumb jock when he looks at me, maybe that’s enough.
“Do you know why I decided to go for my PhD?”
I shake my head.
“Because I was terrified of what the hell I would do when I couldn’t fall back on school anymore.
I'm still scared shitless of it. Plus, I think part of me hoped that if I learned everything I could about every aspect of every culture in human history, maybe I’d find some kind of answer about life and about myself.
” He chuckles and then tugs his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I’m good at school, but I don’t know if I’ll be good at anything else. ”
“That’s crazy talk, Rocky. I haven’t seen you fail at a single thing yet.”
“Mm.” He brushes his lips across my chin again.
I can feel the shape of his smile against my skin, and it makes my heart beat faster.
“Maybe we just need to keep reminding each other that those rude, insecure voices in our heads don’t know shit.
Actually, your sexy coach voice is drowning out that other one more and more every day. ”
“Good.” I card my fingers through his soft curls. “The only voice I want echoing in your head is me telling you that you’ve got this, no matter what it is.”
“Back at you.” Percy’s next kiss lands on my lips, just as brief as the last couple of pecks. “And for the record, if you wanted to, I know you could pass that certificate program.”
“You really think so?”
“I really do. I could even give you some study tips if you wanted. You don’t have to do it to impress me though. You’re already the smartest, sweetest, most amazing man I know.”
I grin and slide my hands down to cup his ass cheeks, pulling him even closer to me.
“You have some kind of crush on me, Rocky?” I tease.
“Little bit.” He holds up his thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart.
“That’s good, because I’m pretty wild about you too.”
“I think I’ll like you even better when we’re out of this cold,” he says with a laugh, and I notice that the pink in his nose and cheeks isn’t a blush anymore.
“Good call. My place?”
Percy nods. “Come on, the next bus is in three minutes and we’re a block away from the bus stop.”
I give his ass a playful smack and then let go of him. “Then I guess we’d better run.”