2. Bradley
Bradley
T he Value Save. The grocery store on the edge of town and closest to my house.
My house.
It's still so fucking hard to say that. Three days since the funeral and I still choke on the two words when I say them. I'd still be glued to my laptop looking for a job, any way to dig out of this hole I've found myself in, but it's been fruitless.
The only damn places hiring I’m either unqualified for, they want a college graduate, or I’d be slinging burgers and scrubbing toilets for minimum wage. Yet, I have an interview tomorrow at Moe’s, the local burger joint and my old hangout from high school.
I grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white and scream. I don't care who hears me or thinks I'm crazy. The anguish and frustration have been building, and I feel like a volcano on the verge of erupting, ready to decimate anyone in my path.
I hate this feeling. But the refrigerator is empty except for a jug of soured milk and the only thing in the cabinet is some Metamucil. Neither sound appetizing. Normally I'd order a pizza, but money is tight, and I need to stretch it out and make it last.
“Get it together, Bradley. In and out. That's what you're going to do. Then it's home to look for some more jobs,” I mumble softly.
Turning off the engine, I open the door and step out onto the concrete. Looking around, I'm glad to see they don't look that busy. Maybe twenty cars in total in the parking lot.
I cross my fingers, praying I don't run into any of my Nana’s friends. They mean well but I'm so exhausted from all the ‘I’m so sorry’ and ‘she was such a good woman, she'll be missed’. All of those things I'm firmly aware of but don’t want to hear anymore. They just remind me of what I lost.
The automatic door slides open and I step inside, pulling out a buggy and making my way around the store. I keep my head down, hoping that if I don't make direct eye contact with anyone, I can make it in and out without a single conversation.
I roam aimlessly up and down the aisles, going for anything that doesn't require skill to cook. Premade meals. Canned pasta. Cold cuts and bread. It's what I'm going to live off while I try to find a way to save my home.
Tossing a package of cheese into the cart, my eyes look up, landing on someone I haven't seen in years. Not since high school. The very man who helped me realize I was bisexual.
He still looks as handsome as he did then.
Broad-shouldered and effortlessly solid, he stands with that same quiet confidence, like the world could shift beneath him and he wouldn’t flinch.
His face is sharper now—more defined—with that chiseled jawline and high cheekbones that always made him look like he belonged in a magazine.
His blonde hair is a little shorter than I remember, styled up and back like he barely tried but still got it perfect.
And those eyes—icy blue, steady—don’t flicker when he looks at the young girl beside him.
My eyes stay locked on him, not with the attraction I held as a confused teenager, but in awe at the way he's smiling at the girl beside him. If memory serves correctly, she looks like an older version of his sister.
I don't want him to see me gawking at him, so I go to move my cart and escape down the household items lane.
I'm not quick enough.
“Bradley?” he calls and I freeze in place, forcing a smile as I turn to look at him.
“Scout.” It comes out awkward, slightly cold. But that's how I've felt since Nana became ill and was dying.
“I heard about your grandmother. I'm sorry, man. I remember how nice she was.” I nod in agreement, not wanting to cry. I've done it so much, I feel like a baby. “I would’ve made it to the funeral to pay my respects, but I had to work.”
“Yeah, it's hard. It's okay. She would understand.” I don't know what else to say, and I don't want to talk about Nana anymore.
“I can't believe I haven't run into you before now. How long are you in town for? We should meet up for dinner and drinks.”
Honestly, I don't know how we haven't seen each other.
It's most likely because I barely left Nana's house since I left school and came back. I had been too afraid to leave her alone. Terrified that something might happen to her while I was out. That she would die and I wouldn’t have been by her side.
“Nana had my focus. I didn't want to leave her side. Right now, I'm here for good. There are some things I need to do for her estate, and I need a job.” Then, under my breath, I mumble, “Like yesterday.”
“Maybe I can help you. Give me your phone.”
He holds out his hand, his eyes trailing from his empty palms to my eyes. Reluctantly, I reach into my back pocket and pull it out, handing it to him. Scout doesn't waste a second and quickly begins typing.
“There, you have my phone number and address. But tonight we're meeting at Paddy’s for some drinks.” He holds my phone out to me, and I see he's added his name to my contacts and sent a text to himself.
“Seriously?” I raise a brow.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He glances at his sister. “And I’ve got to run. Junie Boo has a big spa night to prepare for.”
“Face masks and glitter.” She beams.
I chuckle without even thinking about it. “Sounds intense.”
“You have no idea,” Scout mutters, steering her toward checkout. “Seven. Be there.”
“Okay.” I nod and give a curt smile as I take hold of my shopping cart and rush off down the aisle, ready to get out of here.
I sit in my car outside the hole in the wall bar, contemplating texting Scout and backing out. Sick. Yeah, that would be a good excuse. Maybe I've dropped a table on my foot and broken a bone, now I'm sitting in the ER.
A tap at my window has me jumping, gripping my chest as I breathe heavily.
My head shoots to the left as the tapping resumes.
Scout. Great. Now I can't leave. Unless I can really sell the lie to him.
He raps on the window again with his knuckles, smiling widely at me as he motions for me to roll down the window.
“Come on inside, man.” Then he grins. “Don't even think about skipping out. You're coming inside even if I have to drag you out of that car.”
I blow out a deep breath and roll my window up, turn off the car and wait for Scout to step back, then open my door.
“Dude, I can't believe you were going to ditch me like someone going on a blind date and not liking the person.”
“It's not that. I've just got so much on my mind with Nana's death and the house. Any other time I'd be excited to be hanging out, having a drink.”
Scout steps up beside me, his arm reaching around my shoulder, pulling me to his side as he guides me toward the building.
“Let's get a drink and you can tell me what's going on. Together, we’ll find a solution.” Scout gives my shoulder a squeeze before pulling his arm away.
“Your sister’s gotten big,” I tell him, trying to change the subject. “What's her name again?”
“Juniper. It's crazy how she's twelve now. Already acting like she's a teenager.” I can’t help but notice how he smiles when he says her name. Makes me wish I had a sibling.
“Shit. Remember when we were that age? What were we thinking?”
He just shakes his head and I'm glad I'm not in his position having to fight off horny little teenagers.
“Grab us a table and I'll get us a pitcher of beer.”
I nod as we head in different directions. The place is fairly crowded for it being so early, but I find an empty table set off to the side in a corner. Perfect for having a conversation.
Maybe Scout can help me come up with a solution to crawl out of this hole I'm in. I just wish Nana had talked to me before doing it. Let me know she needed help. I would've done anything I could so she didn't have to do what she did.
But that was Nana. Always putting others ahead of herself.
I tap my fingers on the table in a rhythmic pattern as I stare off into space. Can I really bare my soul to Scout? We ran in the same cliques in high school, went to the same parties and hung out. But when we graduated we went our separate ways. We drifted apart. Until today.
“Penny for your thoughts,” his deep voice says as he sets a glass down in front of me.
“Sorry.” I don't know why I apologize, it just seems like the right response.
Scout takes a seat, lifting the pitcher, and pours beer into each of our glasses.
“Okay, Bradley. No beating around the bush. What's going on?”
I grip the glass with my hand and sigh heavily. Then, for the next thirty minutes, I spill my guts. Telling Scout everything. How desperate my situation is. With every word I tell him a weight lifts off my chest. Being with Scout feels comfortable and I have no doubt he’ll become my best friend.
“Damn. That's a lot. Do you have a plan in place?” he asks, lifting his glass to his lips and swallowing some of the golden liquid.
“Got an interview tomorrow at Moe’s. It’s there or the supermarket. Possibly both with the amount of money I need to come up with to save the house.”
He leans back in the chair, lips pressed tightly together as he looks at me, almost as if he can see through me.
For a minute, I feel awkward. Not sure what the hell is going on before he leans forward, his forearms resting on the table.
“Is there anything you wouldn't do?” Scout's face is dead serious.
“I mean, I wouldn't kill anybody.” I chuckle, unsure of why he's asking me that particular question.
Scout lets out a laugh. Loud and straight from his gut.
“That's good to know.” He winks, and I’m even more confused.
“Scout, not that I don't appreciate you letting me vent to you, but what's with the odd question?”
“Much like you, I found myself in a situation where I needed money. And I came across an opportunity.” He picks up the pitcher, pouring the last of the beer into each of our glasses. Leaning forward, he flashes a smile. “Foxy’s Rent-A-Date.” He says the words like they mean something.
I furrow my brows in confusion.
“Gonna need a little bit more than that,” I tell him.
“It's a dating service. People hire you to be their arm candy. It's good money, and it's honest.”
“You want me to be a prostitute!?” I have to catch myself from screaming.
“No. It's not like that. There is absolutely no sex for money.
Foxy would lose her shit if that happened.
Generally it's people who have parties, weddings or some kind of event that they don't want to go to alone.
It's five hundred an hour with a three-hour minimum and she takes twenty-five percent of what you make.”
“So I'd make eleven hundred and twenty-five dollars for three hours for being someone’s date?” This has me thinking.
Scout laughs loudly, nearly spewing the beer he just swallowed. “Shit, man. Did you just do the math in your head?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Math is easy. So seriously, no sex and you make money like that?”
“Yep.” He leans in further. “But doesn't mean after the time’s up, if we're both down for it, there isn't some fucking happening. Foxy doesn't care as long as she doesn't know about it. Or anyone else.” He winks at me. “I'm getting us another pitcher. I'll be right back.”
Scout stands and makes his way to the bar.
My mind runs wild. Numbers weaving through my brain like a spider spinning a web. Money like that would take care of my debt and save Nana’s, no, my home.
Can I do it though? Be a date for someone and pretend like it's more than that?
I don't know how long I've been sitting there, going back and forth over it, when Scout sits back down.
“Is she hiring?” No need to get my hopes up if I don't have a chance of being hired.
“Yeah, pretty sure she is. I can give you the address to apply at. And hey…you’ve got a selling point.” He pauses to pour more beer in our glasses before continuing. “You're bi, so you have a larger market to make money.”
My eyes go wide. How did he know?
“How did you know? I didn’t come out until after I left for college.”
“Bradley, you didn't hide it as well as you think you did.”
I laugh.
“Besides, I caught you checking my ass out back then.”
I can feel my face heating, and it's not just from the alcohol. It's embarrassment at being caught even though it was years ago.
“It's okay. I'm hot. Bet there were a lot of straight guys that were turned gay by me.”
I can't help but laugh at his ego.
“I'm more gay than bi. Women are nice, but they're not really what I'm attracted to. I've slept with some, but it was more about them being a willing hole when a man wasn't around.” The beer must really be hitting me, with me being so open with Scout.
It's nice though. Having a friend to talk to that isn't an eighty-year-old woman.
“Do you think I have a chance of being hired?”
He gives me a hard look, scanning my body, even leaning over to look under the table.
“Fuck yeah. Put me down as a reference. Best thing is, you tell her your availability and she’ll work with it. I think you’ll do great.”
Fingers crossed what he says is true. But first things first. I need to actually get the job.
“Okay, now that we have a plan for you, let's have some fun.” Scout smiles widely before picking up his glass and downing the contents. “Let's do shots.”
Guess I'm about to have some fun.