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3. Harrison

“Harrrrrryyy,” Gordon slurs, slapping me on the shoulder. He and a handful of the other players are already several drinks in. “Get ya self a drink and join the boys out back.”

Gordon is my best friend in the whole world, and overall badass businessman. He inherited some money when his father passed and was smart enough to invest it in a few of those crypto things before they really took off, and he used some of that to start his party planning business. Even with all his money, though, he’s still just one of the guys.

I weave my way through the crowd filling up his living room, toward the bar in the corner. Anyone who has never been to one of Gordon’s places might think he had it set up just for the party, but we know better. Gordon had this place redesigned when he bought it a year ago, and the three bars are a permanent fixture. One on the upper deck overlooking the back, a pool bar so you don’t have to leave the pool or spa to get a refill, and the third to the left of the rear doors leading outside. It’s the perfect party house, and he’s had more than a few parties since he moved in. I’m kind of over the whole party scene and seeing Stevie share pictures of his new little boy in our group chat only highlighted for me yet again how alone I am. But no matter how alone I feel, I’m done filling that hole with random men. Hookups are a thing of my past. Now I’m going to let the universe send me someone that deserves me and my amazing cock.

I grab a glass of red from the tray on the side of the bar and head out back. The Animal Control crew are there, sitting in lawn chairs under a big oak tree, laughing about something. Alan jumps up from his seat when he spots me.

“’Bout time you got here,” he says, pulling me into a hug. I get a waft of the beer on his breath as he stumbles and sits back down.

“Don’t worry, boys, the party can start now,” I joke, scanning the people outside. “Shit, Gordon, how do you even know this many people?”

He tilts his head back and frowns taking in the crowd.

“I don’t recognize half of them, but I’m a few ahead of you in the drink department, so I might know them.” Suddenly, his face lights up, and he leaps from the chair and runs through the crowd to the back doors.

He almost slams into a short skinny guy with a wrist cast and glasses before another guy that could be Gordon’s younger, beefier twin gets between them and takes the hit. He swore he had brothers, and there’s a photo of three boys sitting on an old car bonnet he insisted were them. I’ve known him for years, but never met either, and often joked they were total figments of his imagination. But this doppelganger could totally be one. Gordon grabs the uncasted hand of the skinny guy and drags him toward us, their shared red hair the only similarity I can see. He’s keeping his head down and is stumbling after Gordon while the other guy follows close behind.

“This is Arlo and Noah,” Gordon says, swaying a little.

Noah shakes everyone’s hands, but when he gets to me, he doesn’t let go.

“Noah James, how about you and I go get a drink?”

Gordon waves his arm between us. “Nope, Harry is off limits.” He looks me dead in the eye. “My innocent little brothers don’t need to be corrupted.”

I mock insult, pulling my hand out of Noah’s grasp to clutch at my chest.

Noah laughs. “How do you know I won’t be the one corrupting him?”

“You can go back to college now,” Gordon says, and Noah just shakes his head.

“I’m going to grab a drink.” Noah winks at me on his way past, then weaves his way toward the pool bar. Gordon has nothing to worry about. New Harrison isn’t looking to hook up with anyone, let alone his cheeky younger brother.

“Arlo’s my little brother, too, so be nice,” Gordon explains, still clutching Arlo’s other hand.

While Noah was a ball of energy at the outset, Arlo clutches a book against his front with his casted hand like it could somehow create a barrier between him and everything else in the world.

“I’m Harrison, but my friends call me Harry,” I say, and he turns toward me. His big gorgeous blue eyes lock on mine and my stomach does a weird spinny thing. I really should have eaten before I came.

“Hi,” he almost whispers, pulling his hand free of his brother and using it to tuck his red hair behind his ears. He really doesn’t look much like Gordon at all, not like Noah. They both have the same flame-red hair, sure. But Arlo’s is long and hangs loosely around his face like a curtain he can hide behind. It contrasts beautifully with his porcelain skin and bright blue eyes, and I find myself unable to look away. Gordon drunkenly wraps his arm around his brother”s shoulder and pulls him toward the couch and they sit.

“That’s Benny and Alan,” he introduces, pointing at them one by one. “And that one’s Phillip and Arthur, oh and Harry. Wait, you met Harry. Harry, this is Arlo, my little brother.”

Those of us still relatively sober laugh.

“We got it,” I say, leaning on the tree. “Arlo’s your brother, check.”

“And if any of you start on him, you be startin’ on me, so be nice.”

“We’re always nice,” I say with a chuckle.

“Not your kind of nice, Harry. Don’t you be hitting on my brother,” Gordon yells, pointing a finger at me.

Arlo blushes a bright pink, and I almost choke on my wine.

“Oh, darlin, I never… I wouldn’t… How much has Gordon had to drink?”

Gordon waves a hand my way and downs the rest of his beer. “Hardly nothin’,” he slurs, pushing back up from the chair and heading toward the bar.

Benny leans toward Arlo.

“You’re the writer, aren”t you?” Benny asks.

“Yep,” Arlo says, and I watch his grip on the book tighten. Is that his book? He was writing something about Banana Ball if I remember right. We all had to sign something that agreed we might be mentioned or referenced or something. I didn’t really read it all that well. The lawyers looked over it, said it was fine, so I signed.

“Do you know any of Gordon’s secrets we can use?”

I sip my wine, not really in the mood to drink tonight while the others grill Arlo for gossip on his brother.

“There’s really nothing I could tell you that you probably don’t already know. He doesn”t really keep secrets,” Arlo says, glancing my way. I smile, and he immediately adjusts his glasses and looks away.

“Well, that’s boring,” Benny says, standing. “I need another drink. You fellas want anything?”

Alan and Phillip stand.

“We’ll come, too. Someone has to do something about this music,” Alan laughs, and they leave.

“Come dance with us, Artie,” a woman calls from beside the pool, and Arthur downs his drink and shrugs. “Duty calls,” he laughs and then dances his way over to her.

Arlo lowers the book to his lap.

“Is it any good?” I ask and take a seat in one of the armchairs. The outdoor seating is supposed to be weatherproof, so the fabric has this scratchy plastic feeling against my arms.

“Huh?”

I nod toward his lap. “The book, is it good?”

He blushes. “Ahh, I hope so. I mean, I wrote it. I just came here to…he didn’t tell me he was having a party.”

“Oh, is it the Banana Ball book? That’s awesome. I’ll have to buy a copy.” I’ve probably read less than ten books in my life and most of them in college and only because I had to. But I’m not going to tell him that, because for the first time since his brother dragged him over here, he doesn”t look completely terrified. His shoulders relax, and he turns the book over in his lap.

“It’s a children’s book, you wouldn’t…”

“I have nieces and nephews I read to all the time. What’s it called?” It’s not a total lie. I do have two nieces and a nephew, but I don’t think I’ve ever read to them. They pretty much attack me the second I step foot inside my sister’s house, tackling me to the ground and holding me there until I give in. How my sister handles that much energy from three six-year-olds, I will never know. But for some reason, I want him to think I do. I want him to see me as the kind of guy that reads to his sister’s kids. I should read to them. I could read his book to them. I’ll have to call Beth later and ask when she’s next going to visit.

He shifts on the outdoor couch closer toward me and holds out the book.

“I based it on Gordon, and well, Banana Ball, and you all, too.”

On the cover is a guy in cartoon that is clearly modeled after his brother, the hair, the nose, it looks just like him, and he’s wearing an orange baseball outfit like the Animal Control ones we wear. He’s depicted standing like he’s just thrown a pitch, only the ball he’s thrown isn’t a ball at all, it’s a banana.

The title, Gordie Goes Bananas, is totally fitting. Turning a few pages in, he quickly grabs it from my hands.

“It’s silly. I only brought it ’cause he wanted a copy. You don’t have to read it.”

“I’m sure it”s great,” I say but don’t push, and he slips the book under his leg.

“Thanks. So you are a catcher, right, what’s that like?” he asks, and I lean back in the chair.

“It’s alright. I spend most of my time crouched so it’s rough on the knees, but I love it. Do you play?”

He shakes his head. “That’s all Gordon. He took me to the place with the automatic ball thing once.”

“The cages?”

“Yeah, that place. He wanted to teach me how to hit. It didn’t go well. I had a black eye for about three weeks.” He laughs.

We sit and talk for a while and when it gets cold, and I ask if he wants to head inside, he smiles at me and my stomach does the swirling thing again.

“Did you always want to be a writer?” I ask, sitting on the large sofa, one knee bent and on the seat cushion. This way I’m turned toward him and I don’t have to strain my neck to look at him while we speak. He mirrors the way I’m sitting, a relaxed smile on his lips.

“For as long as I can remember, yeah.”

“What do you like about it?”

His eyes take on a sadness that sends a pang to my chest and I want to take back the question, but I can’t.

“I love how the stories, these children’s ones, they remind me of my mom and dad.”

I know Gordon lost his dad a few years ago, to cancer. It was rough for him, and I expect just as rough for his brothers. His mother, though, I can’t remember him talking about at all.

“If you don’t want to talk about them, you don’t—”

“No, it’s fine. I mean. It sucks, and I miss them, but I’m okay.”

I nod. “It’s nice you are reminded of them in what you do.”

“Mom used to read to all of us when we were little. I remember her tucking us in at night and reading three books, always three books. Because each of us had a favorite and she would always let us choose. Arlo was pretty much a baby, so his books were always quick, and half had no words so mom would just make up her own stories about the images on the page.” His eyes take on that sad glassy sheen. “When she died, even though it had to be torture for him, Dad didn’t skip a beat. He tucked us in that night, and every night after, reading us three stories, just like she did.”

I lost both my parents back in high school, and me and my twin sister, Beth, hopped between foster homes for a few years before we both got into college. Our parents were not really the bedtime-story type.

We lose track of time, and when his younger brother staggers into the house, swearing black and blue “I’ll be fine by morning,” I find that almost everyone has gone home already.

“What’s in the morning?” I ask Arlo as Noah stumbles his way toward the stairs clutching the arm of a young guy I don’t recognize.

“I have a reading at a bookshop in the city at nine. With my wrist in the cast, I don’t drive, so Noah was going to take me, but it’s okay. I can get a cab,” he says, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He’s done it about ten times tonight, and each time, it draws my gaze to those stunning blue eyes.

“I can take you,” I offer, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, really it’s fine.”

“I don’t mind. I didn’t have any plans tomorrow anyway, and I’d love to see what a book reading is like.”

“I just have to sit in front of a bunch of people, hopefully just kids, and read the book. It’s silly. You don’t have to.”

“It doesn’t sound silly. It sounds great. But I get it, if you want to go alone, that’s fine, but my offer is there if you need it.”

He doesn”t change his mind, and after we talk for a short while longer, I catch him yawning.

“You should get some sleep for tomorrow,” I say, standing. “Do you have a ride home?”

“I’ll just crash here,” he replies, standing, too. “Thanks for tonight. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun at a party, well…ever.”

“I had fun, too,” I say, shaking his hand. His grip is light, hands perfectly soft, and I hold on for probably a beat longer than I should. “Umm, hopefully we’ll see each other again soon.”

“That would be nice,” he says, turning and heading upstairs. I walk out front to my truck, but the yawn that escapes my lips is long. Too long. I didn’t drink much at all, but I shouldn’t drive this tired either. I’ll just crash on the couch. It’s not like I haven’t done it a million times. But before I head back inside I spot one of the lights on upstairs. Is that Arlo’s room? I wonder then shake away the thought, and turn my attention to the night sky. The stars glisten like the million eyes of the universe are watching everything below.

“If you want my input,” I say up to the sky as if I’m talking to the universe itself. “Arlo is exactly the kind of guy I need.” If only he wasn’t my best friend”s brother.

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