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Sometimes I forgot just how good of a friend Rat was. It’d be easy to look at the beach bum and think he was as shallow as a teaspoon, but that wasn’t accurate. We’d been friends for years and he was always there when I needed him. Of course, he wasn’t the best at sharing big emotions or wanting to get all involved too personally in my feelings, but when he said something, you could count on it being heartfelt.
“Can I confess something to you?” I asked, kicking my feet and drawing alongside his board. He grabbed my board’s edge to pull me closer. “I like Cole more than I’m admitting to him.”
He scowled at me. “That’s fucked up, bro,” he hissed, shaking his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t do that bullshit to him.”
“Whoa, buddy,” I said. “What?”
“Don’t act like the rest of us, C. That ain’t you, bro.”
Rat turned away from me, still shaking his head. I tugged on his arm to get him to turn back. “What are you on about?” I asked.
He turned toward me, a frown still evident on his disappointed face. “Fuck, man! I count on you, bro. You’re the guy that doesn’t do shit like that,” he lectured. “Don’t be that douche, bro.”
“Relax a second. What are you talking about?”
He waved a dismissive hand my way. “I look up to you, bro. Believe it or not, I listen to what you’ve been preaching. I have for all these years, too. Your example is important to me, fucker.”
Rat sat staring at me like he’d discovered a fraud or something. He was angry with me. “What’d I say?” I asked, feeling devastated by his outburst. “Correct me then, buddy,” I encouraged.
“You just said you liked Cole more than you’re admitting to him, dude. That shit ain’t cool. Aren’t you the dude that preaches saying what you feel? Admitting your truth?”
He was right. I had said that, but I felt like I was just trying to engage him in a personal area of my life, my worries, etc. He’d heard me though. He’d caught the bullshit that I’d admitted to, and he was spot on.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “You called me on it and that’s cool. I’m not proud, to tell you the truth.”
“Then why’d you say it?” he asked. “Tell the poor dude already. I ain’t even gay and I can spot a dude-match a mile away, bro.” Rat laid back on his board and stretched out, his ripped stomach on display. He covered his eyes and continued. “He’s your type, bro. Clint was cool and all, but he wasn’t as old as you like your men.”
“Look at you analyzing my type. Maybe we should be talking about your type of guy.”
“You wish, bro,” he stated. “But I’m telling ya, if I was to fuck a dude, it’d be you. You is pretty as fuck.”
“Well, aren’t you a sweet talker?”
He sat back up. “But we both know I ain’t your type. You like them successful-looking dudes. Wall Street and shit.”
I laughed at his nickname. I’d called Perry Wall Street before, and Rat was correct. “Funny you say that though,” I began. “David, my first serious boyfriend, was a jock and a broke sports bar owner. Clint was a broke construction worker before he won all that money in a lawsuit. Neither that much older than I am.”
“That might be true, dude, but you was talking about older dudes back in high school, and they were always in suits and shit. Bankers, lawyers, doctors, all those fancy types,” he said. “You remember Bodie’s stepdad? You know, the first stepdad, not the newest one?”
“Mr. Mitchell,” I reminded him.
He snorted a laugh. “See, fucker? You still know his name,” he said. “Now that dude had your panties in a twist, remember? Always wanting to hang at Bodie’s so you could drool over his old man.”
He was right. Lyle Mitchell was a stud. I was sixteen, maybe seventeen, trying my best for him to notice me. I fantasized nonstop about him. He sold medical equipment and always wore a sharp suit. He had style and a body that made my boy brain go crazy. Yeah, I knew my type even back then.
“Damn,” I reminisced. “Mr. Mitchell was the man.”
“And Cole Hicks is ten times that, bro—and I ain’t even gay.”
“True. Plus, I don’t think Cole is chasing skirts nonstop either.”
We chuckled at the memory even though Bodie’s mom was a mess after Mr. Mitchell took up with the nineteen-year-old at Dairy Queen. I liked Bodie’s mom. She was into crystals and tarot cards. She claimed to be clairvoyant, actually. Told me once I’d meet a man one day that would whisk me away on his private jet. Truth be told, back then I wished I’d been the girl at Dairy Queen.
“You love him?” Rat asked, drawing me out of my teenaged memories.
