Page 98 of Clinically Awkward

“You’re going to ask us to come for drinks with you and Colton,” Gabriel said. “And the answer is no. I have a wife and a daughter waiting for me at home.”

“I also have plans,” Nathan added quickly.

“I’m on call,” Hayden lied.

“You’re not on call,” Fitz said. “I checked the schedule.”

“Then I’m going home to enjoy my Friday evening in peace and quiet like a normal human being.”

Fitz turned to me. “Quinton?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” Fitz pleaded, his voice taking on a desperate edge. “I need backup. I need someone to make sure I don’t say something offensive or start another international incident.”

“You’re not going to start an international incident at a sports bar in New Haven,” Gabriel said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m very confident.”

“What if I get arrested again?” Fitz tried. “What if I end up in jail and one of you has to bail me out at 3 AM? Again?”

“Then we won’t,” Nathan said cheerfully. “We’ll let you sit there until Monday.”

“That’s cruel.”

“That’s consequences,” Hayden said.

Fitz looked genuinely panicked now. “Please. I’m begging you. I can’t do this alone. I’ll die of boredom. Or say something stupid. Or both.”

“You’ll be fine,” Gabriel said, already reaching for the door handle.

“We have faith in you,” Nathan added, not even trying to hide his grin.

“Minimal faith,” Hayden clarified. “But faith nonetheless.”

They were almost out the door when Fitz said, very casually, “Well, I suppose if you’re all abandoning me, I’ll just have to entertain myself.”

Something in his tone made us all freeze.

“What does that mean?” I asked slowly.

“Nothing,” Fitz said innocently. “Just that I’ll be at a bar. Alone. Getting drunk. And you know what happens when I get drunk and lonely.”

The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees.

“No,” Gabriel said.

“I get very... communicative,” Fitz continued. “Very emotional. Very prone to making phone calls. I might text people,” Fitz mused. “Long, rambling texts about my feelings. My regrets. My deepest desires.”

“Fitz,” Nathan warned.

“Or I might call someone,” Fitz said, looking directly at the reception desk. “Someone specific around 3 AM. Maybe I’ll serenade her again. Or confess something. Or both.”

“You wouldn’t,” Nathan gasped.

“I wouldn’t want to,” Fitz said. “But drunk me has very poor impulse control. You’ve all seen the evidence.”