KEATON
I stop listening about two seconds after my father starts talking. There is nothing less interesting than (the ironically named) interest rates.
But Luke takes to this shit like a duck to water. He’s taking notes and asking follow-up questions using terms I don’t understand and never will.
My father eats it up, too. All he ever wanted was for me to take an interest. But I really don’t understand why. The man is hardly starved for attention. He runs a business where literally hundreds of people hang on everything he says.
He isn’t terribly interested in me, either, unless I’m talking about one of his favorite topics. Those are, roughly in order: business, football, and Alpha Delt. That’s the part that makes me feel stabby. It’s fine to be jazzed up on your own interests. But to assume that your favorite things should be important to everyone else? It’s both self-centered and ridiculous.
The waiter sets a plate down in front of me, and my mood lifts a little. I tuck in to my plate of pancakes and bacon. Carbs, salt, and fat are utterly restorative.
For a while, Luke is too busy taking notes to eat. But then he and my father eventually dig in, still talking about “equity upside” and “implied volatility,” whatever that is.
I’m irrelevant to this meal, and it’s glorious.
“Thank you so much,” Luke says when they finally run out of nerdy little details to discuss. “I am so getting an A on this paper.”
“As well you should,” my father says, draining his mimosa. “You’ve got the analytical part down. Keaton is going to learn all about it this summer, too.”
Fuck.
“Excuse me one moment,” Luke says, pushing back his chair. “The men’s is…?”
I point toward the back corner of the room, and then that fucker abandons me here with Dad. He struts away from the table, and my eyes follow him, because I feel reckless and it’s just dawning on me that I have a confidence fetish.
“Great kid,” my dad says after Luke has disappeared into the bathroom. He gestures to the waiter for more coffee. “He’s Alpha Delt too, right?”
“Yup,” I say with a sigh. “Actually, he’s our president elect.” I might as well come clean about that.
Dad blinks. “No, you are.”
“Not true.” I shake my head. “I dropped out on election day, because I don’t actually want to be president, and he does.”
“Why?” Dad gasps.
“Why would anyone want to be president? Good question.”
His face reddens. “Don’t be flip, Keaton. Why did you drop out?”
“I’m a loyal member of the frat, Dad. I love Alpha Delt. But I was only running because you wanted me to. And that wasn’t a good enough reason.”
“But why wouldn’t you want to be in charge? That makes no sense.”
“Because I’m not you. And that would make plenty of sense if you could ever figure out that I have interests, too. They’re every bit as valid as yours.”
“Watch your tone,” he hisses.
“I watch it all the time,” I whisper. “But then you don’t hear me.”
Luke is approaching the table now, so Dad clamps his jaw shut. He won’t make a scene. It’s not his style.
Instead, he signals for the check. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he says to Luke. “You’re the next president of Alpha Delt.”
“Thank you, sir,” Luke says carefully. “My first order of business will be to move the finances into Quickbooks. Right now they’re using the receipts-in-a-shoebox method of accounting.”
“Ouch.” My father chuckles. “It’s good of you to bring us out of the stone age.”
“I’ll try.” He lifts his hand just as the waiter approaches, and so the guy passes the check to Luke.
“Oh no,” Dad says. “It’s always my treat.”
“It’s already taken care of,” Luke says, flipping open the wallet to add a tip to the receipt and sign the bill. “You saved my finance grade, and I’m grateful.”
He must have slipped a credit card to the waiter when he went to the men’s room. Sneaky.
Dad beams at this bit of trickery. He doesn’t care about the money, but I can tell that Luke has impressed him.
Isn’t that hilarious? We’re both a little obsessed.
Luke thanks him profusely before we go.
Dad wishes him the best of luck. And then he slips a business card from his pocket. “Call this number on Monday. Ask my secretary to give you the email address for Chad Christy, the guy who runs our summer internship program. And when you write to Chad, you make sure to tell him that I sent you.”
Luke blinks. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure. Great meeting you. And call me tonight, Keaton. We have a conversation to finish.” He doesn’t even look me in the eye when he says this.
Oh joy.
We get back into my car, and I let the engine warm up. “You can’t just accept a favor without picking up the check, can you?”
“Nope,” he says. He’s staring at the business card in his hand.
“You might as well call about that internship, though. I’m seventy-five percent sure there’s going to be an unexpected opening in the finance department.”
Luke looks up. “He doesn’t even know you’re applying for that thing on the boat?”
“Nope. Didn’t want to have that fight until I got the acceptance letter.” It’s going to be so much worse than the fight we just had.
“I can’t take the internship.”
“Surely you don’t consider that to be charity?” I snort. “Every company has cushy internships.”
“No, I mean I can’t swing it. It will pay a stipend, but it won’t be enough to live in New York for three months. And we’re not exactly commuting distance here. Does your dad drive over two hours for brunch every week?”
“Not really. He takes the car ferry from Huntington on Long Island. He does it to avoid going to church.”
I pull out of the parking lot and head back toward campus, feeling disgusted by life. Luke wants the internship but can’t afford it. I don’t want it at all and shouldn’t have to do it.
“What will he say when you bail on your internship?” Luke asks.
“That I’m lazy and ungrateful. That I refuse to work up to my full potential.”
“But none of that is true.”
“Luke Bailey!” I hoot. “I believe you just paid me a compliment. I promise not to let it go to my head.”
“Why did you invite me today, anyway?” he asks. “He’s pissed about the presidency.”
“We went over this. He can’t rip me a new one in front of you. Besides, I knew he could fix your problem with that paper.”
“Yeah. I thought maybe you did it to claim sexual favors.”
“It’s possible to do a favor just because, you know.”
“Possible, but rare,” he says.
“You are a piece of work. I might claim sexual favors just to put your mind at ease.”
He gives me a hot look that I can feel even without taking my eyes off the road. “Maybe it won’t be only my mind that’s eased.”
“Now you’re talking.” I reach a hand across the console and brush my fingers across his crotch. My increasing boldness surprises me. “When? Now?”
“I should write this paper first.”
I groan.
He laughs. “You’re probably sore anyway.”
“So?” Athletes don’t complain about pain.
“So that’s off the table.”
I can’t quite grasp the disappointment that fills my chest. “Forever?” I find myself asking. The look he gives me says he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“For today.”
That tight feeling in my chest eases. My voice sounds too husky, and far too needy, as I say, “But…it’s going to happen again?”
His low chuckle heats the air between us. “Yeah,” he finally drawls. “It’s going to happen again.”
