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ERROL

I ’m a dumbass. When I finally get home after my shift is over and the bar is closed for the night, I sit down at my kitchen table and put my head in my hands with a groan.

“You’re such an idiot,” I chastise myself out loud. “You think Aaryn fucking Knight cares about seeing a picture of your grandfather, you moron?” I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose.

Those firefighters give me a headache every single time.

At least they’re decent tippers. But I’m annoyed that tonight they chased off Ran, even if inadvertently.

Although I guess I should at least be grateful that there was some sort of union event for retired linemen today that kept most of the bar’s daytime regulars away.

Maybe it’s just as well that the firefighters interrupted us, though. I was trying so hard to play it cool, but I know the feelings I was trying to hide eventually would have slipped out.

I thought about Ran coming back into my life often over the years, but I gave up hope for a reunion a while ago.

After ten years, there was no chance in a million years that the mouthy nerd with the curly brown hair, sarcastic wit and smile that did something funny to my brain would ever pop back up in my life.

Sure, we were losers in high school’s social hierarchy, but we’d been losers together. It had been enough to get me through that hell. For so long, he was all I had. And after he left, I had nobody.

When my stomach growls, I get up with a grimace and go to the fridge.

The bar got too busy for me to grab food there tonight, although I probably ought to lay off the fried shit anyway.

I grab a couple of eggs, put a slice of bread in the toaster and promise myself I’ll eat a salad tomorrow —a promise I make and break about once a week.

My mind shifts to a more pleasant topic. Ran’s lanky frame sure as hell had more definition today than when he was a teenager. He was still slim, but he looked lithe rather than gangly.

He apparently managed to pick up a sense of style, too.

The trendy V-neck shirt underneath his slim-cut jacket teased just a glimpse of tanned, toned chest and was snug enough to show off a lean, taut torso.

His chunky, angular glasses were much better suited to his aquiline nose than the gold wire frames he used to wear; the tortoiseshell pattern brought out the depth and warmth in his hazel eyes.

Ran’s smile was still the same —a wide, infectious grin that always made me want to smile back. Before he came into the bar, I’d kind of known what he looked like these days, but it was a million times better to see in person instead of on a screen.

I couldn’t tell him that, of course, because it would have made me cringe to admit that I’ve been tracking his meteoric career and professional successes the whole time, down to having alerts set up that would ping whenever his name turned up in tech news.

Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that thing about his company.

I sigh. Errol being an idiot, part two. I was just so excited to see him, I couldn’t help blurting it out.

That’s not like me, but with Ran, it’s different.

I’ve always felt like I want to tell him everything.

As I sit down with my plate, I glance over at the clock on the wall.

It’s so late it’s almost early. I probably should’ve just skipped dinner and gone to bed.

My thoughts drift back to Ran as I eat. Most of the business articles I read over the years about him didn’t have pictures, but I knew what he looked like thanks to his social media accounts. I always felt just a tiny bit creepy every time I scrolled through his posts and photos.

It took me years until I finally caved and joined a couple of the more popular networks.

I guess I could’ve just connected with him when I did.

But by then, I was afraid that he wouldn’t remember me or —even worse — that he would remember me, but want nothing to do with his fellow loser once he’d gotten fit and low-key famous and probably filthy rich.

It’s not like I’ve been stalking him or anything. I’m just so proud of him. If I see him again, maybe I’ll get up the nerve to tell him that to his face.

It’s too late to hope for anything else, though.

I missed my chance to tell him how I really felt, to admit that somewhere along the bumpy road to adulthood, I started to see him as way more than a friend.

But I thought I had more time to figure out how to tell him.

I thought we’d see more of each other after high school ended and we both went our separate ways; or, more accurately, after he went onto an Ivy League college and I… I just kind of drifted along.

The absence of high school’s misery was such a wonderful novelty that for a long time, I mistook it for happiness.

By the time it hit me that maybe there was more out there, that maybe I could even dare to hope for happiness,my best and probably only shot for finding it was thousands of miles away, probably writing code in a glass geodesic dome, drinking craft beer and earning money practically in his sleep.

But there was a bigger problem. Ran had never given me any indication that he was anything but straight. The women with bright eyes and glossy hair who smiled out at me from his social media photos over the years seemed to confirm my assumption.

He was never going to be mine. Even if we’d stayed in touch, I was too much of a coward to tell him how I really felt. Ran meant too much to me. I was afraid to risk the friendship we had, and the memories of that. I needed to cling to the little sliver of him I was allowed to claim.

Curled up in bed and waiting for sleep, I squeeze my pillow tighter and kick myself for not giving him a hug in greeting. I try and fail not to think about the way he smiled at me. I try even harder not to get my hopes up that he’ll come back into the bar tomorrow.