Page 18 of The Bartender Special

Benny threw his legs over the side of the bed and John McClaned his toes into the carpet with a quick toe scrunch up. He'd call Jack, send Carol a message, then stay in Callum's house and sulk for three weeks straight, Ethan be damned.

He’d figure out the ending to his own story in the time between. Wasn’t deciding to not come clean about his feelings an ending too? He could be The Sopranos finale of unrequited first love.

No answer was the answer.

The doorbell rang as Benny nodded to this somewhat unexciting future.

He eyed the old Sailor Moon alarm clock on his nightstand. It was just after nine in the morning. His phone was next to it, flipped upside down as he ignored the online world. He waited for it to vibrate with a new call or text.

It didn't.

Which meant whoever was at the door was either weird, rude, or didn't have his number.

Or it was Mrs. Jane who lived across the street, who was all three rolled into one.

Joy.

Benny hoped Mrs. Jane wasn't still a stickler about what was deemed appropriate for a young man to be wearing when greeting company—he was still smarting from the long-winded, heavy-handed speech he'd been given at seventeen when he'd had the audacity to go to the mailbox wearing a Snorlax pajama onesie.

If it was Mrs. Jane now, Benny doubted she would approve of his current pajama set.

The top read Currently Out of Order and the pants were patterned with pictures of dogs wearing sunglasses.

Yes. Very adult of him indeed.

Callum had repainted the front door to an odd but endearing deep green, but the peephole had been fogged over since Obama had first taken office. Benny ran a hand through the messy chaos that was his hair and opened it, ready to defend his right to be frumpy when at home.

Mrs. Jane, however, wasn’t the one standing on the doormat.

“Hello, sweet cheeks.”

Benny’s libido went from yesterday’s state of slightly intrigued to Veronica Mars is on the case.

Jack Knox was wearing a simple tee, gray shorts, red Chucks, and a smirk that zipped Benny’s back straight. His face flooded with heat.

Then his stomach dropped as he realized Jack wasn't alone.

Carol Fucking Robertson was standing at his side wearing spandex and a smile rimmed with gloss and glee.

“Hi?” Benny grabbed the door and tried to hide his body behind it. Carol's gaze had already dropped down to his dog pants. Then she was all perfect white teeth. “What are, uh... What's going on?”

Jack shook the coffee cup in his hand.

“Well, I was at the café and called to see if you wanted a coffee,” he said. “When you didn't answer, I thought I'd surprise you with one anyway.”

Benny was so confused—so very confused—that he accepted the coffee in one hand while trying to keep the door blocking him as much as possible with the other.

“Oh, thank you.”

Had he manifested this?

Had he thought about the two of them too intensely and somehow summoned them both to his doorstep?

Jack nodded toward Carol. His expression gave nothing but its charm away.

“Carol here just so happened to be on her daily run when I was walking out. So we decided to walk here. Together.”

Carol reached over and gave Jack's arm a squeeze. She did one of those light, airy laughs.