#ocbd

[Read Part 1 Here]

2. Pierce, In the Lounge, with the Cigar

I stood awkwardly at the front door of the Sigma Nu house for a while, hemming and hawing over whether to actually follow through for the sake of maintaining a bit. Would my friends even find this shit funny, or was I wasting my time? Could some ironic playing along with the frat bros get me in deep trouble once they find out I tricked em?

But before I could decide either way, the door flew inward as a frat boy plowed right into me on his way out. We both fell down the front step and landed in a tangle. By the time we both made it back to our feet, we were more intimately acquainted than I'd ever managed on a first date.

The guy laughed and introduced himself as Pierce. He was dressed garishly in a light blue button down tucked into a pair of khakis, a bowtie, tan boat shoes, and a striped canvas belt. His hair was casually parted, clearly styled but careful to look like he hadn't touched it. His eyebrows were thick, with one almost permanently raised at a mischievous slant. Pierce's mouth followed suit, angled into a subtle smirk. He looked like such a prick, but also like the kind of dude you'd do the stupidest shit for just to make him laugh—and you could always count on him laughing.

His tone seemed friendly, but he had mirrored pit vipers on, so I couldn't really tell whether he was pissed or fucking with me when he asked what brought me to the house.

"Are you like, here for something dude? A delivery or...?" He pulled off his shades and looked down, found my hands empty. His smirk widened at an alarming rate. "Or like...you here to meet somebody?" He sounded so doubtful, that last syllable raised so high every dog in the neighborhood probably cringed. I almost backed out, almost walked away from the house without saying a word, but for whatever reason pierce's second eyebrow flicked up as a lightbulb went off over his head. "Wait are you, like, Walt, dude?"

My stomach dropped. How many of them already knew about me? And so soon? It was like a goddamn douchebag hive mind. He looks me up and down again, grins like he's holding back a laugh. "Nice, uh, sweatpants, man."

"Walter," I corrected, feeling somehow both tense and detached. Excited and ill at ease. And weirdly kinda turned on. His eyes were had the same weight as Geoff's, though they were a deep, warm brown. I held his gaze, wishing he'd keep on talking. So I wouldn't have to say anything. I guess.

"No way bro! So fuckin sick that you swung by man. My boy Geoff was hypin you up for real bro." He flung his arm around my shoulder and turned the two of us back toward the house, ushering me through the front door. "I was, like, totally about to hit the bars bro, but I gotta chill with you guys," he said, leading me to a sitting room three doors down the hallway straight back from the foyer.

Inside the room there were two dark green velvet couches along opposite walls, and some side chairs with the same upholstering gathered around a brick fireplace. A pool table sat in a windowed alcove behind the farther couch with plenty of space for play. Five frat boys were scattered there across the furniture, including Geoff, manspreading, drinking liquor on the rocks, and smoking cigars. Each outfit was more garish than the last. They were laughing stupidly at some joke about some drama professor, but stopped when they saw us walk in.

They looked at Pierce with a mix of amusement and respect as he walked across the room and plucked a cigar from the box on the coffee table. He tucked it in his mouth, and as he lit up he casually gestured to me. "Boys, this here's Walt. He's hangin with the crew tonight!" And they all turned to me and actually smiled, cheered "Let's fuckin gooooo!" as they clinked their glasses.