Karma's a Bit*h

by Este Holland

  Archer’s body tensed, and I wondered what had happened. I met his gaze and sighed. “You’re so pretty.”

  Archer’s smile was sad. “I’m sorry your dad is in jail.”

  “Incarc”—I hiccupped—“incarcerated.” I wiped my nose on my shirt sleeve. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” Archer smoothed the sweaty hair from my forehead. “You want some water?”

  I nodded. Archer turned to the bartender, and I gazed out at the bar with one hand in Archer’s back pocket, so I didn’t lose him. “Oh, hi, Titus!”

  Titus grinned at me. “Hi, Jake. You aren’t a big drinker are you, cutie?”

  “Nah. I’m fine.” I waved that away. “How come you’re not playing with your friends?”

  “Those guys are better off without me. I like talking to you and your boyfriend.”

  I leaned closer to Titus. He had to duck ’cause he was so much taller than me. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Sure.”

  “He’s not my broyfrien’. He’s my boss.” I snickered. “We juss hookupped today. Wait.” I felt for my phone. “What time’s it? Maybe it was yesterday.” I shrugged.

  “Is that right?” Titus planted his elbow on the bar next to me. “Well, Jake, I gotta tell you, I’m surprised. I thought you two had been a couple for a long time. It’s obvious you like each other a lot.”

  I nodded along with his words. “It feels like it in here.” I rubbed my chest and enunciated carefully, “Do you believe in past lives?” I drank the water, open and waiting, in front of me and leaned onto Archer’s chest. I breathed in his scent as his arms came around me.

  “I think so. Do you?” Titus asked.

  “I don’t know how else to ’splain it. When Arch and me are together, it’s like we’ve been there a million times before.”

  Archer pressed a kiss to my neck. “That sounds about right,” he said.

  I smiled. I loved smiling. I loved Archer. I closed my eyes and gave my weight to him because he had me.

  Archer

  I shook my head with an affectionate grin as Jake slumped onto my chest.

  “Woo boy. You’ve got a live one,” Titus said on a laugh. “Offer stills stands, though. When he’s sober, of course.”

  I lifted a brow. “Not happening.”

  Titus laughed. “He told me you’re not his boyfriend, you’re his boss. So, what claim do you have?”

  I smiled, showing more of my teeth than necessary. “I’m working on it. I don’t want to push him too hard and scare him away.”

  Titus sipped his beer. “All right, pretty boy. Stand down. He’s too cute to not try.”

  I snorted. “Tell me about it. I’ve tried resisting. That lasted about a week and a half.”

  Titus laughed and tapped his beer against mine. “Hey, if you like someone, fucking tell them. Life’s too short for indecision.”

  Marri ran over. “Is he passed out already?” Cowboy stood behind her, frowning at something.

  “Afraid so,” I said. “Marri, this is Titus.”

  “Hi!”

  Titus nodded. “Miss.”

  I shifted Jake, so he was cradled more comfortably between my thighs.

  The cowboy scoffed. “Bunch of fags.”

  Marri whipped around so fast, she blurred in my vision.

  “The fuck did you just say?” Titus didn’t move an inch from his slouch, but his voice was glacier cold.

  “Don’t you talk about my best friend like that!” Marri quivered with anger.

  I wasn’t any better, but I couldn’t move Jake without hurting him. I shook him gently, in case we had to go. Not that some asshole could run us out, but if this turned into a bar fight, I had to protect him.

  “Mmm, quit.”

  “Wake up, Jakey.”

  Titus put a hand on me to still my movements. He winked when I gave him a questioning look.

  The cowboy eyed Marri but spoke to Titus. “I heard about queer bars in the city, but we thought this one was safe.”

  “Well, it ain’t,” Titus said. “So, why don’t you take your redneck friends and get the fuck out?”

  Titus’s biker friends moved closer, and the other cowboys did too.

  “Shit,” I breathed.

  “Hey!” Everyone stopped to gawk at the smallish, drunk man with his glasses askew. Jake struggled from my hold and staggered forward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He took a few steps toward the asshole cowboy. “We’re having a good time. You can’t ruin our fun with your stooopid face.” Jake hauled back and punched him.

  “Shit!” I lunged and grabbed Jake around the middle, pulling him away from the cowboy.

  The cowboys surged forward, but a piercing whistle ripped through the air and everyone froze. Titus crooked a finger at one of his friends, a guy as big as himself, and pointed at Jake who was once again asleep in my arms.

  The biker smiled, revealing a gold tooth. I returned it with an aborted one of my own. He slid his arm under Jake’s knees, then wiggled his other arm between us. I held his head as the guy lifted Jake like a child. I grabbed Marri’s hand before she could attack, and I hurried after the dude. He entered a door behind the bar and deposited Jake on a sofa.

  “Thanks, man,” I said.

  “No problem.” He slapped my shoulders and my knees almost buckled.

  Breaking glass and shouts came from the bar, and I winced.

  A chuckle rumbled in his chest like one their motorcycles kicking on. “Don’t worry. This happens at least once a month.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Titus doesn’t like homophobes, racists, or conservatives.” He grinned and headed out the door.

  Marri and I exchanged glances.

  “Are your friends okay?”

  “They left. That’s what I was coming to tell you guys.” Marri peeked out at the bar and shut the door fast as glass shattered.

  “Shit. Does it lock?”

  She pushed the little button in the knob, and I laughed.

  Marri shook her head and smiled at Jake. “Seriously? One shot?”

  “Well, to be fair, he also had beer at the jazz club and another one here. Before he spilled it on me.”

  Marri started to laugh, and I joined her. Something wooden crashed on the door.

  “Maybe we should call the cops,” Marri said.

  I sighed. “Phen’s gonna kill me.”

  Marri lifted a sculpted brow. I rolled my neck around, wishing I’d grabbed my beer, and sent a text to Greg.

  Chapter 14

  Jake

  Consciousness returned in degrees. I was lying on something soft and squishy. I blinked my eyes open, and harsh light seared my brain. I buried my face in the crook of my arm with a groan.

  “Hey, there, drunky.”

  “Unghh?”

  A chuckle. “It’s Archer. You’re safe. Marri is passed out beside you.”

  I squinted. He was right. Marri’s head was on the opposite end from mine, one arm flung over her eyes, drooling. I turned my squint on Archer, who was sitting in a club chair. He seemed fine, cool and casual, sipping from a steaming mug.

  “Wha’ time’s it?”

  Archer glanced at his watch. “Five thirty-three in the morning.”

  “We slept here?” I glanced around the room. “Where is here?”

  “The last bar we were in. You remember?”

  I flopped to the cushions and tried to think. “Cowboys and bikers.”

  “Right. Well…things got a little out of hand, and we ended up locking ourselves in the break room.”

  Archer stood and walked over to the couch. He kneeled and put a hand on my forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “Hungover. And I think something died in my mouth.”

  Archer smiled. “Hang on.” He stood and grabbed a bottle of water, then put two pills in my hand. “Tylenol.”

  “Thank you.” I tossed them back and guzzled water. “I really need a toothbrush.”r />
  “I can’t help you there, yet.”

  “Were you awake all night?”

  Archer shrugged, petting my face. “It’s not a big deal. I had to make sure you were safe.”

  “I’m so sorry I passed out.”

  “It’s okay. But I think we know your limit with alcohol in the future.”

  “Believe me, I’m in no hurry to repeat this experience.”

  “Come on. Let’s wake up Sleeping Beauty and get out of here.”

  I sat up and waited for my stomach to settle. I hoped for the Tylenol to kick in soon, so the pounding in my head would go from sledgehammer to pinball machine. Marri snorted and shot upright when Archer shook her.

  I laughed and grimaced. “Ow.” I lowered my tender head into my hands. Cool fingers kneaded my neck and I made a noise.

  “Hey,” Marri rasped. “No hanky-panky.” She dug a goober out of the corner of her eye. “I need coffee.”

  “Ditto.”

  Marri studied me with a big smile. “How much do you remember about last night?”

  I froze. “Oh, God. I know that smile. What did I do?” I swung around to Archer when Marri continued to smile.

  “Uhh…nothing…bad.”

  “You’re usually a better liar.”

  Archer grimaced. “Sorry. You may have punchedoneofthecowboys.”

  My eyes widened, and I choked on my own spit. “I did what?”

  “You didn’t hit him very hard. How does your hand feel?”

  I flexed my fingers. “Fine.”

  Archer nodded. “I don’t think you need to worry. Come on.” He helped me up, and Marri trotted after us into the bar. I stopped and stared. Broken glass and stools littered the floor.

  “Careful,” Archer said.

  We picked our way through the debris and out the front door. Streetlights and the blue-and-red lights of cop cars illuminated the scene.

  I took one look around at the cops taking statements from bikers, cowboys, and bachelorettes, bent over, and puked in the storm drain.

  Archer was there in a flash, holding me. “It’s okay, Jake. You’re not in any trouble.”

  I sucked in a breath. Or tried to. “Can’t breathe,” I gasped.

  “He’s hyperventilating,” Archer yelled.

  “I got a bag. Hang on.” An older cop, belly sagging over his utility belt, rushed to us, carrying a brown paper sack with grease stains on the bottom. He pulled out a couple of donuts and handed them to Archer. “Hold up. I missed one.” He grabbed a third, trying to balance them all.

  “For Christ’s sake, Jones! He can’t breathe!” Archer snatched it and put the bag to my mouth and crinkled it almost closed.

  I scowled at the Dinkin’s Donuts logo on the side and breathed in, inhaling the familiar scent of sugar and yeast.

  “Nice and slow,” Archer said, petting the back of my head. “You’re okay.”

  Archer’s soothing voice calmed me more than the bag. I pulled it away.

  Worried hazel eyes filled my vision and I smiled. He blinked and returned it with one of his own. It was new. A cross between his “You’re so cute” smile and something sweeter, deeper, that I couldn’t quite place.

  “Everything all right, Archie?”

  Archer pivoted on his toes where he squatted in front of me, and I peeked over his shoulder. A tall guy in an NYPD windbreaker stood a few paces away, giving us room but still hovering.

  “Yeah, we’re good.” Archer turned to me. “You’re okay?” I nodded and he helped me stand. “Greg, this is Jake Michelson. Jake, Detective Greg Porter, my friend I told you about.”

  “Hi.” I gave him a small wave.

  “Nice to meet you, Jake.” Detective Porter hesitated. “You up for a few questions?”

  Archer scowled at his friend but let me answer. “Sure.”

  Archer stood by my side as the detective took my information.

  “So, Jake, what can you tell me about last night?”

  “Um, I don’t remember much.” Which was the truth. “I’m not a very strong drinker.” I rubbed my stomach as I searched my memory. “We started out at that jazz club, then came here. It was getting late. I think we had a shot?” I asked Archer, and he nodded. “Then I don’t remember much beyond that. I think…I think the cowboy was being hateful. The one with Marri.”

  “Marri Wilson?”

  “Yes, she’s my best friend. We were celebrating her play opening.”

  Detective Porter nodded and scribbled in a little notebook. “And the fight that broke out? What can you tell me about that?”

  Archer tensed and the two men gave each other looks. Though, what they meant, I had no clue.

  “I’m not sure but I think the cowboy started it. He wasn’t happy that Archer and I were together. I don’t know what happened, though.” I really don’t. “I woke up on the break room sofa with Archer and Marri.”

  The detective studied me with lips pursed to the side, then flipped his notebook shut. “Okay. That gels with what almost everyone else said.”

  “Almost?” I asked.

  Archer shrugged.

  “Eye-witness accounts are never completely accurate. The memory plays tricks on us, sometimes.” Detective Porter gazed out at the scene on the street. “For instance, the cowboy’s friends, as you called him, are insisting you threw the first punch.”

  I sucked in a breath and white spots danced in my vision. That was what Archer had said, but I honest to God didn’t remember.

  “Oh, crap.” Archer caught me. “Breathe, Jakey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  I took a shuddering breath. “M-me?” I spluttered.

  “Yes, but the one you allegedly hit is refusing to corroborate that, saying”—he flipped his notebook open again—“there’s no way that little…f-a-g”—he spelled out with a scowl—“could’ve ever got a hit in on me.” He flipped it shut. “The proprietor of the establishment, Mr. Titus Moore, and Mr. Ferraro here, state that you were too drunk for any fighting.” The detective’s eyes glimmered with suppressed amusement, and I swallowed hard.

  I flexed my hand, glad there were no bruises.

  “You guys are free to go.”

  “Thanks, Greg,” Archer said.

  “You want to wait for a ride?”

  “Nah, I’ll get a cab. Make sure Marri gets home.”

  “Okay.” The detective slapped Archer’s shoulder with his notebook. “Take it easy, troublemaker.”

  Archer snorted.

  “Jake, it was a pleasure to meet you. Don’t let this guy get away with too much.”

  “Oh, sure. Thanks.” I was still reeling from the fact that I’d hit someone and started a bar fight.

  “Don’t tell Phen,” Archer said to the detective.

  Porter stared at Archer with a smirk. “We’ll see.”

  “Dammit, Greg. You’re just going to make his hair fall out.”

  “He’d still be pretty.”

  “Oh, gawd,” Archer moaned. “Please don’t.” Greg laughed as he walked away. Archer glared at his retreating form. “Bastard is going after my brother, I just know it.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Not really, but seeing as how he and I met on a blind date, it might be a little awkward for Phen.”

  “Oh. You two dated?”

  “Briefly, a long time ago. We were better as friends.”

  Marri joined us, and Archer called a cab. We stopped at a diner on Marri’s block and ate in a stupefied bubble of silence in reaction to our night. Marri and I chugged coffee, but Archer had water. We dropped Marri off and went to Archer’s.

  “I’m going to bed,” he said when we entered the condo. Before I knew it, his chest was plastered to my back. “You’re welcome to join me,” he said into my ear.

  I shivered. “I need a shower and a toothbrush.”

  Archer chuckled. “Follow me.”

  He handed me a new toothbrush, and I scrubbed my teeth and tongue hard, then climbed into the shower after him
. It was surreal to watch the soap slide over his naked body, but we were both too tired to do more than stare.

  When I emerged in my borrowed pajamas, Archer was dead to the world, sprawled on his bed. His thin boxer briefs did nothing to hide the muscular curve of his ass. He really was beautiful. I pulled the blanket up to cover him and wandered to the office, too wired to sleep.

  I checked his email and found a message from Tamsin Hart asking for an update. I replied and told her Archer was measuring the property and interior before he could proceed. I wasn’t familiar with decorating terms, but it wasn’t half-bad.

  I thought about our night and couldn’t stop a smile. I’d punched someone. Me. I’d been in the middle of a bar fight. And Archer had watched out for me. I wasn’t proud exactly, but I also kind of was. I didn’t want to hurt people, but I’d stood up for me and Archer. That was good, wasn’t it?

  My phone rang with a familiar number. “This is Queensboro Minimum Security Prison. I have a call from a Roscoe Michelson. Will you accept?”

  “Yes.” The line clicked. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, there’s my boy.”

  I slumped. I recognized that happy tone. “How’s it going?” I asked even though I dreaded the answer. Guilt made my stomach tighten.

  “Good, good. Guess what?”

  “What?” I squeezed my eyes closed.

  “I’m getting out next week!”

  Chapter 15

  Jake

  My stomach tied itself into knots. “That’s great, Dad. Do you know where you’re going to be yet?”

  “Yeah, it’s a halfway house called Brother Sam’s. I have to continue my gambling addicts counseling and get a job, of course.”

  “Right. That’s really great.” I didn’t know what else to say, but I tried to inject as much enthusiasm into my voice as I could. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks, kiddo. I can’t wait to see you. I can have visitors. I’ll let you know the address.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  “I gotta wrap it up. Love you, kiddo.”

  “Love you, too. See you soon.”

  I stared at my phone until the screen went blank, then googled Brother Sam’s halfway house. It seemed okay. It was near the prison in Queens, but far enough away that the residents wouldn’t feel like they were still locked up.