MB Short Story: Dive Off The Deep End (Featuring Gray-crushing Button)

Third Base is sticky. Despite the tattooed bartender’s best efforts to slip napkins beneath his client’s drinks, the counter is irrevocably gummy in a way that testifies to a decade worth of sloshed Vodka Cranberries and knocked-over Malibu Sunsets.

The bar’s name calls out its patrons’ hopes for the night: Third Base isn’t a place where one went on a first date or to meet with friends—it’s far too crowded and loud for any sort of intellectual connection. Third Base is cramped and dimly lit, its music a loud ump-ump-umph that carries over conversations and forces people to lean in close to talk. You can overhear connections being made between the electro beats:

“I think you’re sexy.”

“Well, I think YOU’RE sexy.”

“Wanna get out of here?”

Cue the exit of two men, only for three already-tipsy newcomers to cram their way through the door and take their place.

The dive bar is out of your comfort zone, although you rather admire the out-of-season Christmas lights that festooned the wall, as well as the miniature plaster T-rex that prowls on a shelf above the cash register. Still, every instinct in your body screams that being here is dangerous. A crowded place, for someone like you? Who knows how many of the other customers are Ments.

Granted, that assumes anyone would be able to hear your thoughts over the music.

A hand grabs your shoulder, and you spin around in the bar stool to face Sally. Your best friend’s curls are disheveled, her glare turning ferocious as someone reaches over her head to pass the bartender a crumpled ten-dollar bill.

“I’m too short for this shit,” she grumbles. “Why are we here again?”

“No particular reason,” you hedge. “It was recommended to me by a friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Sally directs her glare at the man sitting next to you until he relinquishes his seat. She sits beside you and gestures for the bartender to make one of whatever you’re having. “Which friend?” she asks.

Your brain blanks: you hadn’t anticipated a follow-up question.

“Eduardo,” you blurt.

Sally stares at you.

You stare back belligerently. “Ed is a nice guy,” you lie. You know full well that she can tell you’re lying (Sally’s still a Ment, after all, even if she can’t directly interpret your thoughts), but you have to save at least a sliver of your dignity.

Thankfully, Sally loves you enough to play along. Kind of.

“I’m sure Ted is great,” she says, “but you normally wouldn’t be caught dead in this kind of place.”

“What’s wrong with this place?” you demand defensively. “They serve great drinks.”

She stares at you disbelievingly.

You take a nervous sip of your drink (tonic water with a slice of lime since you needed to stay sober for tonight’s mission). “I like the ambience.”

Sally keeps staring.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’m here to . . . check something.” Against your will, your eyes dart towards where the bar’s corner where, through the crowd of people, you can just barely make out a pretty woman charmingly laughing at a man’s joke as she charmingly toys with a ringlet of her long brown hair. Katherine-No-I-Don’t-Go-By-Kate does everything charmingly, which is probably why Gray is dating her. She was British as well, which meant that she and Gray shared a cultural appreciation bordering on reverence for tea and referenced things in their conversations that left you cluelessly blinking—you still weren’t certain whether “Basil Brush” was the name of a mutual friend or a pet cat.

Sally follows the direction of your gaze. “You’re stalking Grayson’s girlfriend,” she says in a resigned voice. “Again.”

“I’m not stalking her,” you bristle. “I’m looking out for Gray.”

“Uh-huh.” Sally’s expression is unimpressed. “And Gray asked you to do this?”

Well, no.

“Not in as many words,” you admit. “But I overheard him telling Nick that Katherine was acting distant lately, and I just thought that . . .”

“You thought that if you caught her cheating, Gray would break up with her and instantly fall in love with you instead,” Sally finishes. “So, what, you followed her here from her workplace? Then called me to join you?”

You guiltily bite your lower lip.

She doesn’t need to know that you didn’t so much as “follow” Katherine as you did “remotely hack into her cellphone’s GPS.” Nick is already guaranteed to give you hell once he learns of your actions; you don’t need a lecture from Sally as well. All this is to protect Gray, after all. It’s not like you have selfish or impure motives.

. . . Or so you justify to yourself.

Sally levels you with a look implying that she knows exactly how “pure” your actions truly are. In fulfillment of her best friend obligations, however, she doesn’t let her dubiousness get in the way of acting supportive.

“Anything to report?” she asks instead. “Is Kat the Rat cheating?”

A loud snicker escapes your mouth, which you quickly cover behind your hands before the sound draws Katherine’s attention (not that she would hear you over the loud music). Katherine is pretty, you’ll begrudgingly acknowledge, but Sally’s nickname for her is nonetheless fitting: there’s a certain rodent-like quality to the woman’s narrow, pinched features. Although that could just be the way her nostrils twitch as if she smells something unpleasant whenever she’s around you.

“She’s been flirting with that guy for the past ten minutes,” you inform Sally.

Sally squints over at the couple. “Oh!” she exclaims. “He’s a Bear!”

While the man is certainly massive, you’re not quite sure that . . .

“He plays for the Bears,” Sally amends at your obvious confusion. “One of the new trades, Elijah Something-Or-Other.” She shrugs at your surprised stare. “My dads watch a lot of football. My knowledge is regrettably unavoidable.”

Kat the Rat leans in closer to Elijah Something-Or-Other, resting her manicured hand on his bicep with a flirty giggle that carries over the bar’s clamor. She was never that affectionate with Gray—were it not for the fact that Nick had confirmed the two were dating, you would’ve been able to convince yourself that they were merely friends.

You can’t hear what’s being said between the two in the bar, but you squint and take your best shot at lip-reading, mimicking Katherine’s high-pitched voice: “Oh, Elijuuuuuh! I love the fact that you’re an athlete and thus rich enough to spoil me. Your muscles are almost as nice as my boyfriend’s.”

“I heard that your boyfriend is rich as well, Katy,” Sally replies in a low rumble meant to be Elijah. “But that he likes—ugh—camping. Whereas I take my ladies to upscale places like this dive bar.”

“This is the classiest dive bar I’ve ever been in!” you exclaim in Katherine’s voice, adding an insipid titter for good measure.

“It’s so annoying that your boyfriend only ever wants to spend time outdoors,” Sally-as-Elijah-Something-Or-Other says. “You should level up and date me instead, babe.”

“He's a caveman who only eats takeout and undercooked ramen when not mooching off his best friend,” you simper. “I swear, Eli-boo, Grayson Black is—”

“Grayson Black is what?”

The question comes from behind you, the voice of its speaker all too familiar.

“Gray!” Sally squeaks. “How unexpected to see a place like this in you. I mean, you in a place like there. I mean here. How unexpected to see you here. Nick, too.”

“Grayson Black is what?” Gray repeats.

Unlike your older brother, whose shoulders shake with silent laughter over your and Sally’s ventriloquist act, Gray looks distinctly unamused. You freeze like a deer in headlights under his gaze. His blue eyes are flat with a familiar chill that he sometimes turns on overinsistent paparazzi, who flee at the silently implied threat of legal action. But it’s never been a look that he’s given you. Until today, Gray’s only looked at you with warmth and affection.

Now, he’s staring at you as if you’re a press member whom he’s discovered hiding within his outdoor rubbish bin.

You can’t tell Gray the truth, that the sentence on the tip of your tongue was “Grayson Black is too good for me.” If you uttered those words aloud, he’d know for certain that you were referring as much to yourself as to Katherine, undoing all the effort you’ve put in hiding your crush on him for the past five years.

It’s true: Grayson deserves better than Kat the Rat. But he also deserves better than you, someone with a broken brain and enough emotional hang ups to inventory the entire Louvre.

Nick stops laughing as he hears your thoughts, his expression turning somber and . . . damnit, sad. You hadn’t meant to make Nick sad.

“Grayson Black needs to chill and have a beer,” Nick interjects, saving you from replying. He turns to you, feigning cluelessness: “What are you and Sally doing here, Button?”

“It was my idea!” Sally rushes to reply. “One of my friends from the art class I enrolled in recommended it. We didn’t expect to see Katherine here.”

“Kath’s here?” Gray’s question floods you with relief, because it means that he didn’t hear the entirety of your and Sally’s dialogue. His head swivels as he searches, his wide smile upon seeing her sending a jealous dagger through your heart.

“Kath!” he calls out. “I didn’t know you and Elijah visited this place.”

What?

Nick smirks at you as Katherine and Elijah head over, but your brother’s smugness is laced with a mystifying hint of guilt. You don’t have time to dwell on it, too wrapped up in the fact that Grayson knows his girlfriend’s boyfriend.

Your shock intensifies as Gray and Elijah give each other a half-hug.

“Elijah, this is Nick’s sibling and their friend, Sally,” Gray introduces you, seeming unperturbed by the way that Katherine besottedly hangs off Elijah’s arm. “And this is Elijah Barrett, my cousin’s fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” Sally asks.

“Cousin?” you blurt.

“Katherine,” Gray says, sounding confused. “I introduced you at Thanksgiving. Remember, Kath? They’re both enrolling at Aeon come this fall.”

Katherine forces a smile. “I remember.”

Nick is doing his awkward foot shuffle, a telltale sign that he’s feeling guilty. Your eyes narrow, but he refuses to meet your gaze.

I didn’t, technically. Nick projects his thoughts to your mind in order for your conversation to not be heard by the others. You asked if the two were close, and I simply said yes.

You glare at your brother. You can read my mind, asshole. You knew that I had the wrong idea.

True, Nick admits, but I thought it would spur you into finally confessing. Not make you go all Fatal Attraction.

“—said that we should try out the place since you recommended it,” Katherine is saying as you tune back into the ongoing conversation. “Elijah

“They make great burgers as well,” Gray says excitedly. Then he glances out at you and sighs heavily. “I guess I really do live off of takeout, huh? Look, I heard what you said about mooching off Nick. If coming over too often for dinner, then please just tell me.”

Ah. So that’s why Gray was so out of sorts early.

You laugh, a genuine laugh of relief (laced with embarrassment). “You could never come over too often, Gray,” you honestly say. “You’re family. Sally told me that you two were headed over, so we decided to trash-talk you and Nick until you arrived as a prank.”

“It’s true!” Sally hastily agrees. “Bad luck that you happened to overhear your turn, Gray, but be grateful! You should’ve heard the things that we said about Nick.”

“All deserved, I’m sure,” Nick murmurs.

All more than deserved, you think at him.

But it’s hard to remain angry when you’re so internally delighted over the fact that Gray is still single. Eventually, yes, he’ll date someone seriously. Preferably someone kind and nice, and who doesn’t spend all the first twelve hours of acquaintance complaining that Nick’s thanksgiving dinner is too calorie-dense for her Gwyneth-Paltrow-recommended diet. You’ve long since reconciled yourself to the fact that, one day, you’ll have to give up on Gray. But for now . . .

For now, Grayson Black can remain your dream, even if only for a little while longer.