Brad & Nick

Chapter six: parties, drinks and all other kinks

The thing about any of the parties that Chip threw was that he always talked it up the days before, so everyone was willing to do anything to get an invite. I'm pretty sure that's how Chip got all of his so-called action. I mean he wasn't the most attractive looking guy, but everyone went to his parties, because he knew how to throw a good party. There was always a crap ton of booze, supplied by his older brother, good music, and he had a pool as well as a hot tub. His parents were never home because they worked out of state, so they were at their other house most of the time. Chip was left under the care of his grandmother who once she took her sleeping pills was out for the night.

So you could say Chip had the perfect venue for throwing a party. No one's parties topped his.

After mulling over my clothes for what felt like hours, I walked over to Brad's house. I knew his mother wasn't home, so I just let myself in with my key. When I opened the door, all I could hear was Brad yelling about something. I swore underneath my breath as I walked upstairs towards his room.

"Just admit, Brad," Dylan's voice echoed from his room. "You didn't invite me because you don't want me there."

"You don't even like Chip," Brad huffed. "You hate the football team. Why would I bring you?"

"Don't just fucking assume things, Brad," Dylan huffed. "I'm your boyfriend. If I didn't want to go, I would tell you. You could have at least asked me. That's all I'm saying, but you didn't."

"You want to know why I didn't ask you? Because you cling to me like a fucking leech at these parties, and you nag me like you're my fucking mother," Brad retorted.

Well, this wasn't going to end well. I stayed in the hallway, biting my lip. Why couldn't Brad just have lied? He clearly must have had a shot or two before I got here.

"I cling to you? And I nag you? Oh really," Dylan huffed. "Maybe I do that because you like to get black out whenever you hang out with the football guys, and who has to take care of you? Me. They don't fucking care. They left you passed out in the fucking bathtub before, and took pictures of you, Brad. So sorry if my nagging and my clinginess is such a fucking burden to you."

Brad went quiet. He clearly had nothing to say about that. But that was true. Brad didn't have any self-control when he was with the football guys. There were plenty of times that I had to call Dylan to help me lug his big ass into my car, and put him to bed.

"Have a great time, Brad," Dylan muttered.

I jumped as soon as Brad's bedroom door flung open, and Dylan stormed off. He didn't even look at me. He was pissed. That was clear. I felt the temperature in the hallway rise a bit as soon as he walked by. Brad came out of his room not even a second after, his eyes flickering to mine.

"You ready or what?" he huffed stomping down the stairs.

"You should really talk – " I began but before I could finish Brad stopped me.

"He'll get over it," Brad scoffed grabbing his keys, and unlocking his car door.

Well I guess that was my cue to drop the conversation. I knew that Brad was going to do something stupid because of his argument with Dylan. He was going to be more of an asshole because he was fuming over Dylan. He wasn't going to have a good time. I just know it. He was a completely different person when he and Dylan were going at it especially when he was in the wrong. He was definitely in the wrong.

A half an hour into the party, Brad was brooding in the corner, and on his fifth beer. He was being a complete buzz kill. I knew he'd be calling Dylan after he finished that beer, begging for his forgiveness, and telling him how much of a jerk he's been. It was classic Brad. Just as if right on cue, Brad pulled his phone out of his pocket, and disappeared outside to the front yard.