Dear Mr. Brody by A.M. Johnson

Parker

Sweaty and overheated, I opened one bleary eye to glare at my open blinds. The sun poured in, baking my sheets, and I internally cursed Marcos for being such a cheap ass. He never kept the air conditioner below seventy-six. Kicking off the blanket, I sat up and almost had a stroke when I found said roommate sitting on the edge of my bed staring at me.

“Jesus, Marcos. What the hell are you doing?”

He picked at his nails, calm as a cucumber. “You overslept.”

“Shit, what time is it?” I asked as I jumped out of bed, tripping over my sneakers, and nearly falling on my ass.

“Ten.”

“Fuck.” I grabbed the shorts I’d worn yesterday and pulled them on. “I’m so late.”

“I know,” he said, and the slight touch of glee in his tone pissed me off. “Did you pass out in a post, self-induced orgasmic coma and forget to set your alarm?”

“Why you’re so interested in my masturbation routines is beyond me. It’s weird, bro…”

“I’m weird?”

“Yeah… this isn’t news,” I said, digging through my dresser drawer and pulling out a t-shirt.

It was wrinkled and on the smaller side, but I hadn’t had time to do my wash all week. Maybe if I hadn’t been thinking with my dick every night, I might’ve been able to get some laundry done. I was up late again last night, chatting with James, more like getting off with James, but I wasn’t complaining. I’d have all the time in the world to get to know him after Friday.

“Why were you watching me sleep like a stalker?” I slipped my shirt over my head and grabbed a hat from the top of my desk.

“I wasn’t watching you. I was waiting.”

I looked over my shoulder and furrowed my brow. “Waiting for what? To scare me to death?”

“I figured you’d feel my presence and wake up… and you did.”

I laughed and he shrugged as I picked up my keys and wallet from the nightstand. “Your presence, huh? You should have woken me up, you knew I was late.”

“I’m not your babysitter, mijo. Or your momma.”

He followed me into the hall and all the way to the bathroom. “I need to take a piss.”

“So?”

“Get out,” I said, but of course he stood in the doorway like an asshole.

“Not like I haven’t seen your dick before.”

“I thought we’d agreed to never talk about that night.” I unzipped my shorts thinking he’d turn around or leave. He strummed his fingers on the doorjamb, instead.

“Believe me, that night has been violently scrubbed from my brain.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Walking in on you getting plowed is always a bad thing.” The soft line between his eyes deepened, his face contorting like he’d swallowed spoiled milk. “I really need a new best friend. I think we’ve crossed one too many lines, Park.”

I rolled my eyes and took a leak with my unwanted audience hovering in the doorway. “Why are you following me around like a lost kitten?” I asked as I finished up and washed my hands.

“Guess who I saw last night?”

I stared at his reflection in the mirror, twisting off the cap to the toothpaste. He was shirtless, wearing thin pajama shorts that did nothing to hide his junk. His hair was messy, sticking up on one side, and the mascara from the previous night had created heavy gray smudges under his eyes. He looked hungover as fuck.

“Based on your appearance, I’m afraid to ask.” I smiled around my toothbrush when he flipped me off.

“My appearance?” He bumped me with his hip, making room for himself at the sink, and leaned against the counter to get a closer look at his face in the mirror. He wiped a thumb under his eye and removed some of the dark make-up. “Honey, I can smell the spunk on you. You better do more than brush your teeth, or all the boys at Pride House will be scandalized.”

My smile withered and I spit my mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “I do not smell like spunk.”

“Hmm… okay. You’re delusional... but okay.” He shrugged, and I snatched his cologne from the medicine cabinet.

“Don’t you dare, that’s expensive.” He tried to grab it out of my hand, but I held it over his head like I was a twelve-year-old boy fighting with his brother for the “good” game controller.

“But I don’t want to smell like jizz all day,” I whined, an evil grin stretching across my face as I threatened to spray his precious perfume. However, unlike my roommate, I wasn’t a dick. After a minute, I set the bottle on the countertop and picked up my deodorant, instead.

“You’re disgusting. And quite frankly it’s alarming…” he said, waving his hand in front of my face. “You sit in your room all night jacking off like some hard-up, pimply teenager. You need real dick, man.”

“Friday.”

“What?” he asked, caught off guard, and I pushed by him.

“I’m meeting James on Friday,” I repeated. “The guy from Pegasus.”

Back in my room, I pocketed my phone and slid my backpack over my shoulders.

“Some place public, I hope?”

“Yeah, a pub in Decatur,” I assured him, and he crinkled his nose. “Hell… Marcos. Don’t worry, I’ll give you the address and let you know I’m alive periodically throughout the night. Unless I’m too busy, like you said… getting real dick.”

Marcos’s teasing smile sobered. “You act like I’m crazy for being worried.”

“You act like I’ve… you’ve never hooked up with a guy from an app before.”

“Point made, but I—”

“I haven’t forgotten what happened…” We stared at each other for a few seconds, and he crossed his arms. “I know how to be careful.”

“What’s the name of the pub?”

“Brick Store.”

“How will you know it’s him?” he asked. “Will you bring a copy of your favorite book like that movie… shit, what’s it called?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“You’ve Got Mail,” he said as he snapped his fingers.

“Never heard of it.” I made a move to pass him, and he blocked me.

“What’s the plan, then? Do you know what he looks like now?”

“No… We agreed to text each other when we got there and send a picture of what we’re wearing.”

“Why not send a picture of your face?” he asked.

“It kills the suspense.” I smirked and he dropped his arms to his side.

“That’s dumb.”

I laughed and tried to step past him, but he wouldn’t budge. “I’ve got to go, Marcos. I’m already forty-five minutes late.”

His lips parted into a slow grin. “You never answered my question, though.”

Exhaling an annoyed breath, my head tipped back, and I stared at the ceiling. “What question?”

“Guess who I saw last night?”

“Will you move so I can go to work if I let you tell me?”

“Yes.” His crooked smile was anything but humble.

“Fine… I’ll play. Who did you see last night?”

“Oh… I never thought you’d ask,” he said with a shimmy of his hips. “None other than the hottie creative writing professor you think about when you’re jacking off with your little friend from Pegasus.”

If it wasn’t for my curiosity about Mr. Brody, I wouldn’t have continued the conversation. “Where?”

“Hemingway’s.”

“That hipster restaurant?”

“Yeah, he was there with your author crush.” Marcos gazed at me, waiting for a reaction I refused to give him.

“Cool, can I go now?” I asked with as much nonchalance as I could muster.

Was I curious about Mr. Brody? Absolutely. Did I think he was one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen? Definitely. But it was of no consequence. He was a hot guy, who happened to teach something I loved and nothing more. I was invested in James. Our chemistry was undeniable, and I couldn’t wait to find out if it would translate beyond the screen. I wanted to know him. Unravel him. Mr. Brody was fun to flirt with, but he was my professor, unattainable, and there were some boundaries that couldn’t be crossed.

“You’re jealous. I can tell.”

“Yup. I’m dying inside,” I deadpanned and he visibly deflated.

“Go to work, asshole.”

“Bye, baby.” I puckered my lips and blew him a kiss as I walked backward out of the room. “See you tonight.”

“If you’re lucky,” he called out, and I laughed as I closed the front door.

By the time I got to work, I was well over an hour late. I set my bag at the desk I used in the main office and headed back to check in with my manager. Rachel was a chill chick, and I didn’t think she’d be too pissed since I was always on time, but when I found her at her desk, with a glower on her face, I stopped short. Her usual friendly smile was nowhere to be found. Her russet eyes, tired, stared absently at the screen of her computer.

“I’m sorry… I know I’m—”

“I don’t care,” she said in an uncharacteristic snappy tone. “You missed the morning meeting. Everyone is flipping out.”

“Because I was late?”

She shot me a glare that silently said, “No, dumbass.”

“They’re restructuring Pride House.”

That didn’t sound good. And by the sullen look on most of the staff when I’d walked in, it sounded downright devastating.

“Is that code for shutting down or something?”

She huffed out a humorless laugh. “Or something.”

“Hey, Park.” One of the residents gave me a sad smile as he walked toward the kitchen.

“Hey, Jake.”

Rachel wiped her eyes with one hand, while handing me a slip of paper with the other. Her tears stained her dark cheeks, and it was surreal, watching her cry. She was always happy.

“What’s this?” I asked, my chest suddenly tight.

“The director’s new plan… he’s retiring.” She exhaled a wet breath and leaned back in her chair. “He sold Pride House to a non-profit out of Florida, and they want to make it a national company.”

This was huge, but I didn’t understand why she thought it was a bad thing. “Doesn’t that mean we’ll get more money to help the residents?”

“Sure, but at what cost? This is a home, not a business.”

“But there could be more homes… across the country. Rach, this is great news.”

She sniffed, pulling a few tissues from the box on her desk. “You weren’t at the meeting. It feels like too much. I’m afraid the mission will get lost.”

“I hear that. But think about how many more kids Pride House could help if it was nationwide.” I sat down in the chair across from her. “Change is scary, but I think this could be great for these kids.”

“You think so? What if the new director is a shithead? They didn’t even ask me if I wanted the job.”

I tilted my head and raised my brows. “Come on… like you’d want that job. You hate being the manager.”

Rachel cared more about the kids and less about the administration side of things.

“Yeah… but this new company doesn’t know that. They’re bringing in one of their own, and he’s bringing some staff as well. What if he comes in here and thinks he can just change everything?”

“Then, we’ll show him how it is.” I grinned, and she finally smiled. “He’ll figure out his place.”

“I hope so. Silver lining, with the expansion, each director will have an entire region they’re responsible for. Maybe he won’t be around much.”

“Way to be positive.” I chuckled. “Or… maybe he’s awesome and we’ll be lucky to have him.”

She pulled on the end of her braid, a habit she had when she was stuck in her head.

“I don’t know… he’ll be here in a month. I guess we’ll find out, then.”

I read over the letter, impressed with the new guy’s experience. “Shit. He’s been all over the world.”

“He sounds too good to be true, if you ask me. And he’s only been with this non-profit for a few months.” She leaned over the desk and pointed at his picture. “He looks arrogant, right?”

He was handsome as hell, but I kept that thought to myself. He seemed weathered, like his skin had seen too much sun. But it was his bright blue eyes that softened the rugged edges of his appearance.

“I mean… he’s kind of hot.”

She playfully ripped the paper from my hand, a laugh bubbling past her lips. “You’re such a whore. If this Chance guy was a woman, would you be so relaxed? I swear, y’all men stick together.”

“Is that his name? I didn’t finish reading because some out-of-control woman stole the paper out of my hand.”

“Yeah… Chance Davenport. Snooty name, arrogant face.” Rachel closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Why is he bringing staff? What if he goes on a firing spree? We’re all fucked.”

“Shit. I didn’t think about that. You think he’ll fire us?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d like to see him try. This is our place, Rach. It’ll be alright.” It had to be. “I know what will make us feel better,” I said, holding out my hand as I stood. She laced her fingers through mine, and I smiled when she gave in. “Coffee.”

“Cup and Quill?” she asked.

“Sounds good to me. It’s the closest place.”

We walked into the hall, and one of the kids cooed when they saw we were holding hands.

“Simmer down, Makayla,” I said in a teasing tone, and they giggled.

Makayla was one of the youngest residents. They moved in about two months ago after being removed from an abusive situation. They had come out as transgender to their mom, and she’d flipped out. When Makayla arrived at Pride House, they didn’t speak for almost two weeks. Now they were one of the most vocal and fun residents we had in the home.

“I thought you liked boys?” Makayla asked.

“I only have eyes for Rachel,” I said, and she dropped my hand.

“Good Lord, when the new director gets here, he’ll end up firing your inappropriate behind.” Rachel shooed Makayla out of the hall. “Shouldn’t you be in the study room?”

“That’s where I’m going,” they said and stuck their tongue out as Rachel turned the corner.

“Hey… I saw that,” I warned and laughed when Makayla stuck their tongue out at me as well.

Rachel was right. Pride House was a home. A home where family was found and made. A home where there was acceptance and love and safety. It was a privilege to work here, a privilege to be in these kids’ lives, and as I watched Makayla walk down the hall, I understood why Rachel was afraid of this big change headed our way. This wasn’t just a job for her. This was her home. Her family, and it was mine too. This new guy, he had big shoes to fill.