Stay With Me by S.E.Harmon

possible. His flat stomach and fit physique really put a cramp in my cop and donut cracks.
    “We’re going to the pub because Darcy is Irish. Don’t give me crap, Apple. Today was the second time I had to pick you up this week.”
    “Can I help it that Bessie needed a break?”
    “Don’t even get me started on that stupid heap. I’m still not sure why I invited you,” he grumbled.
    To be honest, I wasn’t either. I wasn’t even sure why I accepted. Robert and I were typical siblings—we loved hard, teased mercilessly, and kicked the shit out of anyone who messed with the other. Even given all that, we rarely hung out. For starters, he was a pesky little brother and thusly should go where all pesky little brothers should go— Deep Space Nine . I’d settle for a black hole, a big one, one with no phone service or Internet to contact me. Growing up, he’d always been two years younger and light-years more talented. He’d seemed determined to do everything I did, only he did it better.
    When I played football, my butt warmed the bench more than the heat of the sun. When my little brother finally hit ninth grade, what sport did he try out for? The little punk was the first freshman in our high school’s history to make varsity. I’d been ridiculously proud of him and annoyed at the same time. I’d doggedly kept after it, playing my hardest and running my fastest, because at least when my dad came to Robert’s football games, he saw me too. I’d given it up after I fumbled the winning catch in our homecoming game. At least they’d called it a fumble on the ride home with an ice pack pressed to my nose. I’d called it getting hit in the face with four seconds left on the clock.
    For another, our groups of friends are different. Well, he has a group of friends, anyway. I think counting Asher and Drew as a group is taking liberties. Besides, that would mean I’ve slept with exactly fifty percent of my friends, and I don’t like those odds. Robert’s group of friends was younger, wilder, and rowdier. And no, I don’t remember the moment I turned eighty. A good time to his crew usually involved football, yelling, fighting, and a lot of alcohol.
    Simply put, we just had nothing in common. Other than his lifetime supply of Xerox on my life, that is. The only thing worse than someone copying you is someone doing it better. I graduated fourth in my class from the Academy—he finished second. By the time I’d retired with three commendations, he’d just hit his tenth year with four. I retired because of a bullshit injury and Robert was still out there saving the world. He’d given our father his first (and only) grandchild, and I’d announced I was gay. Maybe it sounds like I resent my brother. I don’t. But if he comes home with the perfect man and announces he’s gay, I’m going to kill him. That’s after my dad does, of course.
    No, going to a pub with a group of Robert’s friends was not my idea of a good time. But he’d sworn to me up and down that it would just be Tao, and Darcy, his old buddy from high school. Not John, Michael, Bobby, or Trace. Not Steve, who’d never met a chick he didn’t like, or Travis, who’d never met a drink he didn’t like. Even a hermit like me could handle four or five people.
    The pub was a hub of activity, even on such a busy street. A pennant-shaped sign with old scripted writing declared it “Dubhlainn’s,” an Irish pub established since 1934. I tried to mouth the Gaelic words underneath, but the symbols and slashes finally got the best of me and I shrugged. The interior of the pub was much as I’d expected—tables and chairs in various shades of dark green with a green tartan floor. The bar was the focal point of the room, with high-backed chairs all around. I looked at the various pieces of Irish paraphernalia littering the walls and beams while Robert scanned the crowd.
    “There.” He suddenly pointed and waved before wading through the crowd.
    I had no