Old Man’s Beard

- Frankie -

The sun beamed onto Frankie’s face as he stretched underneath soft sheets, sheets that didn’t feel like his own, on a bed significantly bigger than the one he was used to. He opened his eyes and frowned.

The taste of cheap vodka still lingered on his breath, and as he took in the various baseball posters and navy blue sheets, the previous evening started to stitch together.

Another college party, aptly named “End of the World,” since he and the other seniors were nearing graduation. He’d danced for hours in a room packed with sweaty bodies and flashing red lights. Danced, ground, and then found a wall to make out with one of the frat boys. One thing led to another, and they found their way back up to the frat boy’s room. A frat boy named Brad, per the heavily red-lined homework on his desk.

His phone dinged from a pile of clothes in the corner of the room. Escaping the comforts of the warm bed and the memories from the night before, he grabbed a pair of underwear he hoped was his and picked up his phone.

Mat [7:35 a.m.]: Frankie, pls, can we talk? I know ur still mad about the money for the apt, but something came up. Can u meet today?

Frankie rolled his eyes and tossed the phone onto his pile of clothes. He was still mad. Mad that Mat had pretended to care about moving into an apartment with Frankie after college, and now Frankie was about to be living with three randos and footing double the rent. He didn’t even want to move in with these guys, but Frankie had hoped it would be a little less trashy with Mat around.

Mat was Frankie’s wingman, whether he knew it or not, introducing Frankie to the baseball team back when they were sophomores, before Mat came out. If only Mat knew what Frankie had done with about half his ex-teammates.

There was a slight knock on the door, followed by a whisper. “You decent?”

Frankie looked down at his mostly naked body, thin with a collection of tattoos only slightly masked by dark body hair in all the right places. He glanced in the full body mirror behind the door and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length black curls, a genetic gift from his gorgeous Mexican mother. “I am decent, if I do say so myself.”

An All-American Midwestern with the looks you’d expect from an Illinois boy named Brad, falling into the “if you squint hard enough, he looks like Captain America” category, stepped into the room carrying a plate of scrambled eggs. He gave Frankie one look, eyes wide, and slammed the door shut. “That’s not what I meant.”

Frankie smiled. “Aww, you made me breakfast?”

Brad kept his head down and sat on the edge of his bed, eyeing his plate. “Uh, no. I need to get ready for practice.”

Frankie leaned against the door, arching his back slightly. “Well, aren’t you a gentleman?”

Brad’s eyes met Frankie’s, then they trailed down from Frankie’s face, and he blushed. “I—I’m sorry. I’m just gonna be late if I don’t. Can you please put on some clothes?”

Pushing himself off the wall, Frankie crossed the room and sidled up to Brad, gripping his thigh. “Aw, you weren’t so shy last night.”

Brad shrugged him off. “That was different. Look, the other guys are waking up. Do you mind if you . . . ?”

“Crawl out your window so your homophobic friends don’t know that you pitch for a different team? Yeah, I know the protocol.” He looked over at his phone, seeing it light up from another message. “I’ve made breakfast plans, anyway.”

“Oh, good. Thanks.” Brad let out a loud sigh and stuffed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “I promise, if you come back, you won’t have to keep doing that.”

Frankie squeezed Brad’s thigh once more before standing. “Oh, I’m sure I will. You’re a junior, right?”

Brad nodded.

“So, if I come back, you’ve got another year in this hellhole to look like a good straight team player.” He pulled on his pants and shook his head. “God, why can’t I just find me a sexy, out sugar daddy instead of fishing in a pool of closeted underclassmen?”

Brad frowned. “Hey, I might get signed on. Then I could be your sugar daddy.”

“Aw, you’re sweet, albeit a little dumb,” Frankie said, opening the window. He looked back at Brad and grinned. “Better keep this window unlocked. The gay fairy might come back for seconds.”

“So, let me get this straight. You went to the place, but it wasn’t there, but then it was, and you signed some contracts in order to get a house in a state you’ve never been to from a relative you didn’t know you had?” Frankie said, lifting his latte with both hands and taking a sip.

Mat’s head fell into his hands, and he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s what happened.”

“What in the Pan’s Labyrinth meets Bedazzled drugs were you on? Is that why you haven’t been talking to me?”

Mat rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Yeah. I wasn’t on any. It just didn’t make sense at the time. I can’t explain it. But it’s real. I know it.”

Frankie shook his head. “I found us a nice apartment months ago, before everything was taken. Yeah, it’s a little tight, and the other roommates are questionable at best, but it fits both of our budgets. And you want to leave that for some scam over in Connecticut?”

“It’s not a scam. It can’t be. But I won’t know unless I find two roommates.”

Frankie rolled his eyes and let his gaze wander the cafe. He couldn’t handle this right now. Not when graduation was in three weeks and he still didn’t know if he could pay his new roommates on time.

His eyes fell on the barista, a broad-shouldered man in a tight plaid button-up and a thick dark beard peppered with gray who stood behind the cafe counter, cleaning off the steamer.

“At least you brought me somewhere good for my morning dilf hunt,” Frankie said.

Mat looked over and frowned. “Dilf hunt? What?”

“It’s something new I’m trying. And it’s not my fault he’s cute. You can’t tell me he isn’t cute,” Frankie said, sipping on his latte.

“Him? He’s like twice your age.”

Frankie caught the man’s attention and smiled. “And as long as his hips still work, who cares if they’ve been replaced a time or two?”

Mat rolled his eyes. “What have you done with the real Frankie? I know every one of your escapades. In painstakingly granular detail. None of them contained a single person older than you.”

Frankie shrugged. “Maybe I need a sugar daddy in my life. Someone whose looks are as refined as their wallets.”

“And that’s this guy?”

“No.” Frankie rolled his eyes. “But he’s a start.”

“I didn’t bring you here to hook up with the barista. Frankie, I’m serious, this house is real. An entire house. You. Me. And someone else. That’s it. And the lawyer said he’d pull some strings if you’re looking for a job.”

Frankie’s gaze was still on the barista. “Do you know him?”

“The lawyer? No, not really, but I believe—”

“No, the barista. You’d tell me if you knew him, right?” Frankie asked.

“Oh, my god, Frankie. Are you even listening to me?”

“Ugh, yes, dad. Mystery hot lawyer is the answer to both of our dreams. I got it.”

“So, does that mean you’ll do it? You’ll move with me?”

Frankie pulled his gaze away from the man and looked at Mat. They’d been best friends since freshman year in college, nearly inseparable for three and a half years. Now, Frankie stood at a crossroads. One way led to an apartment in a city he knew and loved but with people he barely trusted. The other way was with his best friend across the country to a house he knew nothing about.

Someone cleared their throat, and Frankie looked up to see the bearded man standing next to their table, holding two lattes in his hands. “These two are on the house, gentlemen.” He set the mugs down and pulled a napkin from his pocket, placing it next to Frankie’s cup. On the napkin was a phone number, written in pen. He winked at Frankie before turning away without another word.

Mat reached for the napkin, but Frankie snatched it up and pocketed it, a grin spreading across his face. “Morning dilf hunt is a success. I need to do this more often.”

Mat’s face reddened, and he sipped his latte. “And if you screw anything up, I’ll have another coffee shop I can’t come back to.”

“The last time wasn’t me. That doesn’t count,” Frankie said, rolling his eyes.

“Fine. But you haven’t answered. Will you move with me?”

Frankie traced a finger around the lip of his mug and sighed. “They’d better have a decent coffee shop nearby. And hot guys, or I’m out.”

Mat nearly jumped out of his seat as he smiled ear to ear. “Oh, my god, yes! You are amazing. I promise I will help you drag out any and all hot guys you can handle.”

“Damn right you will, and the demand is high.”

“You got it. Now all we need is a third. Any ideas? And don’t you dare say the barista.”

Frankie looked out the window and frowned. “I might have someone in mind, and I don’t think it will take much to convince them.”