The Setup » [lashton] √

0.5

[a week later]

"Stop buying me drinks! I can tell you're trying to throw me off my game; it's not going to work; I'm too much of a professional for that," Calum huffed, tucking his head down and readying himself for his putt. 

Luke rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer, the other beer held firmly in hand now that he knew Calum wouldn't accept it. He watched as Calum took his shot, thinking how when he'd invited Luke to the mini-golf bar, he'd thought the bar part was more of the appeal than the mini-golf. He'd been wrong. Calum was halfway through a light beer and a quarter of the way through the 18 holes. Luke was on his third, with what would be his fourth in his hand, thanks to Calum's continued refusals of the drinks Luke brought back for him. 

The other noted his score on the tiny little card as he walked his way back over to Luke, who moved past him with his own club, leaving the beers behind and trying his hardest to sober himself for his attempt. Which was worse than Calum's, only by one stroke, but Calum led their way to the next hole, incredibly pleased with himself nonetheless. 

"Are you going to be competitive all night?" He grumbled, picking up the beers from the tiny table by the hole. He'd had a long day, and the thought of going out for a drink with Calum had been what had gotten him through it. Now the evening was taking an exhausting turn, and he just didn't have the energy left for it. 

Calum turned and shot him a playful glare, but when he saw the serious look on Luke's face, he softened, "I'm sorry, I just- I don't know this is normally how we have fun," he shrugged. 

Luke softened in return, "I'm sorry too, I'm just tired," he admitted, opening his arms; Calum stepped into them, and Luke wrapped him up in a warm hug, rubbing his back. 

"Oh, get fucked," Calum said. 

Luke blanched, pulling back, "What did I do to deserve that?" he asked quickly. 

Calum shook his head, "not you, look over by the bar," he said, rolling his eyes. 

He whipped his head around, and it took him a few moments to see what- well, who Calum was talking about. Jared Morrison, tall, lean, car salesman smile and the posture of a man who had all the unearned confidence of a drunk. 

Which oddly enough had been his one redeeming quality; he wasn't an alcoholic or a gambler, he was just an asshole; it made him a lot easier to hate, in Luke's opinion. 

"I thought he lived on the North Side now," Luke said, his tone dripping with contempt. 

Calum snorted, "doesn't matter where he lives; the best place to pick up will always be Newtown," he rolled his eyes, but they quickly fixed back on the offending man. 

He hadn't noticed them yet, and Luke was of two minds, wishing desperately never to have to speak to him again and also wanting any reason to knock him flat. 

See, Jared had come into their lives a few years ago, at a party of a friend of a friends, he and Calum had met and immediately it off. The man was full of charm and smarm in equal measure, see the car salesman smile came from working at a dealership, where he earned a mint, it was a way out of the city, and he made his money in selling two-person families big SUVs for the kids he assured them they were ready to have. 

They hadn't known this when they'd met him; he'd come over and introduced himself to the three of them and had seemed taken with Calum. When he'd gone to get a drink, Calum had told Michael and Luke to make themselves scarce, and they did; Calum and he were pretty much inseparable after that. 

Which Michael and Luke had thought was nice, Calum was one of their favourite people, and he deserved to be happy. Months later, however they had run into the host of the party at a bar, they started talking about Calum and Jared, and that's when the host had told them he was a skeev and a salesman through and through.