"I tell ya what, boo, white bitches crazy," Jaison said, sipping his vodka cranberry.
"And someone's cut off," Tristan said, throwing shade from behind the bar.
"Bitch please, like you and Braden aren't the craziest."
"Is that
trifilin' guy with a boyfriend still trying to fuck with you?"
"And he been crazy about it! Keeps asking me to sing him to sleep with spirituals."
"Stop it!"
"I think he called me Kunta once when he was riding me."
"You are too fucking much!" Tristan looked around The Pitstop mischievously. "Is it anyone I know?"
Jaison took another sip of his drink. "No,"
he lied coyly. The cicada sound of Grindr buzzed from Tristan's phone on the bar. "Speaking of too much... "
"UGH!" Tristan grunted. "Can't people fucking read? My profile says ‘no face pic, no chat'."
"That's a hot chest though," Jaison observed as Tristan showed him the picture on the phone. "What's he say?"
"He said, ‘Sup.' How fucking original."
"Jackson Maxim," Jaison read his screen name aloud.
"Whatever, I'm totally going to block him."
"Wait! What if he's hot? Just ask him for a face pic?"
Tristan and Jaison waited with bated breath waiting for the response. A picture of a hot Latino boy stared back at them a moment later.
"No!" they both exclaimed.
"That's a picture of Ephraim!" said Jaison. "Why is he grinding you?"
"Because obviously... it's not Ephraim."
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Volume 2 -
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Volume 3 -
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