Chapter 7
All weekend long Alan tries not to dwell on Jim too much, but it’s hard now with the memory of him coming in Friday night. The breakfast bar, the Keurig, even the mug Jim used for his coffee all remind Alan of the man. Brooks doesn’t help, his brooding glare a constant reminder he wants Alan to man up and ask the detective out. “It’s easier to do than you think,” he says. “I mean, he already likes you.”
“You don’t know that.” But Alan can’t deny how much he likes hearing Brooks say such things. “You can’t know it. You’re—”
“Too young, I know,” Brooks mutters.
On Sunday evening they’re in the living room watching The Simpsons. Rather, Brooks is watching it; Alan has his nose in the paper solving the crossword. Brooks reclines against the arm of the couch, taking up two of the
