When I turned forty-three a couple weeks ago, I’d had dinner with my family and topped the evening off with a breakup.
Cazzo, I’d turned into a bitter bastard.
I blew out a breath and got in my truck but didn’t close the door.
Nicky’s eyes flashed with concern and curiosity.
“You know I’m happy for you, bambino,” I stated quietly.
He nodded hesitantly. “You miss that fucking loser, don’t you?”
That one gave me a laugh. That Nicky detested my ex had always been clear as day. And no, I didn’t miss Shawn at all.
I shook my head and smiled faintly. “I don’t miss him. But I am lonely.” It stung to admit it out loud. “I just need some time to regroup, that’s all.”
“I get it.” Nicky nodded again. “But so you know, being down in the dumps has turned you blind. You don’t see the men eyeing you.”
I gave him a wry look. I didn’t need my kid brother to play matchmaker.
“I’m serious,” he claimed. “I think that’s why our parents were blessed with two gay sons, so that I can use my gaydar to find your next—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I chuckled at his ridiculousness and started the engine.
Nicky backed away and smirked. “Made you laugh.”
“Mm.” I withheld a snort and buckled my seat belt. “I’mma head home. Good luck with the house hunting.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow, big brother.”
I inclined my head and shut the door, then backed out of my spot.
Of-fucking-course the elevator had to be broken today, too. On the other hand, the rickety old thing usually was. But dammit, maintenance had fixed it just last week. I’d hoped to have a few more weeks before something went wrong again.
I trudged up the stairs to the third and top floor, my mood getting so sour that not even I wanted to be near me.
My home was usually my bright spot. The one place where everything was the way it was supposed to be. More than that, the one place the bank didn’t own. Not many residents in Brooklyn could say the same.
I stepped inside my condo and threw the keys on the hall table. Shoes kicked off, jacket shrugged out of—carefully, so I didn’t drop everything I was carrying—and then I trailed across my living room and into the adjacent kitchen. I flicked on lights along the way and breathed in deeply. At least the foul scent of Shawn’s cologne was gone now. We’d never lived together, but he’d stayed over often enough to make people think so.
The tiniest thing did give me a pinch of satisfaction. The remote to the TV was still on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, and it was where I wanted it. Shawn would always move the remote to the coffee table, but this was the spot where I had breakfast in the morning and watched the news.
Everything work-related ended up on the kitchen bar too, before I turned on the TV to get some sound in here.
I kinda missed having my brother around. Nicky had lived in my guest room until he’d met Gideon.
Nicky had cooked too…
All right, three exciting things happening tonight. Shower, eat, work. In that order. Wait—what time was it? I checked my watch and felt another pinch of something that wasn’t awful. Camden Adair released a video today. Every Tuesday at eight o’clock, so it should be live already.
I decided to shower first, though. It’d been a long day, and I’d worked out during the “free period” I had before my last class for advanced drummers. A class that Nicky would take over for me soon.
After taking out a Tupperware container from the freezer, I went upstairs and, as fucking always, almost hit my head on the wooden beam crossing the ceiling near the landing. People thought it was charming as hell to have a one-and-a-half-story condo, complete with exposed brick walls, open-plan design, and rustic flooring. And I loved my home. But this shit… The ceiling up here was too low for anyone who was taller than six feet. It was also hotter than hell in the summer when all the heat from the building crawled up into my bedroom.
My new bed was made. I’d splurged after my breakup and bought a new one, and I made it every morning. Shawn had always “forgotten” and called me a neat freak for giving a crap.
Stop thinking about him, you whiny fuck.
I winced and pulled my hoodie and tee over my head.
Hot shower. Maybe it would help.
I hummed to myself and tightened the drawstrings of my sweats on the way downstairs after my shower, and as I spotted my phone on the counter, the screen flashed with a message.
The food went into the microwave, and I grabbed a beer before I sat down on a stool and opened my phone.
Nicky was letting me know that Gideon, for once, liked a place. I should hope so since they’d returned for a second viewing.
There was a message from Pop too. He was once more asking when we were heading to Nashville. Nicky and I had never traveled much, so us leaving the city was a big deal to our father. I did my best to be patient, and I responded to him.
I’m leaving next Thursday, a week before Nicky and the others.
I’d received my ticket to the food festival I was looking forward to attending, and more importantly, the confirmation that I was one of the six participants in a cooking class. I knew where to be and when. The festival started next Friday, and the cooking class was on Saturday. It was a promotional event for a famous chef I followed on Insta. I’d started out thinking maybe I could learn how to cook something worth eating. In the end, I ate my leftovers and just watched him cook. His hands and the way he used them were nothing short of pornographic.
August King. Even his name exuded power and assertiveness, and it
