They never let anything go.
The sun is setting when the driver drops me off at the building by the harbor, and I adjust the strap of my bag and take in the view. This is a quasi-momentous occasion. Not only because I don’t have to go back to the house where I last saw JD getting kinky with his husband and a bottle of barbecue sauce on the kitchen counter.
Barbecue sauce. For breakfast. That’s all I’m choosing to remember. The rest of the images are going into the brain bleach pile.
Those two make me question my life choices.
JD once said seeing Carter for the first time was like being hit with a bolt of lightning. Even I could see the sparks they created every time they looked at each other. I can’t imagine experiencing anything close to what they have together. Not even a slice of it.
I have a wonderful family, close friends and a career I’m passionate about. I’ve traveled overseas and seen places so beautiful they changed my perspective forever. I’m working on putting some positive energy out into the world. Doing my bit not to waste the chance I was given. I can even juggle interviewers with the greatest of ease. But no one has ever loved or wanted me the way Carter does my brother.
That’s okay with me, for the most part. I’m not sure I’d know what to do with it if they did.
This is life-altering enough for me. A new city. A new apartment. A new life.
The last time I’d dealt with a change this big was the day I met my foster family. I still remember Rick standing in the driveway, wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and gripping a bouquet of those mylar It’s a Boy balloons. I was nine at the time and there were a few boys my age in the yard, so it was a given that I’d have to pretend it was lame, but he didn’t take it personally. He wanted me to know he’d been waiting for me. That he was happy I was home.
That day changed my life.
Today, I’ll be greeted with keys and paperwork instead of balloons and brothers. Not as life-affirming, but it was still another new beginning.
I cross the street and open the tinted glass door, taking my first ste—
“Oomph. Son of a—” The impact is so jarring I drop my bag and stumble back, cupping my shoulder to make sure it’s still firmly attached to my body. What a stupid place to put a wall.
I didn’t expect things to start with a literal bang.
“What the hell?”
A wall that talks.
I lift my gaze a few inches above my own six-foot frame in order to glare at the offender, and get another jolt. Either I was hit harder than I thought or I’ve managed to run into a younger, vastly improved copy of Henry Cavill. Complete with a captivating chin dimple.
Is he made of steel too? It sure as hell felt like it.
My interest wanes when I notice the good-looking clone clutching his phone like a cudgel and aiming an irritated scowl my way. As if it was my fault he nearly knocked me on my ass.
“You might want to watch where you’re going, Clark.”
Chagrin transforms his harried expression and he lowers his phone to his side. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay? Are you visiting someone in the building? Clark, maybe? Should we call him?”
His gruff, whiskey-voiced sincerity is as compelling as the rest of him, but I force myself to find it, and his inability to get my reference, incredibly annoying. I can’t be the first person who’s mentioned the resemblance.
“I’m not visiting. And you didn’t hit my head, just my shoulder, so you don’t need to call anyone. I know where I am and what year it is. We’re good.”
“I’ve only been here a few months. I haven’t met everyone yet.” He bends to scoop up my leather messenger bag in his noticeably large hands, still looking me over in concern. I’m sure it’s meant to be more of an objective medical scan than a sexual invitation, but my traitorous body apparently can’t tell the difference.
What is this about? I’m still pissed and potentially bruised by our run-in, and now is when my dick decides to make its presence known?
He holds out my bag and watches closely as I slide the strap over my good shoulder. “I really am sorry. I hate it when people stare down at their phones instead of seeing what’s right in front of them. I heard the door and thought you were… It doesn’t matter. It’s been one of those days, man. That’s my only excuse. You ever have one of those?”
The more he speaks, the harder it is to ignore my reactions. And I say harder in the literal and damn inconvenient sense of the word. But he’s aiming for sincere remorse, not seduction, so I adjust my bag in front of me and rally.