I smiled and nodded.
“How many years has it been Jules?” he asked thoughtfully as he raised his glass of water to his lips.
I blew out my breath as I tried to do some quick calculations. I honestly didn’t know, and I didn’t think that “a lot” or “I’ve seen you four times in three months” would be smart responses so I shrugged and opened my menu. I winced at the feeling of the sticky plastic. It was obvious that these damn sleeves don’t get changed very often and I sighed as I tried to read through the coating of old soda that someone had spilled on it God knows how long ago.
“Here,” he said as he reached across the table. Knox took my sticky, dirty menu and slid his cleaner one in its place. “I’m used to dealing with trashy things, so I’ll do just fine with this,” he explained with a laugh.
Trashy.
Like me?
I know it’s not what he meant, but since I didn’t really know him anymore, I couldn’t be sure.
“What did you think of the show, kid?” he asked distractedly as he leaned his elbows on the table and began to peer at the selections.
“It was loud.”
Knox smiled, his crystal blue eyes still searching the options, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look up at me. It was almost like he was on stage again and I was just another face lost in the crowd.
“It happens,” he finally said as he sat back and flipped his menu closed. I glanced up nervously to see him arching his neck and looking for a server. When he cut his eyes toward me briefly, I immediately lowered my eyes toward the menu again and tried to make sense of the sudden blur of lines in front of me.
“What’s up, Jules? You seem almost scared of me,” he quipped, giving my dirty, old canvas shoe a gentle shove with his shiny new sneakers.
I shrugged yet again and he let out a loud sigh. “I really hope you aren’t here as a fan, kid. That would bum me out.”
“I’m not a fan, Knox,” I shot back heatedly. “I’m your brother.”
Half of his mouth curled up into a grin and he raked a hand back through his hair. “I’m teasing you.”
Just like when we were kids, I thought ruefully. Knox had games he would like to play with me when we were younger, and I can’t help but wonder if they were a primer for the man he became today.
Of course, a lot of those games would hinge on “not telling Mom or Dad” and while I had a feeling they weren’t right, my heart told me they weren’t wrong.
I guess I missed those games more than I thought and that’s the main reason I set off to find my brother.
Not that I would tell him.
I’d seen enough articles online to know that he only dated top of the line models—big, fake, store-bought tits, long blonde hair more than likely given length by some form of weave, and the slim, tight little bodies.
He was a typical rock star in a way.
A womanizer.
Probably a closet misogynist too.
Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, though I never read anything about him being an addict.
Unless you count pussy.
And I was still the kid that looked up to him wanting to be loved more than anything else by the man that made me feel special in a way that no one else could.
“What can I get for you guys?” a young girl asks brightly stopping by our table.
Knox places his order for a beer, some nachos, and a burger.
Me?
I silently hoped for a backbone to tell my brother why I really set out to find him.