Page 6 of Himbo Hitman
***
Well, fuck.
Colin’s late. The party lights on the dance floor below swing wildly, temporarily lighting up my office, and I quickly look around, worry creeping down my spine like the exaggerated footsteps in a horror movie. This feeling of being watched has been intensifying lately, and I’m not sure if it’s for real or if Yanni’s threats have made me paranoid.
Colin is the reliable one out of the two of us. Always organized, always taking this business seriously, and it’s not that Idon’texactly, but I don’t think running a successful business and having no personality are mutually exclusive.
You need a sense of humor to deal with the shit we’ve been through.
Sometimesliterallythanks to Yanni trying to scare us from opening.
I check my watch again, remembering opening day a few weeks ago when Colin bought us matching ones as awe did itgift. Colin and I have been talking about owning a club together since we were kids, and it’s wild to think we made it happen. Dreams come true and all that. He had our watches made custom, with the logo for Saint Clare’s on the watch face, my band platinum and his gold. Colors as opposite as we are.
But while we’re opposites and butt heads, we know each other inside and out, and I love my brother more than anyone. I also know that he is never, ever late, and it’s making me worried. Idon’t want to worry. Worrying leads to wrinkles, and I’m already thirty. Thirty in gay years is practically ancient—I don’t need to look it as well.
I slide my phone from my pocket and open my recent calls, then click on his number.
Colin has a thing where he won’t answer his phone before it’s rung three times, so I relax, prepared to wait … It takes me a second or two of nothing to pull my phone away from my ear again. The call’s dropped out, and I’m back on his contact page.
I hit his name again, but after a second of trying to connect, it fails.
Well, that’s concerning.
I shove my phone into my pocket, glaring down at the full club. Word of mouth helped the buzz spread quickly, and we’ve been marketing our asses off for months. Colin did the behind-the-scenes stuff, and I brought the promotional ideas. It’s why we work so well together and why this place has been at capacity every weekend.
I pace over to the large window overlooking the street below. Seattle has great nightlife, and when this building came up with awesome lease terms, we jumped at the opportunity to finally open Saint Clare’s. From where I’m standing, I can make out a fraction of the red-front facade of Rev, the nightclub down the road. All the sight does is piss me off after everything they’ve put us through. Our liquor license was delayed, they’ve reported us continuously to the fire marshal, and our original shipment of lights went missing. All that, on top of sending us packages of actual shit, calling in bomb threats, and having seedy-looking guys with guns lurking out the front of our place, has been too much to handle while trying to open our first business.
It’s soured me to opening another one if this one does well.
Colin’s always been the entrepreneur between us. It was him who wanted to start that doll repair business when we were five, and him set up with an iced tea stand every summer, and him who was mowing lawns in the neighborhood as soon as he could pusha mower, and him trying to charge kids entrance fees at the local park.
I was justthere, in awe of his ideas, ready to back him up however I could. The doll’s missing an arm? Let’s give her a cyborg one instead. Iced tea? I made the sign and put together makeshift coolers so we didn’t have to run back and forth to the house. I was there to clean up the mowed grass and stop the kids at the park from ratting us out.
I’m thesupportperson to his brilliance.
Which is why I need his ass here now.
A whistle comes from behind me, and I drop my head back at the sound. “Already?”
The music in the club below is loud, but I catch my best friend’s laugh. “You set the time.”
“Yeah, well, we both know I’m an idiot.”
“Brom’s taking them to the suite. You better get your ass down there.”
“Colin’s not here yet.”
“Really?” Lars’s incredulous tone echoes my thoughts. “Huh. Well, it’s not like that’s the worst thing. You want these guys to give you a good write-up, and his awkward rambling is fifty-fifty between being cute and being manic.”
“There’s supposed to be photos.”
“Again … good thing. Colin’s not photogenic either.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I can talk about our club without him here.”
“Then he should have turned up. You can’t keep them waiting either, otherwise who knows what the fuck they’re gonna write. It’s a feature piece about the young business owners of Saint Clare’s. They sort of need the owners to know who they’re writing about.”
I finally turn and give Lars my full attention. All six foot seven of his cocky playboy, security guarding, horoscope-loving self. “It doesn’t feel right.”
