“Who the fuck told you -,” I stop abruptly as I realize exactly where he heard the information. I mutter a curse under my breath with a chuckle. “Hunter told Layla. Layla told Rory. Rory told you.”
He picks up an apple off the granite island and begins tossing it in the air. He shifts to lean his hip as he takes a bite out of the apple. It’s moments like this I wonder and understand at the same time how he and I have been best friends for nearly sixteen years. He speaks little and I can’t seem to stop sometimes. I portray myself as the laidback, easy-going goof while he seems stony, hard, and brooding. The truth is we’re none of those things and all of those things and more.
That’s why he knows he is making me nuts just standing like that with a stupid smirk that won’t go away.
“While Rory was filling you in on the gossip of my life, did he mention who Hunter was with?” I ask throwing it out there. Stirring the pot even as I know the answer and know that it won’t go further than Jax.
But the little jab does want I want. He’s leaning over the counter with eyebrows raised wanting to know the juice. He wants to know something his brother doesn’t because Rory sometimes seems a lot like God (even if only in his own damn head) all seeing and all knowing.
“Spill it,” he tells me. “Why would Rory be concerned with who Hunter was at the club with?”
“Christian seemed to be enjoying himself last night,” I quip as I finally raise the water bottle to my lips. One sip and I feel like I’m having the first drink of my life.
“That motherfucker,” he laughs. “Rory is going to kill him then Layla will kill Rory.”
I smirk then grab another bottle of water. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I reiterate. How fucking drunk did you get? We have a flight in two hours. Remember?”
My mind starts trying to swim back up through the alcohol to remember why the fuck I have a flight today. Then it slams me. Every inch of me vibrates as my head clears of the alcohol like I’ve had ten gallons of coffee.
“New York,” I say with a grin spreading over my face.
“Slow down, lover boy,” he taunts. “Aren’t you supposed to stay away from her for six months? It’s barely been six weeks.”
“Fuck,” I hiss dragging my hand through my shaggy hair.
“Maybe you should get that shit cut,” he points at my hair.
I scrub my fingers through my hair with a grin. “Nah. I think I’ll keep it like this.”
“Chop, chop, sucker. Plane takes off in two hours.”
I throw him the finger as I make my way across my carpeted floor – yes carpet because I like my feet to be soft and comfy after wearing cleats most days. “Be ready in half an hour.”
“Nick is going to be pissed if I have to tell him to push the flight back a few minutes,” he yells up the stairs to me.
“You won’t.”
I jump in the shower and in ten minutes I’m out. I brush my teeth and trim my face before walking into the closet to put on the damn suit I have to wear because we will have our first meeting as soon as we get off the plane. I hate fucking suits. If I were the type of guy who noticed what other guys were wearing, I probably would’ve connected the dots on what today was a lot faster. I make sure to grab another for tomorrow too, and then throw a few jeans and t-shirts into a duffle bag. I make sure to pack my phone, laptop, and chargers for both then my wallet.
“Twenty minutes, bitch,” I boast as I head back down the stairs, but he’s not listening to me. He’s looking at something on his phone, and instead of the smug smirk he had earlier, he’s got this weird, goofy, glassy-eyed grin on his face. I get close to him and try to peak over the top of the phone to see what has put that sappy ass smile on his face while praying that it’s not a naked picture of my sister. I don’t see much apart from some kind a black and white blur before he puts it away quickly. “We picking Zoey up on the way?”
That goofy smile fades away when he looks at me. I already know what he’s going to say before it leaves his mouth. “She decided she doesn’t want to go to New York.”
I nod in understanding. “I didn’t understand why she said she wanted to go in the first place.”
“She thought she could handle it,” he tells me, “but she woke up this morning having a panic attack. The last thing she needs right now is extra stress.”
I narrow my eyes at him in question. “Why is extra stress a big deal now?”
“No reason,” he says a little too quickly. “Come on so we don’t piss Nick off.”
Three hours on a plane. Four hours in a meeting that’s completely redundant and could’ve been handled by our agent and lawyer. Twelve hours shooting a commercial for the shoe endorsement.
I lay in the bed of the hotel suite staring at the ceiling thinking about the next two days of more meetings that Jax and I will probably sleep through. Two more commercials to shoot.
But one person keeps floating through my mind.
