Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“What? Where?!” Vic leaned in, peering at Ash’s phone. “Ash, what the hell did you do?”
“Not give you any choice. I know you hate backing down on commitments, so…” That unrepentant brat just grinned wider. “It’s in the Bronx, so I suggest you get moving.”
Vic sighed. “I hate you.”
“You’ll thank me when it’s over.” Ash elbowed him. “His name’s Amani. Amani Idrissi. Be nice.”
Vic leaned back, eyeing Ash sidelong. “Did you actually make a friend other than me?”
“I have friends!” Ash spluttered, then glowered when Vic just snorted. “I do. Um, well, he would never sleep with me and he was always nice to me, so that counts as being friends, right?”
“You adorable little case of arrested development.” Vic playfully caught Ash by the back of the head, cupping his scalp to bring him in and plant a teasing kiss on the top of his head. “You’re an arse and a shit. Fine. I’ll go. Good thing I drove today.”
Laughing, Ash shoved him back. “Your car might not even be there. Who the hell parks a Benz at Prospect Park?”
“I do.” Shrugging, Vic pushed to his feet and straightened his waistcoat, then plucked the creases on his slacks back into place. “If they steal it, I’ll just buy another one.”
“And you call me spoiled and wasteful.”
“You are. I’m just practical. Roll with the punches.”
“You do not roll with the punches.” Ash snorted. “You are a complete control freak, and the second one thing steps out of line you lose your shit.”
“Over the important things. Not over a potential random act of vandalism that may or may not have happened.” Vic stretched, rolling his back, then winced when it popped and crunched. Maybe a massage would do him good. And if it ended up being a waste of time, he’d just stay late at the office tonight to make up the lost hour. “Catch you later, you little shit.”
Smirking, Ash climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. “You do know how to sweet talk a boy.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
But when Ash pulled him in for a tight, thumping hug, Vic didn’t pull away. In so many ways Ash was like a brother to him, no matter what a half-reformed degenerate the pretty little bastard was—a better brother to him than the brother Vic actually had. Ever since life had thrust both Vic and Ash out from university and into the real world, they just didn’t see enough of each other, not like those boarding school days when they’d shared a room and shared a life and practically shared a brain.
He pulled back and lightly knuckled Ash’s cheek, making him snicker and squint one eye up. “You give me a call soon, all right?”
“Will do.” Ash shoved him lightly. “Get moving.”
With a snort, Vic pulled back, turning away and lifting a hand in a wave. “Ta for now, brat,” he said, then raised his voice to carry to the giant of a man perched stiffly on the bench. “Good to see you, Forsythe.”
Brand Forsythe pushed his glasses up, eyes gleaming. A frosty “Good day, young Master Newcomb” floated across the park. Vic only shook his head, slipping his hands into his pockets and strolling across the grass toward his car.
His life, some days. His life.
Yet he couldn’t think of much he’d change about it. It was what it was, and…well…
Some things were inescapable, so there was no point in anything but just dealing with it, and trying to survive.
l
AMANI PAUSED IN WIPING DOWN the massage table as his phone vibrated in his pocket with the chime particular to his appointment management app, letting him know a client had claimed one of his open slots.
And the moment he saw the name that popped up for his two PM, he groaned, threw the towel down on the table, and ducked out into the reception area of the parlor.
“Mama?” he called, when he didn’t see his mother behind the desk. It was a slow afternoon, and the owners were out, only two other clients in occupied rooms with other masseuses, but his mother should be staffing the reception station. Instead the front foyer was empty, dimly lit in golden tones and shadows with a touch more brightness coming through the tinted glass door and front windows, catching on the refractive edges of tiny dangling lamps of amber crystal scattered at different heights throughout the room. “Mama, where are you? I’ve got an appointment.”
“Coming, habibi.” Her musical voice drifted from the back storage room. Amani turned just in time to catch her shouldering the door open and emerging with a stack of clean towels taller than her head, almost fully hiding her petite body.
“…Mama.” With a mock-exasperated sigh, he crossed over to relieve her of half the stack, piling it into his arms. “You could have made two trips.”