Page 16 of Petrichor

Fly takes a sip of coffee and swallows it, making a scrunched-up face. “You got any sugar? Milk?”

“No,” I reply flatly. I won’t ruin an Italian espresso with sugar or milk.

What the fuck is he still doing here? He obviously spent the night in my fucking bed since I slept on the sofa. He’ll pay dearly if I catch him doing something questionable on the security cameras.

Luca is staring at me with a curious look. “Yesterday was fun then.” He places his dirty cup in the sink and then moves toward the balcony to smoke one of his small cigars.

“It was, and now that the most bitter magic brew I’ve ever drunk is circulating in my veins, my brain can work properly again. Hi, I’m Fly,” he introduces himself to Luca.

“Luca,” he answers with a frown.

“Nice cave,” Fly tells me, waving his hand around the large modern living room and spacious, open kitchen before heading toward the balcony.

“Didn’t have much time to admire it last night?” Luca is fishing while turning a mocking smile my way.

Fly shrugs, seemingly not getting the allusion. “I was too tired.”

“Tired, eh?” Luca nods with a deeper frown. I can almost see the wheels inside his head moving with extra vigor. I turn my back to him. I need more fucking coffee.

“The view is great,” I hear Fly utter.

“It’s a pet cemetery,” Luca feels the need to tell him.

“In the middle of Manhattan?” Fly chuckles.

Luca stares at him before stating, “You’re weirdly unusual.” He never minces his words. Something common in our family.

“And your eyes are kind of close together, but I don’t comment!” Fly sniffs Luca’s way. “I like your tie though. Is it a snake?” I face them in time to see Fly leaning toward Luca to get a better look at the gold, twisted piece of silk fabric. Luca loves to match his standard suits with extravagant accessories.

The wariness I saw before on Fly’s face seems gone, and Luca looks puzzled by him, just like I was last night when I met him.

“Are you friends with Marco here?” Fly asks.

Luca takes a puff from his slim cigar. “No. I’m not friends with…Marco.” We are like brothers.

“So, who?—?”

What’s with all the questions? “What the fuck are you still doing here, Fly?” I growl, irritated by his casual attitude.

“Are you trying to raise that daily douche quota?” He pouts for a second, making those lips plump even more.

“What did you expect?” I counter.

“A fucking thank you would have been nice!” he retorts, crossing his arms in front of his narrow chest.

Was this his plan all along? To make me feel grateful toward him? Tough luck, I’m not the fucking type.

“For what exactly?” I growl menacingly, taking a step toward him.

He doesn’t back down. On the contrary, he moves toward me until his bellicose eyes focus on something behind me and then almost pop out of their sockets. “Oh fuck, is that the time?” He runs to the corridor and comes back with his bags hanging from both shoulders.

“I’m not giving in. We’ll continue this next time, Mr. Suit!” he lets me know with a huff.

“Where the fuck is my shirt and jacket?” I ask him.

He huffs again. “I gave them to Diego last night; he said he’ll take them to the dry cleaner’s. I owe you that. I’ll bring you the money within a week,” he says on the way to the front door. “I left my phone number on the coffee table.”

My eyes find the small piece of paper I hadn’t noticed before on the black glass surface. He thought about everything, didn’t he? I light a cigarette, biting down hard on the filter. People do what I say, not the other way around. I’ll make him learn it the hard way if necessary. But for now, a threat seems enough. “Oh, you will pay me back, or I’ll be forced to find you. And I don’t like to be forced to do anything, Fly.”

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