Page 3 of Third Time Lucky

The ratings would be off the hook, but I’m supposed to be taking things off my plate now, not the other way around.

But I’m in favor of the movie’s casting. Perfect choice.

“Thank you, Mr. Redmond. And once again, I apologize for our earlier miscommunication.”

“Call me Joey. I can’t fault you for doing your job.” Well, I could and did, but I’m feeling more magnanimous at the moment.

“I appreciate that, Joey. Since our interview is officially over, I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner sometime this week. I can be your unofficial tour guide. I think it’s safe to say not many people know this city better than I do.”

And now it’s awkward. Not because she isn’t attractive or doesn’t seem lovely when she isn’t trying to shock her way into the lurid underworld of the tabloids.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a penis. That’s an instant deal breaker from my end. “Thank you for the offer, Leona, but I’ve recently ended a long-term relationship with my ex-boyfriend, and I’m focused on settling in and getting the office up and running. You understand.”

“Okay, I’m embarrassed,” she says with a chuckle. “But I appreciate your honesty and your interview. For the record, I can still be an entertaining tour guide once you get settled in, so the offer stands.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When I hang up, I can only hope that Mr. Rogers question isn’t added to the final print. I’ll be getting cardigans and hand puppets from my brothers and my bff for the rest of my natural life.

They never let anything go.

The sun is setting when the driver drops me off at the building by the harbor, and I adjust the strap of my bag and take in the view. This is a quasi-momentous occasion. Not only because I don’t have to go back to the house where I last saw JD getting kinky with his husband and a bottle of barbecue sauce on the kitchen counter.

Barbecue sauce. For breakfast. That’s all I’m choosing to remember. The rest of the images are going into the brain bleach pile.

Those two make me question my life choices.

JD once said seeing Carter for the first time was like being hit with a bolt of lightning. Even I could see the sparks they created every time they looked at each other. I can’t imagine experiencing anything close to what they have together. Not even a slice of it.

I have a wonderful family, close friends and a career I’m passionate about. I’ve traveled overseas and seen places so beautiful they changed my perspective forever. I’m working on putting some positive energy out into the world. Doing my bit not to waste the chance I was given. I can even juggle interviewers with the greatest of ease. But no one has ever loved or wanted me the way Carter does my brother.

That’s okay with me, for the most part. I’m not sure I’d know what to do with it if they did.

This is life-altering enough for me. A new city. A new apartment. A new life.

The last time I’d dealt with a change this big was the day I met my foster family. I still remember Rick standing in the driveway, wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and gripping a bouquet of those mylar It’s a Boy balloons. I was nine at the time and there were a few boys my age in the yard, so it was a given that I’d have to pretend it was lame, but he didn’t take it personally. He wanted me to know he’d been waiting for me. That he was happy I was home.

That day changed my life.

Today, I’ll be greeted with keys and paperwork instead of balloons and brothers. Not as life-affirming, but it was still another new beginning.

I cross the street and open the tinted glass door, taking my first ste—

“Oomph. Son of a—” The impact is so jarring I drop my bag and stumble back, cupping my shoulder to make sure it’s still firmly attached to my body. What a stupid place to put a wall.

I didn’t expect things to start with a literal bang.

“What the hell?”

A wall that talks.

I lift my gaze a few inches above my own six-foot frame in order to glare at the offender, and get another jolt. Either I was hit harder than I thought or I’ve managed to run into a younger, vastly improved copy of Henry Cavill. Complete with a captivating chin dimple.

Is he made of steel too? It sure as hell felt like it.

My interest wanes when I notice the good-looking clone clutching his phone like a cudgel and aiming an irritated scowl my way. As if it was my fault he nearly knocked me on my ass.

“You might want to watch where you’re going, Clark.”

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