Page 11 of Last Love

“Is that what you thought when the motherfucker spit a bit of his Cheerios in your eye?”

Noah winces despite his best efforts not to. “Look, Ryder, Clio and I are doing our best with this shit. Cut us some fucking slack.”

“Maybe I should just fucking live alone.” I hit my head against headrest on a loud sigh. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You can’t afford to live alone,” Noah needlessly reminds.

Technically, I can’t afford to live anywhere yet.

He’s willing to shell out the money to get me out of his perfectly put together Pleasantville place, yet not willing to just dump thousands of dollars on rent and utilities for me to live without the company of a stranger I have no interest in getting to know or being judged by.

Beggars can’t be choosers, but the bankrollers sure the fuck can be.

“Besides,” my brother shoves the car key into his suit pocket, paranoia keeping him from allowing it to be left in his push start vehicle, “I think you’ve already spent plenty of time alone in your life. When you first left home. Wandering all around the fucking country. Keeping yourself in solitude at rehab.”

The recounting of my past sparks the craving Law just help me extinguish.

“You’re finally starting over, which means – according to the audio self-help book I’ve been listening to about revamping your life – creating new habits. Forging new routines. Making new connections. Letting new people into your life.”

“You wanna say new again, Noah? I don’t think you said it enough.”

It’s his turn to twitch a glare. “Could you just…fucking…try to…see where I’m coming from? How I’m doing my fucking best to help you around being a husband, a father, and trying to make partner at the firm?”

Fuck.

Why am I always such an asshole?

Why am I always such a fucking monster?

The apology is sheepish yet there. “Sorry.”

His eyebrows lift in shock over the word.

“You’re right.” I compliantly nod. “You’re doing a ton of shit for me that you don’t have to. That other brothers probably wouldn’t. My ass should be grateful you give a fuck at all.”

“Of course, I give a fuck. You’re my baby brother.”

An attempt to smile is made prior to me giving my freshly cut hair a comforting tug. “Let’s get goin’. Let’s go meet whatever lion tamer, sword swallower, or trapeze swinger is waiting for us.”

“Why are you fucking convinced this dude works for the circus?”

“Because after meeting with a guy who literally distills his own piss into water for ‘nature fun’ reasons, I know anything is possible.”

Noah laughs, shakes his head, and motions for us to get out the vehicle. On our way towards the building that’s directly in front of where we parked, he informs, “Now, like all the others, we’ve done a background check on this guy. He seems legit. Has a steady job doing contract painting projects for both companies and residences. No priors came up. No recorded use of substance or any other kind of abuse. No unusual red flags were found in the initial pairing.”

“Yeah, most people don’t put the things that scare people away on their ‘please live with me’ resume.”

“Shut up,” my brother mumbles under his breath while knocking on the reddish-orange apartment door.

Why’s this shit this color?

Why isn’t it the same bland off-white as all the others?

Almost immediately after the first two rasps, I’m greeted by a brunette male, same height, similar build, and matching eyes to my own. He finishes wiping what looks like oil off his hands while swinging his stare from my brother to me. It doesn’t take more than a single glance each direction for him to lock his stare with mine. “You must be the guy here about being my roommate.”

I nod and extend my hand his direction. “Yeah, I’m Ryder Collins, but I usually go by Collins.”

“Merrick McCoy.” He shakes at the same time he adds, “Nowadays, I go by either.” The resuming of cleaning his palm after we’re finished is immediate. “Chaperone?”

“Basically.”

“Noah Collins,” he professionally announces while offering his own hand. “The big brother.”

An unusual grin is preceded by another handshake. “Got a few of those myself.”

Just as mine starts to speak his phone loudly interrupts. “My apologies.” His immediate retrieval reveals to him something worthy of an exasperated sigh. “I really need to take this. It’s one of the higherups. Can this interview wait like ten minutes? Fifteen max?”

He’s immediately given a sarcastic stare.

“Damn, alright, twenty minutes max. And that’s like can’t get him off the line level.”

“We can do this without you,” I casually announce. “It’s not a big deal.”

My suggestion is met with an incredulous expression.

“Really, Noah. You can go.”

His face flinches once more in uncertainty.

“I got this shit.” Irritation builds causing my fingers to curl into fists to keep my composure. “Can I get a little fucking trust?” The balled position grows tighter. “Please.”

His lips twist tightly; however, he hastily nods, surrenders a hand, and leaves to answer the phone.

There’s an interesting hum sound out of McCoy that’s followed by him tilting his head towards the apartment. “Come on in, Collins.”

I enter the downstairs apartment on a gracious nod.

“I’m gonna scrub this shit off my hands one more time,” he announces as he moves to the left, the direction of the small kitchen. “Feel free to have a seat on the couch.”

I take his offer and sit down in the middle of the dark leather couch, eyes already wandering around to observe the new environment I could possibly call home.

Well.

Not home.

More like my stable place of residence, which is still more than I’ve really had in the recent years.

The small, oddly shaped table in front of me is overflowing with car magazines, a site that unconsciously has me grinning. To the side of it, is a footrest being occupied by art books, textbooks, and a sketch pad. While there’s a flat screen with a glass entertainment center on the wall directly in front of me, there’s a small dining area right behind me. Its walls are covered in art, although I’m not sure if it’s his or famous people’s. Natural light floods in through the crookedly hung sheer curtains to the left of where I’m sitting and seeing it highlight the sauce stains on the gray rug under my feet gets me thoughtlessly smirking all over again.

Not too clean like the pee guy.

Not too messy like the snake weirdo.

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