Page 10 of State of Mind

Raphael chuckled softly. “Go. You look like you could use the work-out anyway.”

“Wow. Thanks for that.” Luca’s cheeks heated, but he took the stairs—one at a time this time and dropped the bags on his little scrubbed wooden table before heading back down. Raphael wasn’t in the foyer anymore, but when Luca stepped out, he found him parked by the side of his car.

“Are you rich?” Raphael asked as Luca approached.

He gave him a pointed look. “I drive a Bentley, and I rented the whole top floor of this place. Yes, I’m rich.”

Raphael blinked in surprise, then threw his head back and laughed. “I kind of expected you to say something like, I’m not rich, I’m comfortable.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “I am comfortable. And rich.” He bent over for the last of the bags, then held the door with his hip and waited for Raphael to wheel back up the ramp and roll past him back into the foyer. “Is that going to be like a thing here?”

“A thing?” Raphael repeated.

“I’m a dickhead because I have money?” He was being overly defensive—and he was well aware. Mostly because he did feel like the dickhead with money. He was a dick, he had money, he was trying to figure out what the fuck life meant in the place that offered his brother happiness like Luca had never seen in his life.

He just didn’t know how to get started.

“If you’re a dickhead, no amount of money is going to change that,” Raphael told him, then winked. “Just like how I’m an asshole and the fact that I have cerebral palsy doesn’t make it worse. Mostly. Depending on the person.”

Luca allowed himself a tiny snort. “Fine. Fair enough. You win.”

Raphael gripped his wheels and pushed back, then grinned. “You should come get a beer with me tonight.”

Luca stared at him. “A what?”

“Oh, sorry. Is that not a rich people thing? So, beer is this process where they ferment wheat…”

Fighting off the urge to flip the man off, Luca dropped the bags again and leaned against the desk, and Raphael rolled behind it. “I know what beer is. I just, uh… guess I didn’t expect an invite.”

Raphael shrugged. “It’s nothing formal. A few people usually go after work. You met Nellie, right?”

Luca nodded. “She rented me the place.”

“She’ll tag along. We drink at the Tavern about a block up the road from here—on Liberty, but it’s more than just booze. I usually get there around eight. You can’t miss it.” Raphael gripped his wheels, gave himself a push back, then turned and wheeled all the way to the back where he disappeared around the corner.

Standing there confused and unsure, Luca stared at the salon until the lights went out, one by one, and the hallway darkened. The conversation was clearly over, especially when Raphael didn’t reappear, so he gathered up his groceries and hooked them all back on his arm. It was silent then and oddly lonely as he made his way to the apartment where the last of the evening light filtered in through the window.

Raphael didn’t seem to have invited him out of menace or mockery—but Luca wasn’t used to it. He had carefully cultivated his circle of friends—he was adored, used for his money and his name, and sometimes for his brother. And he was liked because of it, but none of that was truly him. Now, if he wanted people to like him, he’d have to be himself.

He just had no idea who the fuck that even was.

CHAPTER 5

Wilder stood beside Knox, near the edge of the bar, his foot tapping in an unheard rhythm as they watched Jayden try to charm the bottles of wine out of Sonia, who looked more amused than she did anything else.

“Why are we here, exactly? I thought we were going to drink at Oscar’s tonight.”

Knox snorted a quiet laugh. “We were, but last week someone puked on his expensive throw rug, so Oscar’s refusing to have anyone over. And anyway, I overheard Jayden and Talia talking—they have a bet going about whether or not Talia can get Sonia to give in and let her set up the food truck in her parking lot on Wednesdays.”

Wilder sighed, not quite in the mood to be in the Tavern at all.

He looked forward to their wine nights, because it meant getting away from the tourists and hanging with his friends in a safe space.

Then the door to the Tavern swung open and a group of people entered, Raphael leading the way in his wheelchair.

Raphael was one of the reasons Wilder was glad he’d branched out with his bakes. His cerebral palsy had come with a side of epilepsy which made his diet complicated. Wilder didn’t entirely understand Keto, but he knew it was no carbs and no sugar, so he’d spent time perfecting a few treats that Raphael could indulge in, and the two had become something like friends over the past few years.

Wilder’s circle of friends was still small, but knowing people like Raphael, even as acquaintances, only made him feel more at home. He looked past him to see Raphael’s other friends, people who didn’t shop at Whipped, who rarely looked his way—and then he saw someone new.

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