Electric Sunshine (Brooklyn Boys Book 1)

by E. Davies

  No way could I bring up anything to do with Kev.

  “Come through!” Chris called, and when I headed to the kitchen, I found them working together to cut shapes in the top of a pie. “I’m afraid we’re running a bit late. Sorry,” he apologized.

  “No problem. Good things are worth the wait.” I hung back and let them get the pie into the oven before they gave me hugs and handshakes. We all headed to the kitchen table together to wait for the pie to bake.

  The familiar conversations helped. “So, how’s work going?”

  I got to chat about my current projects, although I focused on the most interesting before long. “We’re doing some pro bono work for a LGBT hotline that’s losing its tenancy to a real dick of a landlord. They’ve bought land and they want to build an office that reflects their needs.”

  “Oh, that must be rewarding,” Linda said, smiling at me. They were always supportive of whatever I did, which only twisted the guilt knife about what I was hiding a little harder.

  Not that I was hiding it. I just wasn’t telling them.

  “It is. They’re so excited to get construction started. Their office is a tiny place.” One section of the office had to be reserved for the counselors working phone lines. Everyone else was basically jammed into corners, sharing desks.

  “Like a crisis counseling line?” Chris asked, and when I nodded, he hummed. “That might be a good place for our donations this year.”

  “I was thinking of it, too,” I admitted. “They seem to be doing good work with what they have.”

  “Well, you could always do something to help them in person,” Linda said, and there was no way to avoid feeling like she’d been waiting to suggest that in some way for some time now.

  God almighty, I felt like I was going to my first day of school. Make friends, Charlie. “I’m trying to make friends,” I said. The defensive tone in my voice was clear even to me. “I even got chatting to a guy at a bar.”

  “Ooh.” Linda looked intrigued. “Tell us more about him. Is he cute?”

  Oh, no. No, now they’re going to think I’m into that Darren guy. “No, I’m not—friends, Linda.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She looked strangely… disappointed?

  I had to figure out how I felt about that. They weren’t just okay with me dating someone else, they wanted me to? Was I their only son now? That was a lot to take in all of a sudden, and I felt angry, but I didn’t quite know why.

  I put that firmly on my think about later shelf, which was getting crowded. Instead, I kept going. “Met a couple guys in the last week or two who seem interesting. I’m going to try to work a little less and socialize more.”

  Linda lit up again. “That’s great news, Charlie. I’ve been worried for a while now, you know that.”

  “I’m fine,” I told her automatically. I’d said the phrase so often throughout the years that I wasn’t sure what it meant anymore. Fine with this situation? I hate it but I’ll live? I don’t want to live, but I have to because he’d want me to? It had meant so many different things throughout the years.

  She hesitated, but apparently she didn’t want to push it.

  And why was I so against everyone trying to set me up or get me out of my shell, anyway? Just because it felt like everyone was suddenly nagging me at the same time? If it was the spur I needed to kick into action and make new friends at last, wasn’t that a good thing?

  As we chatted about the headlines, Linda’s quilting club, Chris’s watercolors, and all the mundane events of everyday life, I kept coming back to it in my head. Maybe what I needed was to talk to my own parents. Or maybe that would just screw me up even more.

  I was an adult, goddamn it. I could figure out what I wanted to do with my life—and who I wanted in it—without consulting the whole world.

  When I stepped away for the bathroom, I paused for a minute after washing my hands and took out my phone.

  I sent Kev a text.

  If it’s not business, we should start out as friends and make sure we’re both interested in spending time together. That’s a big change.

  I hadn’t even pocketed my phone before I got a response.

  Yes. When and where?

  I smiled. Someone else was eager, then. That made me feel better.

  Tuesday night?

  If I was going to try this “go home from work on time” thing, having a date in the evening was the best possible motivator to shut off my computer and get out the door.

  I’m free anytime after 6 Tuesday.

  I resisted thinking about what he might be doing up until six o’clock that day. Surely giving up his evening was actually a big deal. It made sense that most of his work would happen in that time, right?

  The prickle of jealousy was weird, and the cause clear: I hadn’t spent enough time around him yet. I needed a little more, to satiate my curiosity. That was an easy solution.

  How about 7, outside the usual diner? I tried not to laugh. At this rate, we’d be the best-known customers who never entered the diner.

  Perfect. See you then :)

  The emoji made me smile, too. I sent one back. Then I pocketed my phone and got out of there before they thought I was having a sneaky jerk. With that awkward thought and a date on my calendar, I left the bathroom to face the fire once again.

  12

  Kev

  Retail was the lowest common denominator of jobs. Not only were my coworkers either dumb or lazy—and I excluded Adam from this, even though from his stories, he did the bare minimum required to keep his job—but the customers.

  Man, the customers.

  I kept a polite smile throughout my first shift as I learned the cash register. I was working a four-hour shift from noon to four that day. I had to do everything in my power to forget that I was making less than sixty bucks before taxes.

  That was how the rest of the world worked, and it sucked. Working poverty sounded awful, but at least I wouldn’t get arrested. Adam’s fixation on getting me into school suddenly made much more sense, and by the end of my shift, I was already considering how much I had in savings.

  “Excuse me?” The snotty tone preceded the woman who looked around the end of the aisle, and then strode up to me like she’d expected me to be standing to attention. “I want a discount.”

  I wasn’t sure how to handle this, and dammit, Bobby had left me alone for three seconds. I tried to fall back on my training. Everyone knew the customer was always right.

  “I’m sorry—for what, ma’am?”

  That only served to piss her off. “A discount for the damage to this can!” She shoved it in my face. “You can’t sell this to anyone else, you know. Breaking food safety laws. New York laws. Lots of them.”

  “I—I’ll call my manager to authorize it,” I managed when I’d overcome the urge to get her hand—and the can—out of my face. But my hands had already started to shake. I felt threatened, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  And she knew that. She smirked triumphantly and plopped her basket on the counter. “Cashiers can authorize up to a ten percent discount on a single item without a manager’s authorization code.”

  I didn’t bother asking her how she knew the rules better than me, but my warning flags were going up. Before I could say another word, Bobby strolled back.

  “Afternoon, ma’am.” It was obvious from their expressions that they recognized each other.

  “I want a discount, and none of your smart-ass, back-talking, gap-toothed, pimple-ridden attitude,” she sneered at him.

  My jaw dropped. I looked at him, then her, and then around. Nobody else was within earshot. The manager wasn’t in. He’d gone for a long lunch break and never came back.

  Bobby was a supervisor, so he could do the discount, but why would he?

  “Of course, ma’am.” He scanned the can, examined it, and then looked toward the aisle where it came from.

  “What?” she snapped. “I didn’t dent it. It was sitting on the shelf l
ike that. I oughta turn you in to the Health Department. They’d have your ass fired so fast. Shut this place down. Then you’d have to get some other greasy job with that greasy smile.”

  “There’s your twenty percent off.” He gestured for me to start scanning the rest of her basket.

  I couldn’t understand why he was taking it. Sure, the customer was right, but this was just personal abuse.

  “Good,” she snapped, then flicked her fingers at me. “Hurry up. I’ve got places to be. I can’t just stand around arguing with the supermarket boys.”

  I bristled but kept my focus on scanning, since that still took most of my attention to do right. It didn’t stop me overhearing what she was saying, though.

  And then I spotted the cart behind her, which was so full of toilet paper rolls that it was almost overflowing. My jaw dropped, and I swapped looks with Bobby.

  “I’m afraid there’s a limit of ten per promotional item…”

  “What if I’m buying ten for me, and ten for my husband, and ten for my sister—”

  “If you’re by yourself, I’m afraid that’s a limit of ten.”

  “Ten items per transaction? Ring them up separately.”

  “Per person.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave and come back,” she hissed. “See how you like that, moron. Or is that too much math for your simple brain?”

  I shook my head as I finished scanning her basket and loading things into bags. “You’re still the same person, though,” I said, looking at Bobby for confirmation.

  Bobby had left from behind the counter and looked down the toilet paper aisle. “That’s… the entire contents of the shelf.”

  “It’s a free country. You can’t stop me buying things. The customer is always right, even when you’re too stupid to understand.” She got in his face. “I. Buy.” He raised his eyebrows but said nothing and she persisted, “You. Sell. Me. Things.”

  “Please don’t treat him disrespectfully, ma’am,” I spoke up.

  Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

  “This stupid fuckface has cost me hundreds of dollars before,” she hissed, folding her arms. “I can’t believe he’s still employed here.”

  “Okay, I’m not comfortable dealing with someone who can verbally abuse staff,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s what this is, ma’am. You can ask for a discount without insulting him.”

  “Oh yeah?” She rounded on me. “And what about you? New here? Don’t you get it? They can’t stop me. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m just demanding my rights. My rights as an American citizen.”

  “Right,” I snorted. “The right to bear arms, not be an ass.”

  Oops. The door rattled and I looked up, only to see Dirk standing there, his mouth hanging open.

  She pushed her shopping basket off the counter in my direction, and I was shaking so hard I couldn’t even grab it. It felt like she could come over the counter at me and everyone was too afraid to stand up to her that they wouldn’t lift a finger.

  “I can’t believe you’d treat me with such disrespect!” she howled in my face.

  “And I can’t believe you’d treat us with such disrespect,” I countered.

  Dirk stepped in. “Kev, take a break. Bobby, ring up the basket.”

  Ring up the basket case, I barely refrained from saying. I was glad to escape to the break room and calm my nerves before I said something I actually regretted.

  It didn’t stop me hearing her ranting as I left. “I don’t want any of this shit. I’m never shopping here again!”

  The break room was tiny—more of a break closet—but I flopped on the single chair in there and breathed deeply.

  The relief was short-lived. When Dirk followed me in, I could read on his face what was about to happen. Fuck. What the hell?

  “Sir…”

  “I realize this was a frustrating incident to deal with, but you were out of line. Don’t come to work tomorrow.”

  “She called Bobby all kinds of names. Bobby could have called the cops,” I protested, standing up and unlacing my apron.

  Goddamn, I’d be glad to get out of this place. I could still feel her spittle hitting my bare arms as she screeched.

  “And he wouldn’t, because the customer…”

  “—is always right,” I interrupted with a snort. “Except when they’re harassing, abusing, and intimidating your staff. You should be ashamed to protect her and not us.”

  Dirk didn’t even seem to know what to say. He opened and closed his mouth before pointing at the door.

  “Don’t bother paying me,” I added with a snort. “Take the fifty bucks and buy a conscience.”

  I stormed out without a second look, and Bobby avoided looking at me. I knew why. He couldn’t risk it, even if I’d stood up for him.

  My eyes pricked with tears, and I swallowed my anger. Not for myself—I was going to be fine financially. I could make it work somehow or another. But someone like Bobby? He couldn’t just fire a bad client or go find another job. He had to put up with this shit, and smile while he took it.

  It made me feel too sick to look back at him, and I stormed down the street without a second look.

  Thank God they hadn’t even asked Adam to vouch for me. Whatever I screwed up from being unable to hold a normal job without getting angry about the universe being unfair, it wouldn’t fuck him up.

  But if I couldn’t even swallow a coworker being yelled at by a customer, fast food was completely out. Starbucks? No way. People were grumpy before their morning caffeine. Maybe I was spoiled after being treated like a real person at my last job, working on the ranch, but I didn’t want to compromise my own humanity to survive.

  I bit my lip hard to keep myself from crying as I walked home. I felt like crap, even if I also felt like I’d done the right thing. How was that fair? I ought to feel good about having principles, but instead, I just felt like I was letting everyone down around me.

  It was easier to be on my own in some ways. I could do stupid shit and not affect anyone else. But it was too late to go back to that state, unless… well, unless I ran away.

  But no. I was done running away. I didn’t have to stand still and let people hit me, but I couldn’t just leave every time something went a little bit wrong. My friends from the ranch—the significant brothers, they called themselves—and Adam would miss me. I had people who cared. I couldn’t throw that away.

  The dread that built in the pit of my stomach only got worse as I approached the door. I had no idea if Adam was home or not. He was probably out cutting lawns or doing odd jobs for cash. He was a scrapper, and I felt like a loser in comparison.

  Sex work was hard work, but if it was all I could do… he was tougher than me, hands-down.

  I carefully opened the door and let a breath of relief escape. Adam’s boots were gone. I had time to figure out what I was going to tell him. It made me almost chuckle, because it was like having a spouse… but not, thank God. I wished strength to whoever had to put up with Adam in matrimonial bliss someday.

  “Lunch,” I told myself. I hadn’t been hungry before I left, and I hadn’t even gotten a break today. I wasn’t used to not being able to eat when I wanted, even if I was working and it was just a salad.

  Ramen sounded great right now. Although I was making—had been making—way more now than my twenty-buck blowjob days, I hadn’t lost my taste for cheap food. Something about it had reprogrammed my taste buds, I was pretty sure. I could appreciate a good steak or caviar, but when I wanted to feel good? Ramen, Spam and rice, cheesy tuna noodle casserole, stewed chicken… cheap and easy foods.

  I didn’t even try a battle of willpower—I headed right for the stove and threw a brick of noodles into water.

  I grabbed a pitcher of tea from the fridge and poured it into my favorite pretty teacup from the shelf. I usually drank it cold and sweet from a glass, but the winter here had introduced me to the idea of hot tea, and now I used the cups for any drink when I wanted to feel be
tter. Even wine sometimes.

  Only when I was curled up on the couch with the bowl cradled against my chest did I let myself think about what I was going to do next.

  It stung, but maybe Adam was right and I needed to use those skills that Josh had been so careful to teach me. Sure, it wasn’t like professional certifications in anything, but enough to know what I liked and was good at.

  Details: I was surprisingly good at those, after years of managing my own life. Listening to people. Smoothing out disagreements. Maybe an office job would be better than I’d thought.

  I grabbed my laptop, grinning again at the memory of Adam learning how I’d gotten it, and searched for New York community colleges. I sure wasn’t going to get into debt going to a four-year college when a trade would serve me better.

  A massage school popped up near the top of the results. I eyed the page and then sat back on my heels and spread my arms along the back of the couch, digging my heels into the crack between the cushions.

  It wasn’t a bad idea at all. But how much would it cost?

  I’d expected to rack up debt no matter what program I chose, but a little Googling had me staring at about a ten-grand bill, depending on what school I chose. That wasn’t unaffordable, especially if I was able to start using my skills before I’d graduated.

  Of course, I could do it cheaper by taking classes without certification, but then I’d be limited to erotic massage rather than actual massage therapy. But I could at least see if I liked it before I threw myself into a program.

  A lot of Googling later, I’d chosen a taster session and booked it, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart and the way it felt like every little decision I made was a crossroads I could never come back from.

  “Hey!” The door banged shut, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

  “Fuck! Dude,” I groaned. “You could give me a second of warning.”