“I was going to see if I could find a bartending gig or something,” he said. “I really don’t want to start serving again?—”
“Too many actors already waiting tables anyway,” Merrick interrupted.
Bryce snorted. “And I’ll start looking for apartments tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He wanted to. He loved his brother, he did. But he was using Merrick as a steppingstone. A helping hand to get out of St. Jack’s Bay and settled somewhere new.
“Do you work today?” Bryce asked.
Merrick nodded and turned his attention back to his sketchbook, focusing again on the unfinished dragon he’d been stabbing his pencil at when Bryce had woken up.
“Tell me about it,” Bryce said, knowing how to use his brother’s chatter as a tool to change the mood when he wanted to.
“This dragon at two,” he said, sliding the drawing toward Bryce. It was a beautiful Japanese-style thing, clearly designed for a forearm. Bryce might not be an artist himself, but because of Merrick he’d grown up around enough of them to know the basics of how tattoos wrapped around the body. He had a few of his own, most done by his brother and some done by hisbrother’s friends. He was nowhere near as inked as Merrick, and both of them had much more open skin than Holden, who was covered pretty much from his throat to his ankles.
Bryce wanted to see him naked.
Shit.
“I meant tell me about the shop. About your life here.”
“Riggs is a good boss,” Merrick explained. “An amazing artist. He has a boyfriend who comes around a lot named Smith. He’s young, but still older than you.”
Bryce rolled his eyes.
“He opened the shop after his husband died. He just hired me and Holden not too long ago.”
“I remember,” Bryce said.
“It’s small and it’s quiet?—”
“You’ve never been quiet a day in your life.”
Merrick grinned. “Holden tells me that at least once a day.”
Bryce should have known asking about work would derail the conversation into dangerous territory. He focused himself on Merrick’s sketchbook, flipping through the pages to see what else his brother had been working on. It was easy to tell which drawings were for clients and which had been for himself. Merrick had always been fascinated with nature, drawing flowers and birds and trees since he learned to pick up a pencil. At least that was the story their parents always told. Merrick had been drawing since before Bryce had even been born.
Deciding it would invoke more attention if he ignored the topic of Holden completely, Bryce took a drink of coffee and asked, “What’s his deal, anyway?”
The question was twofold. He did want to know about the other man, but he wanted to keep his brother off his tail too.
“He’s cranky,” Merrick said. “Quiet. He keeps to himself.”
“Everyone is quiet when you’re around.”
“Not you.”
Bryce didn’t tell his brother that was from necessity. Instead he took another drink of his coffee.
“How was your little lunch adventure yesterday?” Merrick asked. “He didn’t say anything about it when he got back to the shop.”
Enlightening, Bryce thought to himself.
“Uneventful,” he answered. “He doesn’t have much to say.”
