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As a kid, Nico’s parents always reminded him to use the bathroom before the start of a trip. Without Mom to keep him on point, he forgot to go before he left to pick up Luke. Some days, adulting was harder than others.
Nico stretched to work out the kinks in his back as he walked to the car. He’d asked his parents for a Tesla, arguing his generation needed to get serious about carbon emissions since they were going to be around for another six or seven decades. His parents lauded his green side and bought him a Prius. Cars were transportation, not a status symbol, they said.
Part of him agreed. And it was totally awesome that they bought him a car. But sometimes his six-foot-three body needed a bit more room. Today’s nearly four-hour drive was one of them. Luckily, they only had about an hour to go.
“Okay, let’s—” The scowl on Luke’s face as he stared at his phone made him less attractive. Nico had been down that road enough to know how it felt. It also spoke to how attached he still was to his ex. Sadly, Nico had experience with that emotion too.
Leaning on the hood of Nico’s car, Luke swiped at the screen, scowling. Nico wished this Kent guy wasn’t based in Philly. This summer would be buckets of fun.
Gliding to the spot next to Luke, Nico lightly smacked the back of Luke’s head.
“Hey! What the fuck!”
Nico held out his hand. “Just following instructions.” He wiggled his fingers for Luke to pass over the phone.
“What makes you think I’m looking at Kent’s profile?”
“Seriously?” Nico arched his brow.
Luke’s expression softened into defeat, and he slapped the phone into Nico’s outstretched hand. “Why is it so hard to hate him?”
“Because you actually cared for him, even if he turned out to be a fuckwit.” He logged off Luke’s Facebook and offered the phone back.
“Keep it until we get to the apartment. That way for the next hour I won’t be tempted to see what fun and amazing things he and his super-rich, super-hot new boyfriend are doing.”
Nico stuffed the phone in one of his many pockets. “I could always ask my cousins Paulie and Nunzio to mess him up a bit.”
“Your cousins are in the Mafia?”
The awe on Luke’s face and in his voice almost made Nico continue the lie. “I don’t even have cousins named Paulie and Nunzio, but it sounded good. And coming from a New York Italian, people are willing to believe it’s true.”
“Fuck, I believed it. Sorry.”
Nico laughed and hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “What do you say we get moving to make it before dark?”
Chapter Five
Nico
Nico: Holy Fuck! Parking sucks in Philly!
Elisa: Yikes! Language!
Nico: You sound more like Mama every day
Elisa: Whatever. Easy trip?
Nico: Yeah. Luke’s good company. Too bad he isn’t over his ex.
Nico rounded the car and met Luke at the trunk. “Here.” He held out Luke’s phone. “Try not to stalk Kent too much.”
“Thanks.” Luke shoved it into his left pocket and hurriedly snatched his laptop bag from the trunk. “We should take as much as we can carry. Don’t want to leave anything in the car.”
Nico smirked. “Country boy.”
“What? I don’t want our stuff stolen.”
“Even if we carry as much as we can, we’ll need to make another trip.” Nico pulled his backpack with his laptop and other valuables from the back seat. “I won’t leave the car here long.”
“It takes seconds to break in and steal something.”
“It’ll be fine.” Not that he knew what crime was like in Philadelphia. “Soon as I know where our parking space is, I’ll run back like the wind and move it.”
Luke cocked his head and his dark eyes washed over Nico. “Are you always this . . .” He rolled his finger. “You know.”
“Dramatic?” Nico glanced over Luke’s shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. So much for toning himself down. He mumbled, “That’s me, I guess.”
“I meant laid back.” Luke retrieved his backpack and shut the back door. “I’m nervous as fuck moving to a big city, and you’re . . . not.”
Laid back. With a relieved flutter, Nico procured his own phone with directions to their apartment. “This way.”
Their landlady owned and lived in the brownstone—a rowhouse in Philly parlance. Another reason New York was so much cooler. He’d take brownstone over rowhouse any day.
Mrs. Randazzo lived up to the elderly Italian grandmother stereotype. She met them in a mostly white sundress, house slippers, and granny glasses hanging from her neck on a beaded lanyard that reminded Nico of Rosary beads. Teased hair framed her dolled-up face, and her smile glittered.
“I gotta tell you boys, I feel like I won the lottery,” she said in a thick South Philly accent. “I did some checking on you both. Amato’s bakery, eh?”
