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THE NEXT DAY
I still haven’t heardfrom her. I texted her last night, but she never responded, therefore I’m pacing my apartment like a caged animal. Back and forth I move, thinking about how I got to this point. My knuckles are bruised and swollen, but it was worth it. That motherfucker will think before he touches next time. I do this until my doorbell rings. Praying it’s her, I throw the door open only to be disappointed. I am unable to hide that disappointment.
“Oh, it’s you,” I say flatly. What the hell is he doing here? Doesn’t he have a game on Tuesday?
“Is that anyway to greet your favorite brother who flew out of his way to visit you?” Nick, my baby brother, asks, laughing.
“Nick, you do know that you’re my only brother right?” I ask, pulling him into a bro hug. I laugh as well because it’s Nick.
“Quantity has nothing to do with favoritism, brother. Were you expecting someone else?”
“No. Yes. No. Come in.” I move out of the doorway so he can step through.
“Thanks,” he says, dropping his bag on the floor. “What’s there to do in this tiny ass town?”
We’re from Chicago. Cupid’s Cove is vastly different from the hustle and danger of Chicago. Nick plays basketball professionally for the Chicago Calves. He’s a year younger than I am, thirty-six to my thirty-seven, but we might as well be twins for how close we are. Our sister, Nora, is much younger than us. At twenty-two, she was a late in life surprise baby for my parents. I’m close with her as well. We’re a pretty tight-knit family actually. I lived right down the street from my parents until I went into full stalker mode and moved across the country for Cheryl.
“Nothing, but don’t knock it. It’s not terrible here. I keep busy.”
“So, who did you want to be on the other side of that door?”
“Cheryl.”
“The voice on the phone? The voice that made you so fucking crazy you drove across the country to move down the street from her?”
“It’s not quite down the street,” I growl.
“It sure as hell isn’t Chicago. It’s her, no?”
“Of course it’s her. There’s only her.”
“Bro, you’ve got it bad. You’ve got to do something about that.
“You think I don’t know that?” I know that I do. I think everyone in the state of Maine knows I’ve got it bad, except Cheryl.
“What are you going to do about it?” he says, making his way to the fridge. He pulls out two beers, handing me one. We simultaneously open the bottles by leveraging the cap on the countertop before taking a long pull.
“I’m gonna get my girl,” I say, more determined than ever. I drain the rest of my beer in two gulps.
“Damn right.”
Before I can say anything else, my phone vibrates across the countertop. Picking it up I see that it’s a text from Cheryl. Finally.
Want to meet me and Rose for dinner?
Can I bring my brother?
Brother? Is he hot?
Is he hot? What the fuck? Oh, hell no.
He’s not for you. Where do you want to eat?
Pizzaholic
Be there in ten minutes or less.
“Let’s go. We’re going out for pizza with Cheryl and Rose,” I say, grabbing my keys and wallet off of the counter and slipping both into my pockets.
