AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Eventually, I yield and drop my crossed arms. “What’re you even doing here, Peter?”
He shrugs and stands from the couch. “Just wanted to check in. I tried calling earlier this week, but you never answered.” He nonchalantly walks around my study. Picking up a snow globe from my bookcase, he shakes it, then puts it down several inches from where it was. Then he plucks a stack of papers from my desk and lazily thumbs through the pages.
A muscle jumps in my cheek as I watch him disturb my belongings. He knows what he’s doing annoys the fuck out of me, but he doesn’t care. Or rather, that’s the reasonwhyhe does it. He’s always doing shit to get a rise out of me. I hold back for as long as I can until he pulls at the strings of my window blinds, leaving the slates at an angle instead of perfectly parallel to the ground.
“Knock it off!” I snap, shoving him out of the way and fixing my window treatments. “Did you ever think maybe there was a reason I never answered? I’m not taking any calls right now.” Once the blinds are as they should be, I go over to the bookcase and put everything back in its correct place.
Peter smirks. “And yet, you talked to your publisher.”
Moving to my desk, I put my papers back in order. “And I deeply regret it.” Flipping around to face him, I add, “Are you done here?”
“Nope.” He obnoxiously pops thePand leans on my desk, once again pushing around various documents. “I wanted to tell you about an idea I have.”
Feeling a headache forming, I rub my temples and groan. “Please, do not pitch me any more ideas. I don’t need my mind cluttered up with more of your useless crap.”
“Okay, no worries.” He shrugs before whipping out his phone.
“What’re you doing?” I cautiously inquire. A sense of foreboding looms over me as I attempt to peek at Peter’s screen over his shoulder.
He moves away, so I can’t see his phone. “Don’t worry about it.” He taps the screen a few more times, then gives me a shit-eating grin.
Before I can even ask him what he did, my phone dings with a notification. I pull the device from my pocket and see I have a new email. “It’s a confirmation.”
I narrow my glare at him, but he gestures for me to keep reading. My eyes race over the words, but I only see the ones that stick out:congratulations, month-long stay, Florida Keys vacation home.
“What. The. Fuck? You booked me a trip toFlorida?” I’m about to pounce on him and knock some sense into his lunatic head, but he’s almost to the door.
“You can thank me later,” he teases in a singsong tone as I chase after him.
“I won’t bethankingyou. I’ll bekillingyou! You asshole!”
Peter laughs. “No, you won’t. You love me too much.”
“I don’t love you as much as you think, dick. And it’s out of obligation, not a choice.”
“Tomato, to-mah-to.” Like a toddler, he blows a raspberry and opens the front door, letting the cool fall air invade my home. “This is for your own good, Nate. You need to get out of your head. So, try something different. This place in the Keys is just what you need. Trust me. I’m your brother.”
I snort. “You do realize I’ve written twenty-seven novels plotting out the perfect murder. I can’t believe you'd do something this underhanded.”
He grins and wags his finger at me. “Ican’t believe you think you plotted them perfectly.” He skips down the steps of my brownstone and strolls along the sidewalk.
“Wait! Get back here, Peter! How do I cancel this?!” Passersby turn to stare at me.
But the jackass doesn’t turn around. Instead, he gives me a one-finger salute while instructing, “Be sure to tell me all about your trip when you get back!”
“Fucker,” I curse out loud. A woman walking by with her young child shoots me a dirty look and covers her kid’s ears.
I cringe and silently apologize before closing myself inside the house. As I lean against the door, I struggle not to spiral.
I can’t believe he did that. Jerk!
He knows I’m having a tough time right now, and I need to focus on my writing. If I don’t get my manuscript to Emily soon, I’m royally fucked, and my career will be up shit creek without a paddle. I don’t have time to go on some trip to Florida, dealing with sand in my shorts and sunburn on my back.
Peter’s words taunt me:You need to get out of your head. So, try something different.
I haven’t had much luck here in New York. Maybe going somewhere else will give me some new ideas. Perhaps a different environment will spark my creativity again.
At this point, it couldn’t hurt to try, right?
