Besides, he never groveled. Not even for someone like Everly.
“You need to give up on customizing cars and get a job writing an advice column.” Ambrose flipped him off grumpily and stomped down the hall and out the door.
He got into his car, then sat in Kon’s driveway until he was so cold he couldn’t feel his fingers.
Jackass. What the hell was he going to do?
It had only been a few hours, and he already ached to have her again.
* * *
It was cold out, but at least there was no wind. Floodlights cast a glare on the dark, mostly empty lot, but the Langly Shipping logo on the side of the new truck stood out even in the poor-quality light. He climbed up into the cab and looked around, pleased with how comfortable it was. The long-haul guys did better when their backs weren’t killing them.
Augustine strolled up to the open driver’s door, and gave him a sixty-watt smile. He always said he reserved the hundred-watt ones for business contacts who weren’t his irritating older brother.
“It’s midnight,” Ambrose pointed out. “What the hell are you doing here?”
His brother went around to the passenger side and let himself in, closing the door and tucking his hands into his armpits. “The same thing as you, dickweed. Except I’ve actually been getting work done, rather than . . . what? Playing truck driver?”
Ambrose kind of missed driving, but there was usually too much paperwork for him to indulge himself.
“Trucks are cool.”
“So is sleep.”
They appraised each other. There had been a time when they were mortal enemies, but Ambrose hiring his little brother to work for him when he’d started his company had changed all that. Sure Augustine could be an annoying businessman-type sometimes, but now they hung out like they never had as kids. The five-year age gap had given them little in common back when they’d lived under their parents’ roof, but now the difference was no big deal.
“You looking for a signature?” Ambrose asked. The financial shit Augustine juggled often required his approval.
“Why? Are you famous?”
“Damn right.”
“Oh.” Augustine laughed. “That’s why you dress like a sack of shit? To be ironic?”
“It’s either irony or a lack of ironing. Either way, there’s no one here to impress at this time of night except you and the security guards.” Ambrose shrugged. “And you’ve seen me in Batman pajamas.”
“It feels like that was only last year,” he mused. “Oh wait, it was. Christmas, to be exact. You’re a better sport than I am. I’ve never worn the Robin ones. It’s bad enough I have to be your sidekick at work, I’m sure as hell not fighting crime with you too.”
Ambrose sighed. “Damn. I got you a grappling hook for your birthday. I guess I’ll have to return it.”
The younger man held up a staying hand. “Don’t be hasty, now. After all, what guy couldn’t use a grappling hook?” He narrowed his eyes. “Enough with the bullshit. Why the fuck are you here? You look like you’re hiding from the cops.”
Ambrose snorted. “I wish.”
“Either spill it, or be a man and hide your feelings. It’s bad enough I have to deal with Charlotte’s mood swings.” He winked and Ambrose yanked on his tie good-naturedly. Augustine made a show of straightening it. The guy liked looking professional at all times. He probably wore his tie to bed. “You can give up on trying to rumple me. I’m rumple resistant. Now, you have sixty seconds to start talking or I’m heading home to strike out with my girlfriend.”
“Figure out what her kinks are and you’ll never get turned down.”
“She reads guy-on-guy romance. I’m not interested in finding out what her kinks are.”
Ambrose grinned evilly. “I guess you just don’t want her bad enough.”
“We’re not talking about me, Deflection Man.”
After fishing around in his coat pocket, Ambrose pulled out a packet of beef jerky. He shoved a piece in his mouth and sucked on it. The salt was one of his guilty pleasures. Augustine grimaced. So uptight, his brother.
“It’s a woman, of course.” He chewed, feeling like he was trying to gnaw a hole in a leather jacket. Activity was good. It made his stress level go down.