“So Nicholas Fox looks at my Instagram,” Sam said, a smile finally playing across his lips. “I knew you were on social media.”
“I’m not ‘on’ social media,” I said. “I sometimes look at what’s out there, but I sure as hell don’t post anything.”
“Maybe you should try it. Have a little fun for once.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t need to show the whole world my glutes like you do.”
“My ass looks great, and all of my followers agree,” Sam said. “Just never knew you were a follower, too.”
I liked his sense of humor, even if he still talked back like it was his job. He sure had gotten even more confident as the years had passed.
“Quit calling me Nicholas, by the way,” I said. “Fox is my name.”
In general, I just liked the name Fox better. But being called Nicholas also reminded me of Mom, and that was the last thing I needed right now.
The cowboy bartender was walking past and he stopped dead in his tracks, looking at me and Sam and back to me.
“Is this…” he started to say, looking questioningly at Sam.
“Yes. This, indeed, is my stepbrother,” Sam said. “Fox, this is Red, my boss and the owner of this tavern. Which means if you give me any shit, he’s the one who will throw you out.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Red,” I said, holding out a hand and shaking his. “I think you have an incredible concept here, by the way. If you ever want to open franchise locations in Manhattan, I know an investment group who’d be very interested.”
Red chuckled and Sam let out a sharp laugh.
“Thank you, Fox, but I think I’m happy staying right here in Kansas.”
“Back in Amberfield for one day and you’re already trying to make deals,” Sam said.
I shrugged one shoulder.
A group of people sat down at the middle of the bar and Sam and Red went over, greeting them and getting their orders started. I watched as Sam morphed into a totally different person. He seemed so much more comfortable talking to people who weren’t me. He was charming, friendly, and pleasantly flirty with the customers, and as he moved around behind the bar, he was downright graceful.
He put his hand to the small of Red’s back as he moved behind him, making sure they didn’t collide as they made drinks. He lightly rested it on the shoulder of another bartender who walked by. He was considerate without even trying, and refilled some soda glasses for other customers before they’d even asked.
That part of Sam hadn’t changed at all, either.
He was all personality. All warmth. In a way I’d kind of forgotten was possible. He had clearly come into his own now that he was an adult, and it was impressive to watch. He also looked really good, despite his ridiculous tank top.
And he was right about me, anyway. I mean, I kind of was a cocky bastard.
From the day I could remember, all I’d thought about was money. Money had meant everything. It meant I could have whatever life I wanted, whatever girl I wanted, anything I dreamed of.
And I chased after money like a ravenous fucking lion.
My life had been a whirlwind since I’d left this place for New York. For one embarrassing year, I’d kept a photo of Steve Jobs as my cell phone background. I had taken phone calls about multimillion dollar deals while balls-deep inside of beautiful women. Unlike everybody else on Wall Street, I didn’t subsist on cocaine, but there had still been countless times I found myself up all night, red-eyed, watching charts and numbers flashing in front of me on a screen until the sun came up.
I’d worked at Chamberlight Investments for years now, and I’d been the quickest to rise to Senior Investment Banker of all time. Mom had always said I was a “smart cookie” who’d go far in life, and I wanted nothing more than to prove her right.
But it was like a speeding train that kept going faster and faster and faster with every year. And recently, I had started to feel like I could never get off.
“So are you going to tell me why you’re actually here?” Sam asked, appearing in front of me again, leaning back and crossing his arms.
“Because I’m pretty sure I couldn’t get an Absolut martini over at the Denny’s.”
“I meant here, in Amberfield,” Sam said. “Why in hell would you ever go on a road trip with us?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Why would you ever go on a road trip? It isn’t really your style.”
Something flashed behind his eyes. A hint of defeat, of sadness, a rare moment where his fierce positivity flickered.
“I guess I just need to be somewhere other than home for a while,” he said.
I remembered I’d seen a post from his Instagram earlier, where he’d written some quote about heartbreak under a photo of a feather. It was cheesy as hell, but now I realized he might have really meant something by it.