When he nodded, I snorted. “Well, that’s just stupid.”
“Excuse me?” He shot me a surprised scowl right before he pulled down the alley to my place and stopped in front of my door.
I only shrugged, not apologizing. “The way I see it, you already have the best parts of the dream. The woman and the kids, right?”
“Right,” he said slowly.
“So, why don’t you just enjoy them and let the rest of it fall into place on its own. Stop trying to force shit to come true, because hell...someone else could still be living in your dream home. It could be years before it even becomes available for sale. Why torture yourself—and Eva—with turning everything else down and upsetting her in the process, when you could just be enjoying the best parts together, right now?”
Pick was thoughtfully quiet before he murmured, “Good point.” Then he glanced at me and grinned. “It’d sure make Tinker Bell a lot happier if she actually felt as if she had a say-so in deciding where we lived.”
“Then...there you go.”
“Damn.” He huffed out a small laugh. “Why didn’t I think about it that way?”
“I guess you just needed your little brother around to slap some sense into you.”
He grinned, genuinely pleased by my answer. “So you’re finally ready to admit we’re related, huh?”
I glanced out the window toward the rusted metal door that led down to my apartment. “I suppose I should, since I’m going to be the best man in your wedding, and all.”
When I risked a glance his way, he beamed at me and reached out to ruffle my hair, like he was some kind of older brother.
I kind of wanted to hang out with him some more, but it felt too risky, like something bad would happen if I stuck around him too long, and I’d lose him, so I mumbled, “See you around,” as I opened the door.
But Pick grabbed my arm. “Hey, wait.”
I glanced back at him.
He turned his attention to my front door as well, but his gaze seemed to linger on the three deadbolts keeping it shut. “You haven’t heard from your father again since last night, have you?”
I groaned. “Jesus, you sound like Sticks. No, he never showed up here, and I never saw him at the bar after you left.”
“Good.” Then he used his teeth to play with his bottom lip ring. “What’s up between you and your new drummer anyway?”
That question caught me totally off guard. “Nothing. Why?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. You two just seem awfully close for just meeting.”
I blinked, not sure what he was leading his questions toward. Slowly, I said, “Yeah, I guess. I like him. He’s funny, has good taste in music, and can play the shit out of the drums.” And he had an uncanny way of making me tell him all my personal drama. Plus I felt a strange connection to him.
“I think he likes you, too,” Pick murmured. “A lot.”
I began to snort and deny his claim, but then I shrugged. “I don’t know. He is gay; I guess it’s possible.”
“Huh. Maybe that’s it. He’s just gay.”
I frowned, confused. “What do you mean? You don’t like him?”
“Yeah, I do. He seemed fine. There was just something...different about him.”
I straightened, almost defensive of my new friend. “Different how?”
“I don’t know,” Pick answered with his own confused frown. “There was just something about him when I was talking with him last night that made me want to treat him like he was...a woman.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’m guessing that’s the gay thing. I’m not sure.”
“So you’ve noticed his little effeminate qualities too? Damn, we must be related then.”