The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(6)
“You should…check it out sometime.”
“I will,” I reply as I slip the card into my back pocket.
Sage yawns again, so I flag down the waitress. When she approaches, I promptly inform her that I’ll be paying my pink-haired friend’s tab.
“You don’t have to do that,” she argues.
“Go home. Get some sleep, Sage.”
“Well, aren’t you just my knight in shining armor today?”
she replies sweetly.
“More like khaki slacks. Now go.”
She turns on the barstool so her knees are practically pressed against the side of my thigh. She hesitates before leaving. I’m about to insist she go again when her hand lands softly on my forearm. “Maybe next Saturday, I’ll get off late again and we can share another breakfast.”
My focus is lost on the enigmatic crystal-blue color of her eyes. And for a moment, I don’t see the pink hair or tattoos or piercings. I see a mystery wrapped in beauty, and I start to wonder what might be underneath.
“Maybe…” I reply softly with my gaze on her face.
“Bye, Adam.” With that, her hand leaves my arm, and I feel a cool, empty void where it once was.
“Bye, Sage.”
I watch her leave through the front door and disappear down the street before turning back to my half-eaten breakfast, suddenly less interested in waffles and syrup.
For a while, I just sit on the stool and relive every moment of our conversation, committing her scent and smile to memory since I know it’s the most I’m going to get. It’s hard to decide if I’m really so attracted to her or if she’s just the most interesting person I’ve ever truly met.
Either way, she steals every thought in my head for the rest of my morning—for reasons even I can’t understand.
When I finally pick up my phone again, I see the sermon I was watching is now over.
Two
Sage
“M orning, Gladys,” I call as I cross the soap-scented Laundromat toward the door that leads to my apartment in the back. The sixty-nine-year-old owner is sitting behind the tall counter, watching reruns of Days of our Lives on one of the last working TVs hanging from the ceiling.
“Morning, Sage,” she replies without looking away from the soap opera. “Busy night?”
I pull a can of Mountain Dew from the fridge in the back.
Slumping against one of the industrial machines, I crack it open as I roll my eyes. “So fucking busy. We didn’t close until seven.”
She glances down at her watch. “It’s past nine. Where have you been?”
“Stopped for breakfast at Sal’s. Met a cute guy who bought me biscuits and gravy.”
She glares at me over her glasses. “Good. Dump that loser, Brett, and date this guy. I bet he wants to do more with your biscuits than just pay for them.”
I chuckle over my soda. “Eh, he’s not my type.”
“Why? Does he own a car and pay his rent on time?”
I scoff and act wounded, grabbing my chest like she’s stabbed me. “That hurt.” Then I stand upright and point at the TV. “Spoiler. It’s not Stefano’s baby. I’ve already seen this episode.”
“You little bitch,” she snaps, throwing a tiny box of detergent at me as I run toward the exit in the back while laughing. “Love you, Gladys!” I call before disappearing through the heavy door and dashing up the dirty cement stairwell toward my apartment.
She’s not really mad at me, and if she is, she’ll forgive me by closing time. I moved into the apartment above Gladys ten
years ago, and she’s been like a mother to me ever since.
Okay, maybe “mother” isn’t the right word. More like…weed-smoking, boyfriend-hating, crass, vulgar, brutally honest, and eccentric aunt. Either way, she’s all I’ve got for family, and I’d probably die without her.
When I reach my apartment, I only have to push my key in the lock before I hear tiny claws clicking excitedly against the wood floors. As I push open the door, Roscoe starts yipping like mad. I quickly lift the six-pound, three-legged chihuahua into my arms and kiss the side of his head.
“Hey, little guy. Did you have a nice night with Auntie Gladys?”
He licks the side of my face while I drop the keys in the bowl on the entryway table. As soon as I see the cozy sofa in my living room, a warm haze of red and purple cascading over the room through the patchwork curtains, it suddenly hits me how sleepy I am. Before I can collapse and sleep for the next eight hours, I take Roscoe out through the fire escape and down to the fenced-in area behind the building. We had a handyman put the small fence back here with an eight-by-eight patch of turf and a bowl of water for Roscoe to use since we don’t have a yard.
He doesn’t mind it, especially since it was this exact alleyway that I found him in two years ago. I caught Gladys feeding him her leftovers, and after that, he never left. We share custody, which works out since she and I work opposite shifts.
While he does his thing on the turf, I sit down on the metal stairs and pull out my phone. Immediately I think of Adam, remembering how good he smelled and how soft his arm was under my hand when I touched him. He was simply flawless.
With nearly black hair, perfectly combed in place, and a neatly cropped beard, he reminded me of something out of a J.Crew catalog. I’d love to grunge him up a bit. I bet he gets even hotter the dirtier he gets.