I pull up my sweats. “Just trying not to leak all over the floor. Don’t want you to have to mop up.”
“I’m talking about the fucking hard-on,” he grits out, eyes pinched closed as I glance down at the inconvenience of interacting with Cecelia.
I slap his jaw playfully, and his eyes pop open in a glare. “You poor thing, I guess you didn’t get the talk. I’ll make it brief. One day, when you’re a big boy, little Tyler will grow three sizes too big and want to do some pushups when he sees a beautiful girl.”
“Play it off all you want, but I physically felt that chemistry you two were stirring up in that pool.”
Shrugging, I bend and dig into the bag, snatching some of the mics and a flash drive.
“You’re not going to deny it?” Tyler asks.
“I don’t lie to myself, but that’s exactly what it is. Chemistry because I can’t and mentally taxing because I won’t. But that’s all it is . . . an old-fashioned case of wanting to fuck what you can’t have because it’s bad for business and will destroy relationships . . . but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
He holds my inquisitive gaze a millisecond before recovering. “Clocks ticking. I’ve got the first floor.”
Making my way upstairs and into her room, I head straight for the laptop on her bed, plug in the flash drive I filled with spyware, and start the download.
Glancing around, I spot a bag of books from a major retailer. Unable to help my grin, I unload it on her bed. She hasn’t been back to the library since I told her it was off-limits. She’s avoiding me when and where she can, as I have her. A receipt floats out—landing on top of the pile—and on the back of it is a handwritten list of books she wants to read.
All of them romance.
Lucky for her, Sean’s just her type.
It strikes me then—as it often has over the years—that most of the population craves that type of connection. By now, I should have felt some deep seeded need inside of me that longs for a spiritual bond to go with the sexual. Maybe by allowing myself to remain stunted, I inadvertently got rid of that urge.
Tyler’s voice jogs me out of my thoughts. “All good up here?”
Shoving the books back into the bag, I situate it the way I found it and pocket the receipt before pulling the flash drive from her computer. “It is now. Got three mics in.”
“Downstairs is good to go, and I got the rest of this floor while you were sniffing through her panty drawer.”
“Fuck off with that,” I say as he flicks my ear playfully when I push past him and head toward the stairs.
“Tell that to your dick,” he mutters.
“He’s a big, big, boy but even with his ego, he makes good decisions.”
“Time will tell,” he taunts, trailing me as I start to take the stairs two at a time and stop on a dime just a few steps down—the hairs on the back of my neck spiking in awareness while an uneasy feeling spreads through me.
“What?” Tyler asks, all traces of animation in his tone gone as I glance up to where he stands at the top of the stairs.
“Sure Roman is on a plane?” I ask, unease running from my soaked head to my bare feet.
“Fucking positive.” His brows pinch in confusion. “What’s happening right now?”
“I don’t know,” I say, scanning the foyer. The feeling starts to dissipate as I start back down the stairs. “Nothing.”
“You sure?” Tyler prods.
No.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
“All grown-ups were once children . . . but only few of them remember it.”—Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
A knock on my door jars me as I eye the clock on my monitor and know the only person it could be at this hour. The only bird whose nights are as restless as my own. Tyler enters a second later, hands filled with a solid black box.
“Delivery,” he chimes, a glint in his eyes.
“From?”
“France.” He sets the box in front of me. “Mind if I stay?”
“Yeah, but stay anyway,” I jest. I go to look for my letter opener as Tyler produces a pocketknife. It’s unique but severely dated. “How fucking old is this thing?”
“Ancient, but it still gets the job done,” he states, his interest in the contents of the box rather than relaying the backstory of the knife. Placing his expression as excitement, my interest sparks. Carefully, I slice the taped bottom and release the inch-thick protective cardboard. Pulling away the bubble wrap, I unveil a large black mailer sitting atop the contents with a small note taped to it, handwritten by my brother.
For your list.
Frères pour toujours
A ball lodges in my throat at the sight of the words.
“Maman!” I yell, running into the kitchen as light flashes and the giant’s footsteps rattle the windows.
“Dominic?” She whispers, wiping her face, her eyes red and puffy.
“Maman, the giant is going to eat me!” I look over my shoulder to see Tobias chasing me.
“Oof,” Maman says as I run into her, and she drops a picture on the table. “Slow down, Petit Prince,” she says, pulling me into her lap. “What giant?” She asks Tobias.
“I was just trying to stop him,” Tobias says.
“No,” I shake my head as more of Maman’s pictures fall on the floor. “He said to be very afraid that the giant foot was coming to eat me!”
“I said the giant would only eat you if you got out of bed.” He smiles as the giant’s foot sounds comes closer. “See,” he makes big eyes at me, “he’s coming.”
“Tobias!” Maman says. “It’s just a storm, Dominic,” she whispers. “Nothing to be afraid of.” She looks at Tobias. “Why are you trying to scare your brother?”
“I was trying to keep him in bed,” Tobias tells her, “because he doesn’t listen. Ever.”
“And you’ll keep him up all night,” Maman sighs as I point to one of the pictures.
“That’s Tatie!”
“Yes,” she whispers, pulling me closer to her as I point to another picture, “That’s Papa!”
“Uhhmm,” Maman says.
“He looks funny,” I giggle.
“He never cut his bright red hair,” she says, tickling me. I point to another picture.
“Who is that?”
“That’s you,” she points to the baby. “And that is your brother holding you,” she says, holding out the picture for Tobias to see.
Tobias shakes his head.
“Take it,” she says. He snatches it out of her hands but doesn’t look at it.
“You were mad at him then, too,” she laughs.
“For what?” Tobias says, sitting in the chair next to us and looking at the picture.
“For being born,” Maman says.
“That’s stupid,” he snorts. “You can’t be mad at someone for being born.”
She laughs. “Well, you were. Because you had just thrown him in the trash.”
“You throwed me in the trash?!”
Tobias doesn’t answer.
“He was as big as you are now,” Maman tells me. “He was only mad because he did not want to share my hugs.”