Electric Sunshine (Brooklyn Boys Book 1)

by E. Davies

  “Morning,” I greeted the checkout clerk at Treasure Aisle with a cheerful smile. Just because New Yorkers weren’t used to seeing common courtesy didn’t mean I wasn’t going to show it. They usually heard the Southern accent and suddenly loosened up if I said anything more than a few syllables, but she gave me a slightly terrified stare like I was a loon.

  If I stayed in this neighborhood long enough, eventually they’d get used to my incessant good manners. I raised a hand anyway and grabbed a t-shirt first to wrap up everything until I got home. Then I bypassed the other shelves to head straight for the housewares.

  If they had any good mugs, they would be my first priority. If we ran much lower, he’d start using my cups instead of washing the dishes—I knew him. He’d chipped one once.

  If I daydreamed about displaying them in a cabinet sometime, in a nice apartment, it was a private daydream.

  “Perfect,” I murmured, jamming the first couple mugs I saw into my basket. They clinked as they rolled around together. One had a skull and crossbones on it, and the other said WORLD’S BEST DADDY. Adam had said a hookup called him that last week, despite his being my age, so he was back to a smooth-shaven face. He’d kill me for buying him this mug, so how could I resist?

  I spotted another mug that was marked up like a thermometer to measure how safe it was to approach the drinker based on how much coffee was left in it. I snickered and grabbed it to add to my basket.

  Nothing jumped out at me from their cups and saucers today, though I picked everything up just to make sure. All cheap, chipped, or not to my taste. Chips in themselves weren’t a problem—I liked fixing things up that I bought to make them more functional. But combined with garish patterns? No, thanks.

  Before I got to the registers, I had to pass the bookshelves, so I stopped for a look. I didn’t read a lot outside of work—a couple newspapers, the Economist, and books on general political or social subjects so I could talk about them. Fiction, though? My life was stranger than fiction. I didn’t want to read about kids like me, which seemed to be how every gay story ended. I got irrationally jealous when I read about people who didn’t have to worry about that shit, and I sure as hell didn’t want stories that were even more sad.

  “Wow,” I murmured when I spotted an orange-bound set of encyclopedias. As a kid, I’d loved standing in my dad’s office, staring up at the bookshelves and pulling a book at random out.

  I’d flip open his old encyclopedias and browse them, trying to learn everything. But there had been so many volumes—ten or twelve or more—that I’d always given up. The sheer quantity of knowledge in the world had always been exciting. Someone out there knew all of these things.

  I drew one off the shelves and flipped open the cover. I wasn’t disappointed: there was a scrawled signature in there. The spiky, loopy handwriting looked old-fashioned. No doubt the former owner. I checked the other volumes, too, and then stopped and laughed out loud.

  Volume three had a signature underneath in loose, blocky printing and lines that went everywhere but where they should. I couldn’t even read what the name was supposed to be. Definitely a kid’s signature. It was the only book like that.

  I slid the last volume back onto the shelf and crouched back to look at them all together. If I were more of a book person, I’d grab these in a heartbeat just for that little quirk.

  I wondered about the story behind them. Had a kid defaced the book without being noticed? Or had they gotten in trouble for it?

  It stung all the more to realize that I’d lost every connection to my own childhood. Here I was, in a thrift store, looking for the oldest, prettiest things I could find so I could imagine a history for other people in lieu of my own. Most of the time, I was okay with being a blank slate and ignoring everything in my life before sixteen.

  As far as anyone who knew me now was concerned, I’d come out of nowhere. To most of the people who’d known me, I’d vanished into nowhere. I was careful not to maintain any links between that past life and the me of today, which was why I was such a blank slate.

  “Screw that,” I mumbled as I stood up, leaving the books behind. I didn’t need to cling to any remnants of the past—or others’ pasts—to be me.

  I found myself in the clothing racks. I could use a few new pieces, but I didn’t normally shop here. I looked for brand names and left the rest behind. But without others’ scrutiny to be conscious of, surely I could afford to relax a little. Plus, I couldn’t afford those brands now. Better get used to my new reality.

  I flicked through the racks, making a face at some of the styles that looked like they came straight out of the seventies. At least the nineties were cool again.

  Not cool enough to wear a denim jacket, though. Not unless I had Britney herself on my arm. I stifled a laugh and flicked past that hanger.

  “My thoughts exactly,” said someone near my elbow. Even from my peripheral vision, I could see a bright blue jacket.

  I turned to take him in, and smiled. He looked familiar somehow—very snappily dressed, skin like a dark calla lily but even softer, dark eyes glinting with humor. Gorgeous, but not in the way that said I’m hot, you want me. Self-assured. I picked up these impressions as fast as that, well-used to judging people at a glance and remembering people by their personalities as much as their faces.

  Had I met him? Had we slept together? He wasn’t a client—I tried to take particular care to remember them. Oh! That was it! He hung out at the diner next to Friction. I got the feeling he dated the owner, from the little interactions I’d seen.

  “I mean, some guys can pull it off,” I offered. I’d seen them—they were tall, with even more modelesque figures than mine. They were the men who could make the most ridiculous fashion seem totally normal. That definitely wasn’t me. I was way closer to the preppy boy next door with a sweater tied around my shoulders.

  He laughed, flashing me a broad smile. “I sure couldn’t.”

  “Me neither.”

  “This, on the other hand?” He plucked a shirt out of the rack, and I tried not to wince at the pattern. I stuck to things that all combined together well, so I could mix and match no matter what I had in the laundry.

  I shook my head. “I’m not as bold as you. I’ve seen you around. You always look good.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled again. “Shay,” he introduced himself, offering his hand to shake. Even that was unusual here. Lots of New Yorkers just swapped names and rushed on with their lives. I felt old-fashioned for always wanting to shake hands.

  I took it and squeezed. “Kev,” I said. “I come into the diner sometimes.”

  “So do I.” Shay winked. “My boyfriend owns it, so I’m obligated to accept free pancakes. I remember seeing you before. Always dressing nicely, too.”

  “I’d be diabetic by now,” I marveled and shook my head. “Thanks. It’s… kind of for work.”

  “I see.” His expression—reserved but amused—told me that he knew more about me than I’d hoped. Damn it. Did that mean the owner did, too? My mind cast around for his name for a second before I remembered: Jared. He’d never been rude to me. A few of the servers were brisk, but most treated me pretty well.

  Not all places were like that once they figured out I was going there on dates with different men constantly, all of whom were well-dressed and clearly rich enough to buy my time.

  Damn it, that just brought me back to thinking about Charlie. He always dressed well, too, but he didn’t seem like he was living in his own universe like some rich guys did. He was down-to-earth, and even though he owned a nice house, he clearly wasn’t flashing it around like it meant he was a better human being. Some people did that—compensated for acting shitty by telling themselves they were valuable because they made a lot of money.

  Not Charlie.

  A smile touched my lips a few seconds before I realized that I was now daydreaming about Charlie while in the middle of a conversation with a stranger. Goddammit. That had to mean something.
r />   “Sorry?” I shook my head.

  “I said, fun plans this weekend?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, biting my lip. “Hoping to go out, but it depends what other people want to do.” Namely, Charlie. When we’d woken up together on Wednesday morning, he’d muttered something about not knowing what work was going to have him up to, and that he’d get back to me tomorrow—that was today.

  I was expecting a text message any time now.

  “How about you? I’ve seen you in Friction, too, haven’t I?” I’d put him down as a potential client, but he wasn’t a frequent guest there. I’d never gotten around to introducing myself.

  “Oh, we don’t do the club scene much anymore.” He gave a sheepish smile. “So I live vicariously through the youth.”

  I snorted. “Like you’re ancient. You sure don’t look it.”

  “Past the big three-oh.”

  “That’s only ancient in twink world,” I informed him. “That’s not even daddy territory yet.” I shifted the t-shirt in my basket to cover the daddy mug.

  Only in this part of Brooklyn could I have this conversation and get no raised eyebrows at all.

  He laughed and smoothed his tie down, pretending to bask in the flattery. “Well, then. I accept all compliments. Clever dressing will do that. Try that shirt—or at least something more you, won’t you?”

  I was surprised by the warm smile Shay gave me, and I mirrored it. I wasn’t used to people giving a shit around here. Maybe back home they might have, but everyone was too busy to have a conversation like this. He sounded like a transplant from the West Coast. That must be it.

  “Maybe,” was all I’d give him with a grin.

  “A bit of vintage, or a splash of color,” Shay said. “That’s what I always tell people.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I knew exactly what he meant. I dressed like a catalog model because that was what I’d copied in learning to dress like this. I’d never quite diverged from looks I’d seen on Instagram and my wardrobe staples. I sure couldn’t afford quirky mistakes at full prices, but thrift stores… well, it was a chance to explore.

  “I will,” I finally conceded. “On your expert advice.”

  It was a thing that I did—I formed bonds with people quickly. I could find chemistry and magic it up from nowhere. Hell, I’d connected to Charlie that first moment in Friction.

  Maybe that was what I was afraid of. My stomach lurched as I dared to think it: what if this is all just playacting? When do I drop the boyfriend experience?

  “See you around,” Shay wished me, and he turned around to head to the cash registers with a few shirts in his arms.

  “See you,” I echoed in a murmur, watching after him. It was a stupid fear to have—worrying that I had too much of a spark with Charlie—but now it was starting to take root.

  No way. Just because I’d struck up a conversation with a guy who I’d seen around didn’t mean I was misleading Charlie somehow, or tricking him into loving me.

  Here I was, making excuses for my fear because I really didn’t know what I wanted.

  I gave up clothes-hunting and grabbed the shirt Shay had pointed out, then headed up to the checkout. I was too distracted to even chat much at the register, but she didn’t seem to take it personally.

  Brooklyn was good to me sometimes, at least. Walking around in a daydream, as long as I kept out of people’s way, was okay. Plenty of other people were on a Thursday, just waiting for the weekend.

  I paid and headed back home, dodging a bike courier who nearly mowed me down and shouted something after himself.

  “Fuck,” I whispered. “Thursday.” The admissions deadline for the community college I’d chosen was Friday.

  Okay, I put the problems with my fear of the future to one side. I had to get on top of this, or the deadlines would fly by. I didn’t have anyone to nag me to get my application in on time. I had to call the community college as soon as I got home.

  All these fucking details to keep straight. I ought to be used to adulting and keeping everything running by now, but I really didn’t feel like I was competent. I might be organized, but I was faking it until I made it.

  Nobody would box me into a corner again. Not even a man who made all the other choices seem that much duller compared to being around him.

  “God,” I grumbled as I banged into the apartment and slammed the door, the dishes rattling.

  I needed to get the fuck over this guy, and I couldn’t seem to do it. Everything I’d tried for the last two days hadn’t worked. I was over the moon every time I thought about sleeping with him, or holding him in the morning, or talking with him, or even just holding hands. I was grumpy when I thought about not getting to do that again.

  My temper cooled enough to let me set the mugs gently in the sink before I tossed the shirt into my room and headed for the living room.

  I stared at the ceiling like it had the answers and then gave up and closed my eyes, tapping my phone against my chin. Whatever the hell I was doing, I had to figure it out in a hurry.

  You can’t live for anyone else. I knew the advice Adam would give me. Gotta do what you wanna do.

  I wasn’t sure massage qualified as “wanted to do” as much as the best legal option, but I didn’t hate the idea, unlike nearly every other job. It fit my personality, and I could start building a real employment record. Best of all, I could tell Josh and Evan I had a career path now.

  Fine. I wasn’t even remotely ready, but I’d make the call. I looked up the admissions number and dialed it, holding my breath until there was an answer.

  “Hi. I’d like to talk about admissions to your non-traditional student program.”

  17

  Charlie

  It was Friday evening, I was done with work for the weekend, and I’d gotten the answer I wanted to the text message. Yes! Kev had said to hanging out with me in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Not that sounds too romantic or fuck off, weirdo, but yes.

  With an exclamation mark, too. That meant he was excited, right? That was a plus. I might win him over yet, without pressuring him or trying some big cheesy movie moment.

  My week had gone pretty damn well, too. I’d woken up in conference calls, and the Singapore development was going on time for once. By rights, I ought to be back there and supervising, but my boss had given me the okay to keep monitoring from here since it was ahead of schedule.

  Not to mention the highlight of my week, Tuesday night. I’d had sex again for the first time in years, and didn’t do too bad a job at it. Kev still wanted to talk to me and everything.

  All things considered, I deserved to celebrate a little. However much I felt like crawling into bed and never moving, I coaxed myself into showering and changing. I could spend a couple hours out, and Ben had said he was up for going somewhere.

  I texted him again to make sure he was in.

  Friction later?

  It took about five seconds to get an answer, which was unusual. Ben was one of those guys with a million WhatsApp chats. It was nice that he still prioritized mine.

  LOVE IT! SEE YOU THERE!

  The all-caps message made me laugh. He wasn’t one of those people who typed in capitals because he forgot to turn off the caps lock. He really was that excited to see me going out. To be honest, so was I. I was proud of myself for coming out of my shell so much in just a couple weeks.

  Ben would never believe it if I told him what I’d been up to lately.

  A grin spread across my face as I left off the tie. I’d been constricted enough all damn week. I wanted to breathe today. I just adjusted my collar and smoothed down my shirt before grabbing my wallet and heading for the door.

  Another Uber later, I was standing outside Friction, trying to get a look in through the windows and guess how busy it was. Was it worth getting in, or should I wait for Ben at the diner?

  “There you are, darling!” Ben nearly tackled me from behind as he wrapped his arms around me, laughing when he had to pull me to m
y feet again.

  I hadn’t actually hit the ground, but I still glared. “You’re lucky there’s no more ice around, moron.”

  “Nothing that could cool my fire for you,” he teased, slapping my ass. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Dunno why I’m even friends with you,” I grumbled, straightening my jacket. I followed Ben past the bouncer, who exchanged a nod with him.

  He smirked. “The free drinks, mostly.”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  When we had drinks, I settled at a table against the wall. I didn’t want to be the center of attention any day, but being a little further away from the bar also meant fewer guys would stop and chat to—or hit on—Ben. It was hard being the ugly friend. Not that I cared that I got less attention, but it made it hard to have real conversations.

  Speaking of hard to have conversations, as if they’d heard us coming in, the music suddenly went up a few notches and the lights went down. We exchanged looks—mine definitely less pleased than his.

  “You wanna dance or talk?” Ben leaned in to make himself heard, clearly reading my expression.

  “Talk. I have shit to say.”

  Ben snorted. “Good luck with that in here. Let’s finish these first.” He was already casting his gaze around the room, no doubt deciding who to try for later.

  “Come on.” I drained my Coke in a matter of seconds.

  “Chug, chug, chug—nice!” Ben cheered when I finished the drink.

  I rolled my eyes and waved toward his rum and Coke, waiting for him to do the same. Once he had, we moved out of the club together before the seats were even warm.

  “Diner?” I nodded towards it once we were outside.

  “That wasn’t long,” the bouncer commented.

  Ben grinned at him. “My friend here is less about the dancing and more about the intellectual conversation.”

  I rolled my eyes as they laughed, well used to being the butt of the joke.