Page 5 of Surprisingly Us

My phone buzzes with another text. This one a picture of a woman from the neck down. Glorious tits. Her legs crossed,teasing the triangle between her legs. With a body like hers, I should remember, but the fake tits, spray tan and tiny lace thong are not unique. She looks like most of the women I’ve fucked.

Unknown number:Hi! It’s Cassidy from Palm Beach. I’m in the city this weekend. Call me!

Normally I’d save her contact information, but today I’m just not interested.

That’s not true. It isn’t just today.

A week ago, I was on a yacht in the Caribbean. The alcohol was flowing. The women were topless. Yet, I was bored out of my mind. Restless. Not even the orgy taking place on the yacht’s upper deck could pull me out of my funk. I’ve been feeling that way for a while now.

I’m about to delete the message when a hand claps me on the shoulder.

I look up from my phone to find my cousin, Jerrod, staring down at me, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looks from me to my phone screen. The woman’s nearly nude photo is still visible.

“Rhys, good to see you, buddy.”

His use of buddy is ironic. We’re not friends. Not even close.

He extends his hand to me, so I pocket my phone and meet his firm grip.

“Jerrod.”

Our clasped hands remind me of all the arm wrestling matches we did as kids.

As we shake, his grip tightens and I follow suit, not to be outdone.

We’ve been competing against each other since I can remember. From who lost their training wheels first to who had the best grades in prep school. Sports, academic success, even whose facial hair was more abundant in puberty. It was always a competition.

Where Jerrod excelled in academia, I was better at sports. He was the quiet book worm, where I was the life of the party. Not much has changed. Jerrod’s a high-level executive at Martin, Breaker, Short. He’s done well for himself and even has an attractive, successful girlfriend.

The one thing he doesn’t have, and never will, is the Spencer name. A fact that, for some reason or another, drives him mad.

I turn to the man next to me and point to Jerrod. “Have you met my cousin, Jerrod Grossweiner?”

The man’s mouth opens to respond but I’m not listening for his answer. My question was only posed to poke fun at Jerrod’s last name. Jerrod’s mouth twitches. He knows exactly what I’m doing. It’s what we do.

“Over the years, I’ve gotten used to seeing you as a tiny head on a computer screen.” Jerrod looks me up and down, taking in my appearance. “I like your pink suit.” His lips press together like he’s stifling a laugh.

My mouth twists into a restrained sneer. “It’s salmon,” I bite out.

“Yeah, okay.” He pats me on the arm. It’s a consoling gesture. He’s placating me.

I like fashion, so fucking sue me if I want to look good. Expressing myself with clothing is something I enjoy.

The wild thing about it is I’ll get questions about my fashion choices and people questioning my sexuality, and in the next breath be accused of being a manwhore who hooks up with hundreds of women. There’s no pleasing people. So, I don’t bother.

That’s exactly how I’m handling it right now with Jerrod, because he wouldn’t know fashion if it knocked him on his boring navy-suit, silver-tie-wearing ass.

“Your tie is crooked.” Before I can react, Jerrod reaches out to straighten my tie, and it takes everything in me to not smack his hand away.

When he’s done, I brush an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder to satisfy me instead.

I’m easygoing. It’s not often someone gets under my skin, but Jerrod does. Just his presence has my blood pressure spiking. That’s why I make it a point of not seeing him if I can help it.

“I’d love to hear about all your adventures,” he says.

I shake my head. “There’s not much to tell.”

“That can’t be true. Even without your presence in the city, you’ve been keeping us entertained.”

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