Page 119 of Reverb
But after another unfulfilling workout and run, his head and heart were enough of a mess that he did the unthinkable: he texted Adrian.
Hey. I don’t suppose you’d have time to talk about something over a beer. —David
Twisted Wishes was back in the city after completing another leg of their US tour. Adrian was probably busy, though. He had a life with Dom. A house in Brooklyn. David didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t even know what had possessed him to reach out—other than every damn thing in his life feeling utterly wrong now that he was alone.
Maybe thirty minutes later, his phone buzzed.
Of course. Where and when?
David stared at the message. Had Adrian told Mish about the text? What about Dom? And...those were both very good questions. Part of him wanted to answer never and nowhere, but those were both lies. He chose a casual reply.
Whenever. I don’t have a regular bar or anything.
He set about cleaning up his already neat kitchen. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed again.
This shit you want to talk about in public?
David snorted.Not really.Baring his heart in public sounded excruciating.
Okay. Address, then. I’ll bring the beer.
What, now?On the one hand, better to get this over with, on the other hand...now?
You got plans or something?
He didn’t. Never had plans. Spent most nights either binging something on Netflix or reading. Or staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of Mish or the band. Hard to do when every other song on the radio was Twisted Wishes these days. He’d started listening to jazz and oldies.
No, no plans. But I don’t want to disrupt your life.Who knew what Dom thought of all this.
Dude. Just send me your fucking address.
He did, paced to his living room, set his phone down on the coffee table, then collapsed down onto the couch, his head in his hands. A tiny spark of hope ignited in his chest. Maybe...maybe what Ray had said was true. Maybe he still had a place in that family. He doubted he had a shot with Mish, but at the very least, he’d apologize for being an arrogant prick. Couldn’t even blame the pain meds for that.
Pride, pride, and more pride.
An hour later, his phone buzzed again.I’m here. Let me up?
David did, and far too few minutes later, Adrian was at his door, a six-pack of beer in one hand and a plastic bag that smelled gloriously of Chinese takeout in the other. “Figured you might be hungry, too,” Adrian said.
Given the way David’s stomach grumbled, yes. “I might have skipped lunch.” Did, actually. He closed the door after Adrian sauntered in.
Adrian made a noncommittal grunt. “Kitchen?”
David nodded toward the door at the opposite end of the living room, then followed Adrian.
“Nice place. Decent space.”
“Yeah. Been here for a while, so the rent’s reasonable. Figure if I like it, why move?”
“Oh, I hear you. I own now—and that’s a long story—but I lived in California, so...” Adrian set the food and beer on the counter and pulled containers out of the bag. “No idea what you like, so I got a little bit of everything.”
David shrugged. “I’m fairly easy.”
“No, you’re not.” Adrian’s tone was light, but the comment still carried the weight of a gut-punch.
“I’d say I’m not picky...” But he was that, too.
A wan smile from Adrian. “Grab a beer?”
