Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
ERICK
“Erick!”
I’m three blocks from my apartment when I hear my name called out behind me. I turn to see Jason Whitmore jogging to catch up with me, looking every inch the trust fund baby in his designer coat and Italian leather shoes.
To be fair, I’m pretty sure I looked exactly like that just a few months ago, so I shouldn’t judge. But the sight of him now hits me with a wave of nostalgia. It’s like looking at someone in a costume I used to wear.
“Jason,” I say with a smile. “Hey. What are you doing up here?”
“Had an appointment,” he says, slightly out of breath.
“God, you walk fast. Listen, perfect timing running into you. There’s this ah-may-zing party tonight at the Belford penthouse—you remember Delia Belford from school, right?
She got divorced and left Miami, and she’s throwing a huge welcome-back thing. You should come!”
I shake my head automatically. “Can’t tonight, man. Sorry.”
“Dude, when’s the last time you came out? You’ve become a complete hermit since that whole thing with your dad.” Jason falls into step beside me as I continue walking. “Speaking of which, I heard he’s really cut up about you turning your back on the family biz.”
I make a noncommittal noise. If my dad is upset about anything, it’s that he’s not getting his way.
I’ve talked to him a handful of times since leaving the Nelson Group last fall. First, he was smug, thinking I’d come to my senses and beg for my old job back. By Christmas, he was warning me not to be stubborn. Recently, he tried to get my sister to shepherd me back to the family fold.
Frankly, that’s more effort than he’s ever put into our relationship before, probably because I’ve always been so quick to do what he wanted.
But being an obedient son made me miserable.
And nothing my dad’s done since October has indicated that he wants the noncompliant Erick in his life.
He sure as fuck hasn’t said, “I might not understand your choices, but I want you to be happy.” So we’re at an impasse. And I’m trying to be okay with that.
“Honestly, everyone’s been asking about you,” Jason continues. “Pandora says you’re having some kind of quarter-life crisis.”
I laugh. “No crisis, promise. I’ve been substitute teaching at a bunch of different places, and let me tell you, those kids do not stop.
Imagine a dozen ping-pong balls, all going in different directions.
” I shake my head, thinking back on my day.
“It’s fun, and I love it, but you throw in some killer commutes and the classes I’ve been taking, and it’s been—”
“Babe, it’s not brain surgery. You’re teaching finger painting to four-year-olds.”
His dismissive tone makes my jaw clench. “It’s… a little more than that. More intense than corporate marketing—”
“Sure.” Jason waves a hand like he’s done with this topic. “Look, if you don’t want to party, we could just go back to your place. Order some good takeout and… chill.”
“Chill,” I repeat.
“Yeah.” He smiles winningly. “Like we used to. Remember?”
I do remember. Jason’s nice enough and undeniably good-looking.
We don’t have a ton in common, as far as I know, but I didn’t want or need that kind of connection in the past. Hooking up with him was easy and fun.
A no-strings distraction from the job I disliked and the constant threat of my parents’ disapproval.
Nothing about that tempts me anymore.
I shake my head. “Trust me, Jay, you wouldn’t want to come to my place.”
“Of course I do! I love your apartment—”
“That apartment is gone. I’m subletting a studio here in Inwood that’s about the size of your walk-in closet.”
Jason literally gasps and glances around like he was unaware that humans actually live here and don’t just visit for appointments.
I have to hide a smile because that’s the exact reaction I’d expected.
“Dear god. Why?”
I stop walking and give him a solemn look. “It’s called living within my means.”
“Shiiiit,” he says in about the same tone as if I’d told him I had a terminal illness. “But your dad would take you back in a heartbeat if you apologized! When I got kicked out of Wharton, my mother—”
“No.” The word comes out sharper than I’d intended, so I summon an apologetic smile.
“It was great to see you, Jason, and I’d love to meet for lunch sometime.
But right now, I’ve been up since six and worked a twelve-hour day with a bunch of kids who had me running nonstop.
I have a date with my bed.” I wait a beat, then add, “Alone.”
He shakes his head, and his lips form a pout I might’ve found charming when we were twenty-two. “What happened to the Erick who once rented out an entire rooftop bar because he was bored? That Erick was fun.”
I wince. That Erick had more money than sense.
That Erick did impulsive shit, not because he thought it would actually make him happy, but because it made him temporarily less miserable.
That Erick wasn’t hung up on a sweet, attentive, supportive lumberjack in Vermont with the kindest, most soulful dark eyes…
On instinct, I pull out my phone to check if there are any messages, but there’s nothing from Carlos, which is odd.
We usually text throughout the day, and I haven’t heard anything from him since this morning, when he asked what my plans for the weekend were, and I laughed and told him, “Practicing my Spanish and making sourdough.”
“Ah, knew it!” Jason says, clocking me checking my phone. “That’s why you’ve been in hiding. You’re seeing someone and haven’t told us.” He smiles like he’s solved a puzzle. “Is it a thing? Or just casual?”
“It’s…” I shove my phone away and pull my coat around myself more fully. It’s pretty warm for winter in New York, but that’s not saying much. “I don’t know, exactly.”
This is no more than the truth. How do I encapsulate the way Carlos is the first person I want to tell when something interesting happens, the video calls that go on for hours because neither of us wants to hang up… and the fact that we’ve only been together in person for a single night?
“Come on. Spill. Is he hot? Rich? Does he have single friends?”
I can’t help but smile. Carlos is definitely hot. Ridiculously so.
Rich, though? Not the way Jason means. But Carlos has integrity, a work ethic that would put everyone I grew up with to shame, and family and friends who adore him, which is its own kind of wealth.
“Bring your mystery man out sometime,” Jason insists. “We’ll vet him for you.”
I imagine it, suddenly. Carlos meeting Jason and my other friends.
He’s so fucking beautiful that, friend or not, there’s no way Jason could resist flirting with him. And the idea of Jason putting a hand on his arm—hell, even breathing the same air as Carlos—sends a shock wave of jealousy and possessiveness running through me.
I have no right to feel that way. Obviously. My texts with Carlos are flirty and sexy, yes, but neither of us has ever breathed a word about this being a, you know, relationship.
I just… tell him literally everything about my life, and he helps me with my Spanish. He tells me about his family and helps me navigate this new life I’m building. I talk to him about his work and instruct him on the finer points of Bridgerton so he can impress his niece.
Which, yes, fine, is the closest thing to a relationship I’ve had in years.
But when I feel the urge to ask Carlos what the heck we are to each other, I remind myself that he’s still getting comfortable with his sexuality. That he’s not out to anyone. That I never want to rush him.
That he lives in freaking Vermont.
Meanwhile, I’ve tossed my whole life in the air like that chef on the Muppets making a salad, and I’m not sure where all the pieces are going to land.
I’m making a lot of good steps with my career and letting my true self emerge from behind walls I constructed in childhood, but I’m not exactly prime relationship material for a guy like Carlos, who could have anyone he wanted.
If I ask, “Hey, baby, want a piece of this hot mess?” right now, I might not like his answer.
And sometimes I remember Ames Axford’s sad face that night at Watchfire, reminding me never to fall for a friend, especially a straight one.
Whatever else we are to each other, Carlos and I are friends.
Possibly best friends. The idea of jumping the gun, of pushing for more, of rushing into things and losing what we have…
Yeah, suffice it to say I’m in no hurry.
We reached the corner where Jason needs to turn toward the subway, but he lingers. “You know, if you’re serious about this teaching thing, you should at least do it somewhere respectable. There are amazing private schools that would love to have a Nelson on staff. I could make some calls—”
I start walking again. “I like where I am and where I’m heading, Jason.”
He squints at me and then at the area around us. “You mean… Inwood?”
I laugh out loud. “I mean in life.”
Jason shakes his head like I’m a lost cause. “Alright, but the offer stands. I’ll call you about lunch, okay?”
It’s a standard response that means I might forget to call you for the next six months, and we both know it.
“Please do. I’d love to catch up,” I tell him, and I mean it.
Jason and I aren’t close, and that’s mostly my fault. I’ve kept my true self so walled off, trying to hide my misery by pretending I was fine, even I didn’t know the real Erick until recently.
I watch him head toward the subway through the wintery dusk, then continue the last few blocks to my building.
Despite Jason’s horror, Inwood isn’t bad. Sure, it’s not the Upper East Side, but it’s got character. Real people live here. Families. Folks who work actual jobs and worry about actual things, not just which charity gala has the best gift bags.
I check my phone again. Still nothing from Carlos.