Being Assholes is Part of Our Charm
“Holy shit, we’re having brunch with Patton Pierce,” blurts a man with shoulder-length dirty blond hair, pulled into a half bun.
He looks a lot like the guy to his left, who has shorter hair but the exact same piercing blue eyes, making me wonder if they’re brothers.
I can’t help but grin at his enthusiasm as we settle into our seats in a private dining room of an upscale restaurant in the Financial District.
Troy goes around the table doing introductions, starting with the guy with the man-bun. “Patton, this is Dean. Dean, try not to spring a boner in the first five minutes.”
“Hey!” Dean raises his hands, eyes wide and offended. “My boners are reserved just for you, Troy. No need to get jealous, my friend.”
“Pretty sure Mala—you know, that gorgeous wife of yours and my sister-in-law?—might have something to say about that,” says the similar-looking man next to him, confirming that indeed, they are brothers.
Pointing to the other brother, Troy continues, “And this is Garrett. He and Dean are twins, but Garrett is the one with the brain-to-mouth filter.”
Dean shrugs. “That may be, but I’m the better-looking one. And for the record, Mala gets all my actual boners. She knows my worship of Troy is purely based on his athletic prowess.”
Garrett reaches out a hand for me to shake. “Nice to meet you, man. Watched a few of your movies, and both my wife and I are big fans.”
“Thanks,” I respond with a genuine smile.
Troy continues with the introductions, pointing to each of the three other guys.
“Hudson, Darian, and Dev. Hudson owns one of the largest excavation companies serving the West Coast, Darian is Dean and Garrett’s younger brother, and one of the most level-headed men I know.
Too bad he got stuck with Beavis and Butt-Head as brothers—”
“Hey!” Dean and Garrett say together, but it doesn’t stop Troy.
“And on the other side of Garrett is the one and only Dev Menon. I doubt he needs much of an introduction.”
I reach out to shake each of their hands. “No, he doesn’t. Pretty sure Dev Menon is more famous than God himself.”
And that’s not an exaggeration by any means, given the dude is one of the richest and most powerful men on earth.
Dev waves a dismissive hand. “Pretty sure the guy with the Oscar at this table deserves that credit. I just happened to get lucky in tech; you’re the one with the actual talent, Patton.
” He smiles at me. “My wife, Piper, tells me she knew you were going to be on the big screen even back in high school.”
“She was the most intuitive of our group,” I say, forcing a smile as memories flit through my brain.
“Was she also the most unhinged of the group?” Dean asks, making everyone at the table chuckle. “Because she definitely has that title in this group.”
“Says the man who’s still thinking about getting Troy’s face tattooed on his ass cheek,” Darian says dryly.
With dark hair and eyes, he looks nothing like his brothers, but based on the fact that they’re sitting next to each other and have been teasing each other nonstop, I get the feeling they’re close.
“Art is self-expression, baby bro,” Dean retorts, reaching to ruffle Darian’s hair, but giving Dean a murderous glare, Darian flicks his hand away. “You wouldn’t understand, since your favorite way of expressing yourself is wearing a color besides gray once a year.”
Darian flips Dean off before taking a drink of his water, making everyone chuckle.
“Actually, Piper had us all figured out before we did ourselves,” I answer, turning to Dev again. “How is she, by the way?”
“She’s great!” Dev’s eyes brighten, and the adoration in them at the thought of his wife is clear. “We have a little girl named Ariana who’s almost one.”
I congratulate him, recalling the quick message I sent to Piper on Instagram after she posted a picture of her baby. She’d only responded with a “Thanks!” but I still remember how that one word had strummed the hollowness that had been growing ever since Nisha left.
I take a sip of my water, keeping my face neutral.
It was never a secret that Sarina and Piper were closest to Nisha, given one is her fraternal twin, the other her best friend.
But the four of us got close in high school.
In fact, we remained that way for years after.
But when Nisha left, I wasn’t just cut off from my wife—my best friend and the love of my life—but some of my closest friends, as well.
Friends I considered family.
The only real family I’d ever had.
I know the blame for the loss of my marriage lies largely with me. I own that. But seven years of silence from the others?
Seven years of missed birthdays, holidays, and celebrations? Seven years of stalking their lives through their social media posts, and nothing more? Seven years where none of them—except for my ex-father-in-law—ever checked on me?
None of that was easy to swallow.
And since my ex-wife has her socials locked down like a fortress—much like her feelings about me—the only way I could see how she was faring was through stalking Sarina and Piper’s posts, looking for a rare glimpse of her.
I’m forced from my thoughts when the waitstaff enters the room with large trays of food, apparently from a prefixed menu. The only thing we’re asked to order are our drinks.
When they’ve left, and we’ve all taken helpings of truffle scrambled eggs, pancakes with elderflower syrup, and some sort of fancy tomato tart, I turn to the quietest man in the group, the one sitting to my right. He’s been acutely focused on his plate, like he’s hoping to disappear inside it.
“So, Hudson, you own an excavation empire? Not sure I know anything about that sort of business. What does that entail?”
Hudson puts his fork down, an obvious hitch in his voice that gets everyone’s attention. “We, uh . . .” He clears his throat and tries again. “We . . . we . . .”
“Dude,” Garrett asks slowly, squinting at him. “Are you having a stroke?”
The other guys around the table seem just as bewildered, and I gather this isn’t something they’ve ever witnessed with their friend.
Hudson throws an irritated glance at Garrett before tossing a similar glare around the table, nostrils flaring as he takes in a breath like he’s trying to compose himself.
I place a hand on his shoulder. “You good, man?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Hudson responds before taking a sip of water. “I’m fine. Just . . . a huge fan, actually. I don’t watch much TV, but my wife and I never miss your movies. Fatal Facets, Pilots of the Pacific, Credit Card Millionaire, Truly Yours Again . . .”
A pin-drop silence falls over the table, and I swear no one moves.
I keep my gaze pinned on my plate, because if I look up and catch anyone else’s, I will absolutely lose it.
It isn’t unusual for people to get a little flustered when they first meet me, but watching Hudson, a man who likely has thirty pounds and two inches over my six–foot–one height, get tongue-tied? It’s pretty fucking funny.
I get the sense that not much rattles him, that he’s likely the most calculating and stoic of the group. So watching him stammer even has his friends in shock.
“Holy shit,” Troy whispers, clearly covering his smile behind a napkin.
“Jesus,” Dean follows, both disgusted and stunned. “Hud, is that a tear at the corner of your eye, or do they just water more since you’re so ancient?”
Hudson gives Dean a scathing look. “Shut the fuck up, asshole. Firstly, I’m only a couple of years older than you. And secondly, I’m a hundred times more composed than you were the first time you met Troy.”
“We can all vouch for that,” Dev agrees and turns to me. “Dean has an altar dedicated to Troy in his bedroom.”
My brows rise, and I look over at Dean to see if he’ll argue, but he just smiles proudly.
“Let’s not forget the pajama bottoms he wears each night with Troy’s face on them,” Garrett adds, taking a bite of his tart.
Darian nods. “He didn’t wash his hand for days after shaking Troy’s for the first time.”
“True story.” Dean nods. “But it was more like weeks.”
“Fucking nasty, bro,” Garrett condemns. “The sad thing is, I don’t know if you’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
I can’t help but laugh, my previous melancholy over having lost touch with my childhood friends lifting off my shoulders.
Troy mentioned these guys multiple times this week, telling me how they’d become his closest friends, and I can see why. Twenty minutes in their presence, and I already feel like I’ve known them for twenty years.
“It’s fine,” I say, looking at Hudson, who is once again staring at his plate. “I’m flattered, actually. Honestly, you guys all seem more interesting than me, but can we all forget that I actually starred in Credit Card Millionaire?”
Dean nods somberly. “Not gonna lie, man, that one was pretty terrible.”
I laugh, though that familiar anguish threatens to pull me under. Not only was it a terrible fucking movie, but it was the last straw that broke my marriage. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could go back in time and make a different choice.”
It’s then that the waitstaff comes in, and I’m spared from the way Dean’s eyes narrow on me. I get the feeling that under the class-clown act lurks a man who misses nothing.
“What were you going to say about your company, Hudson?” I ask, taking a sip from my latte.
Hudson finally seems to have settled his nerves, some of what I think is his usual sternness coming back in his demeanor. “We displace earth for large construction sites like buildings, malls, and so on and so forth.”
“He’s being modest,” Troy adds. “His company excavated the Blazers’ baseball field.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed.
“Speaking of which,” Dean chimes in. “How long are you planning on being in San Francisco, Patton? How’s it going hanging out and learning to pitch from the legend of all legends himself?”