Chapter 7 – Braxton #2
He stares at me wide-eyed but says nothing.
His second personality trait is that he's not much of a talker. He prefers to meander in silence. I wonder if his internal monologue is as crowded, or as chaotic, as mine.
I let out a sigh and lean my head back over the railing, staring up into the starless sky. The light pollution really makes me miss California sometimes. I miss sitting on the beach and stargazing in the late hours of the night.
A random memory pops into frame, playing out like a long-lost home videotape.
My childhood friend and I lay on our backs in the sand.
I pointed to the sky and asked why one star was flashing and red.
She scoffed and slapped me in the chest. It wasn't a star.
It was a space station, or a plane, or a drone. Fuck if I remember.
The memory makes me chuckle to myself, and yeah, I probably look like a crazy person.
Thank the Lord the camera packed up hours ago.
It's just Pookie and I on the balcony. Gunnar fell asleep on the pool table in the game room.
Maverick and Avalon retired to his bedroom.
Dixon went home to pound his boyfriend Mike into a deep slumber.
Tamra went back to her rat's nest in the subway sewer.
I cradle my hand over my mouth as I crack up at the thought.
Tamra, queen of the sewer rats.
It's a struggle to contain my amusement, each laugh more difficult than the last to suppress until I'm choking on my own hilarity. Pookie pounds his palm against my back, which I suppose is his way of helping me. His way of saving my life.
I steady myself and turn to him with a wry grin. "You can stop performing, Pookster. The cameras are gone."
"What makes you think I'm performing?" he asks flatly.
I turn to face him fully, immediately taking notice of the way his eyes sag. Has this white slice of bread been sober all night? How in the hell is he still standing? Maybe I should offer him a line or two. I purse my lips, weighing the pros and cons of bringing him into the fold.
I settle on playing it safe and dance two fingers over his chest, tapping over the thin cotton of a white tee. "Who are you? I mean, really."
"Nobody important." He takes a measured step back and bats his gaze to the city below us. "I like it that way."
I scrub at the back of my head. "Then why sign up for all of this?"
He shrugs. "It's just a job."
I bring my finger to my mouth and nibble on the nail.
Pookie is an enema... or is it an enigma?
I drag my palms over my face and let out a yawn that even I know is obnoxious.
I'm way too tired for this shit. I like to consider myself a suave guy.
I like to think I have a magic way with words, of getting what I want when I need it.
But, I'm also tired, and Talon isn't around to lecture me.
So...
I spill the beans. "Talon wants you to move in with me."
"What?" He stammers, taken aback. "Why would he say that? Does he know—"
That last bit spurs my curiosity. I straighten up, my fingers tapping on the glass ledge. "Know what?"
"N-Nothing."
I bite off a fingernail and spit it over the ledge. "I'm going to be honest with you, friend."
He scoffs playfully with a furrowed brow. "We're friends?"
"I think you could use a friend, so yes, the offer of my unconditional friendship is on the table." I can't help but grin. I'm a happy person. I smile a lot. If that's my biggest flaw, then I think I'm doing pretty good.
Actually, scratch that.
I have so many flaws.
I never turn off the curling iron.
I don't recycle.
I whack off far too much.
I'm just generally a brat.
Fuckkkkk. I've got ninety-nine problems, but at least not being able to afford my electricity bill won't be a problem much longer. I just need Pookie to agree, but he seems pliable enough to agree to anything with enough pressure.
He grits his teeth, unsure of what I'm proposing.
But really, if he has an issue with it, he should take it up with Talon.
It's his idea. Pookie might not know it yet, but Talon gets what he wants.
So, he can say no all he wants. If I can't break down his walls, Talon will finish the job with a wrecking ball.
"Why does this sound like a business arrangement?" he asks.
Poor, sweet, naive Pookie. "That's exactly what this is.
You'll need someone in your corner when things get messy, and I promise you they'll get messy, and I need help paying my rent.
It's a win-win for everyone. You get the best roomie in the world.
I secure my financial freedom, and Talon gets his precious storyline. "
"Fuck," he groans, bowing his head. He tightens his grip on the ledge and exhales sharply. "If you tell anyone this, I'll kill you."
I raise two fingers. "Scout's honor!"
But behind my back, I'm crossing the fingers of my other hand. I'm practically salivating waiting for the juicy scoop. The suspense is going to give my coked-out cardiovascular system a heart attack.
"I'm staying in a hotel," Pookie says softly, almost a whisper. His admission is bogged down with the weight of shame. "I don't have a home right now."
"You've been touched by an angel." I grab him by the shoulder and haul him back inside the penthouse and towards the front door. "We're going to have so much fun, Pookie. My bestie. My roomie."
"So much fun," he groans.
And yeah, it doesn't sound like he's the most enthusiastic guy in the world, but he's also monotone. And he's tired. I'm sure he'll be more excited in the morning.