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minimumbullshitThey'd made a date.
It wasn't until after, after the casual mention of grabbing dinner, picking a time and a place, that Brian realized just what it was. They had a fucking date, and it hadn't even occurred to him to put the fucking breaks on until now.
He couldn't even remember which one of them had suggested it first. If it had been Max, coming up for air from whatever hippie fuckfest had been going on the last few weeks in his shitty little apartment, or if it had been himself... If, in juggling schedules, jobs and babies and friends, he'd felt some kind of need to make a fucking commitment. Against every goddamn instinct in his body.
With a fucking cabbie. A spoiled little rich kid with no ambition, who was happy to waste his days with his stoner, artist friend and their groupie. Someone Brian wasn't even supposed to give a shit about. Another goddamn one night stand, who wouldn't leave.
He'd sent Gus home with the nanny, giving him the apartment to himself. But at seven-thirty, half an hour before the time they'd agreed to, Brian left the apartment, and within forty-five minutes, he had some guy, stocky and brunette and wearing too much leather, pressed against the wall as they rode the elevator up to his apartment.
He was late for dinner. Fuck dinner. Fuck everything. Fuck this guy -- Doug? Darren? -- bent over in his kitchen, in full view of the door.
The door he'd left unlocked. Because why tear something down brick by brick, when you can just light a fucking match and burn the whole thing down?
It wasn't until after, after the casual mention of grabbing dinner, picking a time and a place, that Brian realized just what it was. They had a fucking date, and it hadn't even occurred to him to put the fucking breaks on until now.
He couldn't even remember which one of them had suggested it first. If it had been Max, coming up for air from whatever hippie fuckfest had been going on the last few weeks in his shitty little apartment, or if it had been himself... If, in juggling schedules, jobs and babies and friends, he'd felt some kind of need to make a fucking commitment. Against every goddamn instinct in his body.
With a fucking cabbie. A spoiled little rich kid with no ambition, who was happy to waste his days with his stoner, artist friend and their groupie. Someone Brian wasn't even supposed to give a shit about. Another goddamn one night stand, who wouldn't leave.
He'd sent Gus home with the nanny, giving him the apartment to himself. But at seven-thirty, half an hour before the time they'd agreed to, Brian left the apartment, and within forty-five minutes, he had some guy, stocky and brunette and wearing too much leather, pressed against the wall as they rode the elevator up to his apartment.
He was late for dinner. Fuck dinner. Fuck everything. Fuck this guy -- Doug? Darren? -- bent over in his kitchen, in full view of the door.
The door he'd left unlocked. Because why tear something down brick by brick, when you can just light a fucking match and burn the whole thing down?
