If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was a girl.
“You’re quiet today.”
I glanced away from the window I’d been staring out to glance across the car toward Pick.
I also was getting tired of always being in the passenger seat, riding bitch. I needed to get my own set of four wheels so I could be in the driver’s seat every once in a while. I don’t know if it was lack of sex lately, or what, but I could almost feel my nads shriveling up into ovaries. I was sitting here, stressing about my friendship with another guy and upset because I hadn’t even been able to just talk to some girl. I had the sudden urge to rip a loud, foul fart or belch or something equally guy just to prove I wasn’t losing it.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, and immediately realized I’d just pulled the purely feminine I’m fine line. Not cool, so I quickly added, “I need to get laid.”
Pick chuckled. “The way the women flock to you after all your shows, I wouldn’t have thought you had a problem with that.”
“Yeah, but all they want is some singer in a band. I’m just…I’m over that shit. You can only handle so many meaningless, empty hook-ups before you want...” I didn’t bother to finish the sentiment. It sounded lame and whiny to my own ears, and besides, two guys did not talk about this. But not only had I confided in Sticks about it, but now Pick too. What the hell was wrong with me?
“Aww....is my baby brother growing up?”
I scowled at Pick, not sure what he meant by that. “Huh?”
“It’s a sign of a maturing male when he’s ready to stop sowing his wild oats and settle down with a good woman.”
Maturity? Huh. Was that what this was? Because I still felt like a clueless, bumbling kid most of the time. But maturing did sound better than becoming a chick.
“Got you all restless and edgy, doesn’t it? Feeling lonely and kind of pathetic because you keep turning down sure things that you really have no reason to turn down at all?”
Holy shit. How did he know that?
The stunned expression must’ve revealed my feelings because he sent me a knowing smile. “Been there. Suffered through that. And damn glad I found my Tinker Bell when I did.”
“Lucky bastard,” I mumbled, scowling.
Which only made him laugh. “I know, right?”
When he pulled into the entrance of an auto repair shop, I sat up straighter, forgetting about my own issues.
We’d just come from my uncle’s place. He was the only family member I had any contact with, even though it’d been three or four years since I’d last visited him...or called. After my mom had died and my dad was arrested, the authorities had gotten hold of my mom’s family to see if they would take me in. None of them were interested in raising Polly’s little crack baby, except her older brother Stan.
He hadn’t been the loving, nurturing type. In fact, he’d rarely been around. Since he had worked for a trucking company, he would be gone for days on end. The most interest he’d ever shown in my life was a “how’s it going?” whenever he’d see me. But he never hit me or even yelled at me. He was just kind of there...sometimes. If it wasn’t for him, though, I would’ve been put into foster care and who knew where I would’ve ended up.
Anyway, since Stan had been Polly’s brother, that made him just as much Pick’s uncle as mine. So when I’d asked Pick if he wanted to meet Stan, he’d been all for that idea. And that was why we were hanging out today.
The visit with Stan had gone about how I’d expected with one small surprise.
I hadn’t called before visiting. He wasn’t a fan of answering his phone, so I hadn’t even bothered. So he’d been mildly startled to see me when he’d opened the door of his trailer house.
“Asher? Is that you? Shit. How long’s it been? You’ve finally filled out some. Thought you were going to be a stick for the rest of your life. Well, come on in. Who’s this?” He eyed Pick warily before glancing at me. “You turn to men, or something?”
Jesus. Not Uncle Stan too.
“No. This is Pick. Patrick Ryan. He, uh...well, he’s your nephew too.”
Stan’s perusal of Pick’s tattoos and piercings turned into a scowl before he glanced at me and hitched up an eyebrow. “Come again?”
After I explained how Pick was the baby Polly had left at the hospital and how we’d stumbled across our discovery of being related, Stan scratched his fraying beard stubble. “Well, hell. I didn’t even realize that kid had survived. I just assumed Polly’d had a miscarriage.”
“Well...” I shrugged. “She didn’t.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Pick held out a hand, and Stan stared at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it, before he finally took hold of Pick’s palm and returned the shake.
“You do have the Ruddick chin, I guess,” Stan murmured thoughtfully.