Page 10 of Too Much

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“Sold it.” He shrugs, slipping a pair of aviator shades over his eyes. “I didn’t like how it handled.”

Of course, he didn’t. Five years ago, the smug son-of-a... well, I can’t say that considering his mother is also my mother, drove an old Ford, but now, a 718 Cayman GT4 doesn’t handle well enough. Thankfully, besides moaning about his expensive cars, Nico hasn’t changed since he made bank.

Let him try. He’d have his common sense knocked back into his big head by all six of his brothers.

And I’d throw the first fucking punch. With pleasure.

I round the snow-white, matte Mercedes G-Wagon, admiring the twenty-two-inch alloys and black trim, then yank the driver’s side door open. “Get out. I’m driving.”

He smirks, unbuckling the seat belt, and takes my clubs, locking them in the back. I get comfortable behind the wheel, revving the living shit out of the V8 engine.

That might piss off my neighbors a touch more.

“If you’re wondering what to buy me for my birthday, this,” I pat the steering wheel, “would make a cool gift.”

One can dream, right?

It’s honestly enough that he handles my money free of charge. Every penny I save is wired to Nico, who doubles, triples, and fucking quintuples my savings in a heartbeat. He’s always had a knack for numbers. Mix that with his analytical mind, and you’ve got yourself one of the best stockbrokers on the West Coast. I’m more of an artist, if designing video games is considered art. Even if not, who cares? The money is excellent, and in a way, I’ll stay young until I die.

“You’ve got enough money in your portfolio to afford this,” he says, fiddling with the radio, looking for his indie alternative Spotify playlist or whatever it’s called.

“Call me once that portfolio hits seven digits. Once I’m there, I’ll think about a G-Wagon.”

“Won’t be long.”

The cool part? He’snotexaggerating. He grew my portfolio from fifty to three hundred grand within a year. In another year or two, I’ll join the fast-growing list of people my baby bro turned into millionaires. Nico himself sits on aneight-digit portfolio. I’d lose my goddamn mind if I had that much money, but Nico’s almost unaffected. He’s still the same guy, drinking the same beer, golfing with us every Sunday, and fucking tall, slim, sassy brunettes.

The second-best part about having a ridiculously rich brother who also happens to be your best friend? He lets me drive his cars. And fuck, if the G-Wagon isn’t the best one yet. The engine roars under the bonnet, the sound deep like the murmur of Vesuvius when I burn through the city, disregarding all speed limits. As I pull away from the traffic lights, the wheels spin angrily, making me groan in pure delight.

Ten minutes later, I park next to Shawn’s Dodge RAM outside the Country Club. I grab my clubs from the back, keeping the keys for now in case Nico decides he wants a beer, and I’ll keep the beast until tomorrow morning.

We’re not booked to tee off until noon, but our two older brothers, Shawn and Logan, wait by the bar, beers in hand.

“What do you want, guys?” the bartender asks, looking between Nico and me.

“Get him a Corona, man. I’ll drive,” I say, acting cool even though inside I’m a kid locked overnight in the Chocolate Factory, free to eat all the candy. We’re all motorheads, but I may be the biggest one.

“I’ve got some news,” Shawn says with a heavy sigh, a cryptic expression clouding his face. “But, you’ve got to promise not to breathe a word to Mom, Dad, or the triplets for now.”

It’s unlike Shawn to keep secrets from Mom, which might be why all three of us nod in unison, heading toward a table by the window without hesitation.

“Hit us,” Logan says, taking off his baseball cap, which he always wears backwards like he’s still in college. He rakes his hand back and forth through his short, dark hair, willing the unruly strands into submission, then pops the cap back on. What the fuck was the point of that endeavor in the first place? “You and Jack good?”

The same question is perched on the tip of my tongue and probably Nico’s, too. Shawn and Jack’s road was a bumpy one. They’ve been on and off since college, but over the past few years, they settled into a steady relationship. It’s only natural the three of us wait with bated breath to hear an affirmative answer to Logan’s question.

“Yeah, we’re good, relax,” he barks out a laugh as we breathe a sigh of relief.

Were a touch theatrical, but it’s not without reason. If Shawn can’t make his adult relationship last, neither one of us has a chance to settle down. Not that we’re ready for wives or kids, but one day we might be. At least some of us. Nico will probably end up fucking models until the day he dies, and I can easily picture Logan getting married and divorced at least five times before he’s fifty.

Triplets are too young to even venture a guess.

A shit-eating grin curves Shawn’s lips a second later, relieving the tension further. He raises his left hand, showing off a black and gold band embossed with a single row of diamonds on his ring finger. “He proposed.”

“No way!” I boom, drawing the attention of everyone sitting at nearby tables. “What?” I clip at the two elderly women. “My big bro’s getting married!”

Their expressions morph into polite smiles as they mumbleCongratulations. Nico’s on his feet, patting Shawn on the back, and Logan grabs him in a bear hug, not far off tackling him to the ground.

“Finally!” I say, yanking Shawn in for a hug. “One down... six to go. He took his time.”


Tags: I.A. Dice Erotic