Too Much : Chapter 5

INSTEAD OF HAULING HIS LAZY ASS OUT OF THE CAR, Nico beeps the horn outside my condo at eleven in the morning, pissing off my neighbors and me too. Especially when I exit the building, finding him behind the wheel of his brand-new toy.

“Show-off,” I scoff, aware his window is down, so he hears me loud and clear. “Whatever happened to the Porsche?”

“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’s not exaggerating. 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 an eight-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 mumble Congratulations. 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.”

I remember the day Shawn came out of the closet. He invited me, Logan, and Nico and sat us down in his dorm room, chewing his fingernails the whole time we chatted about classes, sports and chicks until he suddenly blurted out, I’m gay.

No shit was my reaction.

Even Mom knew Shawn was gay before he realized it.

The news came as no surprise to the family. I still don’t understand why he was so nervous to tell us. We’re brothers—always there for each other no matter what happens. No matter how crazy life gets. Sure, we have different dynamics with one another, but regardless of our day-to-day relationships, we’re there when it matters.

I could call the six of them in the middle of the night to say I killed someone, and they’d raid my house within minutes, ready to dispose of the evidence and fabricate an alibi. Shawn would dig a makeshift grave blindfolded because he’s a cop, but he’d dig, no questions asked.

We met Jack that very evening and immediately took a liking to him. Whenever they broke up over the years, we hated every other guy in Shawn’s life on principle because Jack is the guy for Shawn, and that’s the end of fucking story.

“Now, explain why no one can know,” Nico says, throwing himself back against the leather chair, drumming whatever melody currently plays in his left ear from the AirPod he’s got there.

“Because I had to tell someone, or I’d explode!” Shawn booms, still grinning. “Jack’s away on business in New York all week. I want to take him over to Mom and Dad’s next weekend so we can tell them together. That means you three need to keep quiet until next weekend.”

We spend the next half an hour coming up with the bachelor party plan. I’m willing to bet my ass it’ll be a night we won’t remember if the ideas tossed around pan out. At some point, it’s basically a rendition of “The Hangover” when Logan googles where to hire a tiger. Too bad Tyson no longer has any.

“There you are.” Jared interrupts us halfway through the conversation. Wearing a sleazy grin, he stops by the table, not much more than a half-assed nod our way before he zeroes in on Nico. “Come on, man, we need to talk.” He squeezes his shoulder, veering him away toward the bar.

“What’s that about?” Shawn clips, burning a hole in the back of Jared’s head with a hard edge to his narrowed eyes. “You know he’s supposed to be taking over the Country Club at the end of summer? His father’s retiring and the son-of-a-bitch will own this fucking place now.”

“In that case, I bet he wants Nico to be a silent partner.” Logan slams an empty bottle of Bud on the table, starting his usual ritual of peeling the label. The triplets always take the piss when he does, saying he’s sexually frustrated and should get laid. “All he ever does is ask Nico for cash,” he continues. What’s going on with that restaurant they were opening? The Olive Tree, wasn’t it?”

“Last time I checked, that’s still happening,” I say. “They’re almost done with the remodeling. I’ve no idea why Nico wants a restaurant. He knows nothing about running a restaurant.”

“He doesn’t have to. He’ll hire a professional and count the cash,” Shawn chuckles. “It’s capital investment.”

“Like he needs to invest any more fucking capital. I bet he just wants to have a world-class chef at his disposal, cooking for him whatever the fuck he wants.”

“I could just get a live-in maid for that.” Nico comes back with three beers and another bottle of water for me. “You’re both wrong. I’m diversifying my income in case the market crashes, or I stop seeing what others miss. And while we’re on the subject, I could also use a fucking holiday, so I’m looking for a decent stock broker if you know anyone.”

“Yeah, you,” Logan smirks, patting his back. “And you really don’t need to diversify your income. If you ever lose your mojo, you own a house worth north of twenty million. I think you’ll be just fucking fine, bro.” He gets up, leaving a pile of label scraps behind. “Let’s go, boys. It’s almost noon.”

We head out to the fairway, and the topic immediately changes to our youngest brothers—Cody, Colt, and Conor. They took to bugging Nico to let them move in with him now that they’re turning eighteen and starting college in September.

“You’ve got six bedrooms,” Shawn points out. “That’s more than enough room for the triplets. They want to party, Nico. You know Mom treats them like they’re still ten.”

“Maybe because they act like they’re ten,” Nico clips, grabbing his driver. “I told them I’ll think about it, and I am, but they’ve got some serious growing up to do if they want me to agree.”

“How about a bet?” Logan asks, leaning against his golf bag. “If I win today, you let them move in with you for a one-month probation period while they’re off school.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I doubt there’s anything you actually need, but how about a watch?”

“Nah. If I win, you take the triplets in for a month.”

Logan laughs, shaking his head a firm no. “Yeah… forget I said anything.”

They bicker for a while, and three holes later, as always, I’m already losing big time. I never pegged myself for a golfer and never got the hang or appeal of it, but I enjoy spending a few hours with my brothers away from their friends, my friends, and our usual settings. We started golfing when Nico finished college. He’s the youngest out of the four of us—twenty-six. The youngest and the richest.

He’s also the one I get along with best. I’m a year older, while Logan and Shawn are twenty-eight and twenty-nine, respectively. And, obviously, our mom is Wonder Woman incarnated… four boys year after year. Boys like us—a hell-raising bunch, fighting, arguing and then blaming everything on the triplets when they started walking.

To this day, Mom thinks they were the ones who poured a bucket of red paint in the pool when it was actually me… and it wasn’t paint but fake blood. I wanted to prank Logan, pretending I was dead. I floated on the surface of the pool for an hour, eyes closed, but when he finally found me, he didn’t jump in to save my ass. He threw a sun-lounger at me. The bastard.

The sound of the approaching cart fills the warm afternoon air, and it’s an instant pause on our game. The cart stops, prompting Logan and Shawn to exchange curious glances. Nico and I already expected Thalia out here today. Jared’s filthy mouth sang her praises when she entered Tortugo last night.

I knew her name, heritage, and a brief life story before I approached her at the bar, but I was curious how much she’d let on about herself. Not much, unfortunately.

“Good afternoon,” she chirps, over pronouncing the r. “I’m Thalia. Can I get you anything to drink?” She whirls her dark curls over one shoulder, eyeing my brothers before she turns to me with a tight-lipped smile that reaches her happy eyes. They’re darker than mine, like roasted hazelnuts.

“You’re new here, babe,” Shawn drawls, moving toward her slowly. “I’ll give you a quick rundown before the vultures surround you. I’m Shawn. These are my brothers: Logan, Theo, and Nico. We play eighteen holes every Sunday at noon and go through beer fast, so try to find us every half an hour.”

My gaze drops from her face to her luscious rack bunched up in a tight, beige polo shirt and lower to those alluring round hips, thick thighs, and long, smooth legs. The crop top she wore last night, flaunting her olive skin, flickers on the edge of my mind. I couldn’t stop staring at her all night.

Looks like I’m not doing any better today.

Eye candy is what Jared calls the cart girls. He only hires young, pretty babes as those keep the members happy. He sure scored big time with Thalia. She’s exotic. Her unconventional beauty shines like the goddamn lighthouse of Alexandria.

“I’ll keep you well hydrated,” she says, rounding the cart to open a cooler at the back. “What can I get you?”

“Water, two Bud Lights, and a Corona.”

She turns around, giving me the perfect opportunity to admire her ass. Round, bouncy… I bet she’d squeal if I’d bite her. It’s not like I unnoticed the perfect, upside-down heart after I saw it jiggle when she showed me what running in heels looks like. I’m a guy, and the brain-melting curve of her hips draws my eyes. My whole fucking body is drawn to her.

“You’re awfully fresh for someone who drank four caipirinhas last night,” I say, ever so casual.

“Have you ever tried Ouzo?” she asks, huffing out a shallow, soft burst of laughter, a hint of delight in her voice as she continues, “Greeks usually drink that neat, and we drink a lot. Four caipirinhas won’t make me tipsy, let alone unwell.”

“How are you finding Newport so far?” Nico asks, taking the Corona she holds out to him, her arm arrow-straight as if she doesn’t want him invading her personal space. “I bet you enjoy working here. European chicks always make a killing in tips.”

“I love Newport, and the tips are great,” she admits, her tone reserved, hinting she’s uncomfortable around Nico.

Most people are.

Shawn picks up on her hesitation too. “I guess Cassidy fed you a few horror stories about us.”

Thalia shakes her head, cheeks blushing a faint shade of pink. “No. She hasn’t said much. Only that you four will be the best-behaved ones today.”

Bullshit. But I got to give it to her; she lies like a pro—maintains eye contact, keeps a steady tone to her voice and her body language intact. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe her.

Cassidy’s stories are gore. They’re mostly made up, but it doesn’t matter. She hates our guts. She jumped in my bed an hour after we met at one of the many bars in the city, then tried her luck with Logan a week later.

Wrong order…

She would’ve gotten much more out of Logan than she did out of me. He was really into her, and not in a hit-it and quit-it kind of way. They went out a few times, and he took her to dinner, which had never happened before. Too bad he only admitted he was interested in Cass outside the bedroom after I told him I’d already fucked her. If he told me sooner, I would’ve kept my mouth shut so they could work shit out themselves.

Knowing your brother fucked the girl you like puts a damper on the like.

Needless to say, it didn’t work out between them.

“Aww, babe, don’t do that,” Shawn tsks. “I know Cass too well to believe that, however truthful it rang. Strike one. Make sure you don’t reach three. It’d be a shame if you were demoted, babe. Tips ain’t that good during the week.”

Thalia draws her thick eyebrows together, lips falling apart a bit. She looks ready to bite Shawn’s head off, but she changes her mind at the last second, rolling her shoulders and standing taller. The annoyed grimace softens, transforming into what looks like a well-practiced, neutral expression, and she flashes us a cute smile that makes me want to fucking sing.

Great acting skills.

The fire burning in her eyes betrays she has a snarky remark up her sleeve, but she knows mouthing off to a member is not a wise idea. “I’ll do my best.” She hops behind the wheel, tugging the short skirt down. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“Make it twenty,” Nico says, already halfway through his Corona. “It’s way too hot today.”

He’s usually the first one to hit on tall, dark-haired beauties. Lucky for me, he told me last night that Thalia doesn’t strike the right chord, and he doesn’t fuck them unless they pique his interest.

We resume the game and new topic.

“Dibs,” Logan says in an urgent, clipped tone. “I call dibs.”

Derisive laughter bubbles in my throat. Cheeky fucker. He loves blondes, so I’ve no idea what he’s playing at right now. Besides, too little too late. I was here first. “She’s not your type, Logan. And house rules—no dibs on chicks.”

“No dibs on chicks,” he mocks, flipping me off. “You want her? Try and beat me to the fucking punch, bro.”

He’s an animal, I swear.

“I wish you’d grow up.” Shawn makes a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. “Aren’t you bored of meaningless sex? Empty house, empty bed, no one to fucking talk to?”

“Says the guy who broke it off with Jack five times so you could,” Logan air quotes, pulling a face, “explore other options.”

“That was a long time ago. We’ve been great together for four years now. I wouldn’t change what we have for any number of dicks. You three had enough pussy to last you a few lifetimes. Don’t you think it’s time to grow up? Find a wife, start a fucking family? You’re all turning thirty soon.”

Nico cocks an eyebrow. “Four years isn’t soon, Shawn. You want to pimp us out?” He points to Logan. “Start with the oldest and work your way down.”

I’ve got to admit, Shawn’s got a point. I’m growing exceptionally tired of spending my evenings alone. Not that I’d dare spew that truth while Logan and Nico are within earshot. I’d never live it down, so… new topic.

“I’m getting a dog.”

“Unless it’s a Rottweiler and a boy Rottweiler at that, I’m not babysitting,” Logan says, practicing his swing.

“I’d never ask you. I don’t think that highly of you.”

He flips me off again, grinning. “The feeling is mutual.”

We chat about the pros and cons of owning a pet until Thalia arrives one minute before Nico’s deadline.

It’s Logan’s turn to buy the next round. Quick as lightning, he draws out the big guns as if we’re two gunslingers in an old Western, and he’s beating me to the prize this way. Doesn’t he know the one who draws first always dies?

“What time do you get off, honey?” he asks, unleashing the charm he firmly believes he’s been blessed with.

I’m not so sure. I mean, honey? Yeah, because that doesn’t sound like he just wants to fuck her real quick. How he gets laid with those shitty lines is beyond me.

“Oh, depends when the mood takes me,” Thalia chirps. “Usually, right after I wake up. Gives me a nice boost for the day.” She opens his Bud Light. “Sometimes before bed, so I sleep better.”

Logan chews his lip, processing. I think he only grasps Thalia’s play on words when Nico and I chuckle. She’s got him there. Logan doesn’t do well with overconfident women. On the flip side, the fire burning in her dark eyes ropes me into her more. She’s quick-witted… a quality I apparently find attractive.

“Morning, huh?” He gives her a fifty-dollar bill wrapped around his business card—standard Logan move. He knows most chicks lose their inhibitions once they see Architectural Director written in bold, gold ink. Architects make a bomb, and Logan sure is the best one within at least a hundred-mile radius. “Call me if you need a helping hand, honey. Keep the change.”

“You should think that through, Logan. Your number will officially be the second one in my contact list. When the time comes to carry a couch inside my apartment, I will call.”

Logan’s face falls again. Thalia’s ability to turn his lines against him throws him off his game every time, and that’s too much for him to handle. He peers over his shoulder at Nico and me with a deer-in-the-headlights look tainting his features.

Dibs, my ass.

I pull out my card, handing it over to Thalia. “If you need help lifting, you call me. Logan will throw his back out just thinking about manual labor.”

“Thank you. Once I find a place, I’ll call. Should I come back again in half an hour?”

“Sounds good.” Shawn waves her off, setting the ball to practice his swing until we no longer hear the cart.

For the next three hours, Logan humiliates himself with cringe-worthy attempts at wooing Thalia. He achieves nothing save for digging his grave deeper each time he opens his mouth.

It makes for an entertaining show.

I half expected him to wave a white flag already, but he’s determined to prove he can get the girl. He can’t. Especially now that he’s changed tactics. Instead of flirting, he tries his hardest to make her uncomfortable. He should’ve stuck with flirting. Thalia dodges the bullets, hitting back with witty quips, all the while polite and professional. Her feistiness takes Logan aback every time.

I’m pretty damn impressed.

And intrigued.

She’s not just pretty packaging.