Voices bounced around the vehicle bay, drowning the classic rock station drifting from the radio and the hiss of oxygen tanks being refilled. Haustin ground his teeth together, a headache flaring behind his eyes, and tuned into the conversation, hoping it chased away his bad mood.
"So I told little Joe to wait a sec while I finished talking to my buddy, we were leaving soon and he could use the bathroom at home," Carl was saying, providing another hilarious story about his three-and-a-half-year-old son. "We left, walking the two blocks to our house, and I get a call. Apparently, Joe couldn't hold it and dropped a deuce right there on the back porch."
Laughter exploded, and Haustin couldn't take it anymore. He stood, pushing the bench away from him, and stalked outside, desperate for fresh air to clear his head. If only the serenity he'd felt with Miles three days ago would return. Instead, it had vanished later that night as he spent hours berating himself for waiting so long. Plus, he had yet to go back to see either Miles or Luna, proving he was a total deadbeat. How hard was it to drive there, an easy two hour round trip, and hang with them? Two hours of his day. It should be simple.
Footsteps approached, and his hackles rose.
"You know, we'd appreciate a little warning when your PMS comes," Abel teased.
"Maybe we can buy a calendar and you can draw black hearts on the days to avoid you." Alex added.
Haustin glared at them. "Watch it."
"Or what?"
He shook his head at Abel. "If you weren't my oldest friend..."
"You would be friendless," his buddy finished the thought.
"Bite me."
"No way." Abel leaned next to him. "Wouldn't want to risk an infection."
He felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "I've seen the women you date. If I were you I wouldn't joke about infection."
Alex laughed, standing on the sidewalk with his hands looped in the suspenders of his bunker pants. Two young women strolled by, gawking and nearly tripping in their heels. Haustin growled. "You look like a damn FDNY centerfold or some shit. Get off the sidewalk, you're going to cause an accident."
"Speaking of women," Alex began as he moved out of the way, not sparing his audience a second glance, but Haustin was already cutting him off.
"Not talking about it."
"Why haven't you called her?" the jerk asked anyway. "I gave you the right number."
Abel chimed in. "I know you're rusty in the whole wooing department, but calling is required if you want to land the girl."
"And what exactly do I have to offer? She's practically New York royalty."
"Not this bullshit again," Abel groaned.
YOU ARE READING
Survivor's Guilt
General Fiction2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...