distraction: you

chapter twenty eight

"so? when are you going to thank me?"

brett should probably not be praying for the earth to swallow him whole on this fine, blessed day, but he is. with the way cynthia's propped up against her sedan, smirking gleefully at his dark button-up and dress shoes, he feels all too much like a child waving his mother goodbye on his first day of school. god, this is so embarrassing.

"thanks for lending me your ride, cynthia," he manages to speak out, because he really does owe her a lot, and not just because she's letting him borrow her car for his date. if it hadn't been for her meddling, brett thinks he'll probably be moping around in his apartment right now rather than standing here, waiting to take eddy chen out for the day. it turns out that all it takes for brett to open his mouth is to push him straight into the fire, and so cynthia had done so.

he'd almost chickened out, when the girl—amara? anida? something with an a?—had glared at him, where eddy couldn't see. but then the man himself had chosen brett immediately, and—well. brett might be an idiot, but he's not idiot enough to let this opportunity pass him by.

and so here he is, meeting the love of his life in like twenty minutes, and no, that thought isn't relaxing at all.

"that's not what i was referring to, but i'll accept it." the blonde laughs, flicks her sunglasses back over her eyes as she hands over the car keys. "go get 'im, tiger."

"i'll try my best," he tells her, and cynthia gives him a thumbs up before she leaves. brett slides into the driver's seat, leans against the wheel for a moment to calm his frazzled nerves, and then he goes.

the drive to eddy's place takes him to an upscale neighborhood, and really, he can't help himself when he stares too long at his surroundings: a far cry from the run-down streets of brett's side of the city. he arrives at the listed address—and his jaw drops to the floor of the sedan.

eddy perches against the iron railings of the front steps to his apartment, dressed in a suit just like the one he'd worn when they had auditioned for the orchestra way back then, and damn, but he's absolutely gorgeous, and brett doesn't feel an inkling of guilt about thinking that now.

he parks by the sidewalk, rolling down the window as eddy approaches him. "hey," brett says, and then stops himself before any of the mental screaming comes out of his brain and through his mouth.

"hey yourself." the taller man opens the car door, takes the passenger seat with a sunny smile on his face. it's a little bit like looking at the sun, damn him. "you look dashing, your majesty."

god, brett can feel his cheeks warming already. time to deflect before he can embarrass himself. "sure, if you count the messy, rolled-out-of-bed look as dashing."

eddy raises an eyebrow at him. "well, now, that's even better. you're making things easier for my imagination."

and no, that line had been delivered way too smoothly. brett peers at him in mock suspicion. "who are you and what have you done with eddy chen?"

"hey, don't you know?" the grin on eddy's lips grows sharper, mischievous. "i'm eddy chen two-point-oh. some guy named brett yang fixed me up and made me better. you should meet him; he's amazing."

this back-and-forth they're doing isn't healthy for brett's heart—eddy chen's confidence is illegal and must be apprehended—and so he turns away, rolling his eyes to mask the bubbly sensation churning in his gut. "unbelievable," he pretends to complain, slotting the car key and twisting it—

—but then the car doesn't start.

"goddamn," brett mumbles under his breath, fiddling with the car keys again. still no bueno. anxiety trickles into his mind, reminding him that he's only borrowing this car, he's only had it for half an hour, and he's already managed to screw things up, his plans for the day beginning to crumbling down like sandcastles. god, if cynthia finds out—