Missed Connections Read Free Page A

another car on the train. Man whores are firmly off-limits; I’ve seen what cheating can do to people. My mom tore my dad’s heart out again and again. The worst part is he always takes her back. His pride is the least of my worries. It’s the stress that she puts on his heart that worries me and reminds me to never date a potential cheater—no matter how pretty they are, or how pretty their words are. I’ve heard variations on every justification in the book from my mother’s lips.
    But even if all that changed, Jack’s rampant Peter Pan syndrome would still keep him from being an option. He’s a DJ. His office is a dance floor covered with intoxicated people. Late nights, flashing lights. How could I live like that, never seeing him? Never getting to spend more than a few hours a week or a stolen moment on a noisy dance floor? How could I compete with all the women who throw themselves at him? I want more for myself—I need more. As lame as it may make me, I need someone who’s serious about the future, about me—not just a hot guy who refuses to grow up.
    So, despite the quickening of my pulse every time Jack comes near, nothing will ever happen between us. With a sigh, I step back, breaking contact, and head to the living room, hyperaware of him as he follows and sits on the opposite end of the couch, giving me the space I don’t want but need.
    He picks up the conversation as if he hadn’t noticed the weirdness.
    “They want you to start tomorrow? That’s awesome.”
    “Definitely.” Though it’s weird that the old receptionist had to be the deciding factor in me getting hired. Maybe it just sped up the timeline and they had chosen me already.
    The door swings open and bangs against the wall. “Honey, I’m homo!” Pete calls out.
    “God, you’re such a caricature,” I call with a grin.
    “I’m a campy delight.” He and his shopping bags rustle into the kitchen.
    “Your brother’s here.”
    “Good. I could use a big, strong man to help me with these heavy bags while I freshen up. I’m sweating like a hooker in church.”
    Jack rolls his eyes at me but moves to help Pete. I follow, trying not to notice how great Jack’s ass looks in those jeans. Pete’s already deposited the grocery bags on the counters when we reach the kitchen, so I stay out of the way while Jack helps him put stuff away.
    They move with a similar grace, but Pete’s a little softer and flows more, while Jack’s like a slinky jungle cat. There’s something about the way he walks that has always hit me right in the nether regions. Other than style choices and Jack’s adorable mole, they are shockingly identical. Jack’s hair is still their natural light brown and lacks the dyed, lacquered finesse of Pete’s. Pete’s eyebrows are also more groomed, but they don’t look overdone. He’s a junior aesthetician and stylist at a trendy, upscale salon in Manhattan, and he does amazing work. I trust no one else with my hair.
    “Guess who has news?” Jack asks Pete.
    “What? Who? Spill!”
    I laugh. “I have a job! Soon, you’ll have your couch back.”
    “Thank God,” he exclaims with relief.
    I narrow my eyes. “You could sound a little less excited to spare my feelings.”
    “Honey.” He smooths an eyebrow with the tip of his ring finger, managing to look long-suffering with that small action. “I love you, but if I had to see one more thong hanging over my towel rack, I was going to lose it.”
    “Pete!” My cheeks flame, and I look at Jack.
    “Please. My little brother’s seen more panties than you have.”
    Jack smirks. “You’re only three minutes older.”
    I notice he doesn’t deny the part about the panties.
    Pete grabs me in a hug. “Sweetie, I’m so proud of you!” He pulls back. “Where is this fabulous new job? Will they be paying you meeellions of dollars?”
    “I doubt it. I’ll be doing reception.”
    “It may seem like a step down with your degree, but it’s a jungle out there. That