Page 43 of Gatsby's Starlet
The rest of the album was different—better. Old movies, screenshots, shit I’d printed out over the years, pieces of something that had kept me in line when everything else went sideways.
And now… Evie.
A few things already tucked in my head waiting for a place to land. Yeah, it was corny as hell, but I didn’t give a shit.
I closed the album and slid it back under the bed, then pushed up and headed for the bathroom, already feeling the weight of tomorrow settling in. Cameras. Work. Club shit.
But under all of that—Evie.
And I wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of seeing her again.
***
SIX IN THEmorning and I already had my ass in the kitchen, the place half-awake in that quiet way it got before the day really kicked in, coffee brewing, skillet popping, the quiet noise of life starting up piece by piece.
“You’re up early,” Josie called over his shoulder, working the stove like it was part of him. “You and Gearhead got a hot date planned or somethin’?”
That’s when I spotted him.
Gearhead was tucked off in the corner, hunched over a cup of coffee like it was the only thing keeping him alive, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded.
I grabbed a mug, poured myself some, and slid into the chair across from him.
“The hell are you doing up this early?” I asked, taking a sip.
He yawned, dragging a hand over his face. “Gotta head into Savannah. Junkyard down there’s got the only parts I need for that ’69 Chevy I’ve been workin’ on.” He tipped his cup back, then glanced at me. “What about you? You don’t strike me as the sunrise type unless there’s a reason.”
“Devil’s got a job for me,” I said. “Wants a security system put in at his place.”
Gearhead snorted, shaking his head. “That house sits empty. Been that way long enough, someone’s bound to try their luck eventually.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He thinks someone already is.”
That seemed to wake him up a little more, but he didn’t press it. Just took another drink, then leaned back in his chair, studying me for a second longer than usual.
“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” he said. “Not since Evie.”
I smirked, not even bothering to hide it. “And if I play my cards right, you’ll see even less.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah? That how it works now?”
“Man’s allowed to want more than this,” I said, gesturing around the kitchen, the clubhouse, all of it. “Love you assholes, but I’m not trying to spend the rest of my life surrounded by bad decisions and worse habits. I want a woman. A real one. A family.”
“Not every guy needs that,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through his hair like the conversation was already getting under his skin. “Some of us do just fine without it.”
“Yeah,” I shot back, leaning forward a little, “some of you just hide behind it. Easier to keep things shallow than risk giving a shit about someone.”
He rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“I’m just saying,” I went on, not letting it go, “I’ve got zero interest in livin’ like a manwhore till I’m fifty and wondering where the hell my life went.”
“That’s rich,” he laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve been waitin’ your whole life to say that, haven’t you?”
“Damn straight!”
“You’re basically a black-and-white ’50s TV episode that learned how to walk.”
“And you’re straight outta a ’90s porn collection,” I shot back, pointing at him. “Difference is, I’m planning on growing out of my phase before I end up old and alone.”
