Let It Go: Sergey (Mikhailov Brothers Book 1) Read online

  When I arrived at the restaurant Toni and David were already seated at one of the outdoor tables, sipping cocktails and deep in conversation.

  I gave hugs and kisses to the aforementioned group, ordered a mimosa from the attending waiter and was informed that my brunch order had already been placed.

  “So, let’s hear it. How is the new job?” David started.

  David was a wonderful friend and my first love.

  Toni Hume, David Ross and I grew up together in the same middle class neighborhood in Austin. In fact I spent most of my childhood at either David or Toni’s houses. I did everything I could to escape life with my mother. It had been a rollercoaster ride of booze-induced tantrums, sloppy depressions and many long weekends when the care of my brother, Eric, five years my junior, was left in my young hands.

  I learned very early how to cook and clean and care for our little house and my baby brother. And I know the experience shaped me in part, into who I am now.

  Controlled and probably too unforgiving with men. I have been labeled by more than one date as aloof. Frankly I think I haven’t met a man who interested me enough to come out of the familiar confines of my own head. Maybe the handsome Latino detective could help with that.

  “The job, Evelyn, how goes it?” David asked again

  “Good...ok…interesting.” I said with little enthusiasm.

  “Way to paint a picture for us, Evie.” Toni added.

  I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell the truth. When I left St. David’s Medical Center to take the full time spot at Central Booking, I had a plan. In my mind it made sense to me. But after only a week on the job, I worried that I had made a life decision based on someone other than myself. My little brother.

  “Have you seen Eric?” Toni asked. She knew my rationale for taking the job. I had been working in the ER for six years when I made the decision to leave for the correctional nursing post. It was an interesting change. I didn’t have to work with a lot of doctors or deal with the politics of the hospital. However neither friend was happy about my choice and had vocalized their frustration.

  I had my reasons. I knew they were irrational but it was my career, my choice. I had convinced myself that I was somehow more useful at the jail than at the ER. My friends believed my motivation was based on my tendency to be the fixer. And the need to have my brother in my life, even if it was only seeing him when he got arrested. From a safe distance.

  I suppose that was part of it but not all. I hadn’t seen Eric for three years. Not one sighting in three years. Austin is a large city but I couldn’t fathom how I could work and volunteer in organizations that catered to the homeless and addicted and not run across him.

  My little brother had been an addict since he was thirteen-years old. It started by stealing beer and eventually morphed into burglarizing neighborhood homes with other addicts to support a raging heroin addiction.

  The last time I saw Eric, he told me he wanted help, I let him stay with me. One day later I came home from work to find a stranger ransacking my apartment. It was an ugly memory. Only David and Toni knew how ugly that night got.

  I tried to write him off. Pretend he didn’t exist. That lasted about two years. His face came to me at night when I slept. I had come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t help him. He had to want to get clean. But not knowing if he was dead or alive—it was too much.

  “No,” I said, finally acknowledging my friend’s question. “I haven’t and I probably won’t but somehow if I am closer to people who—” Toni didn’t let me finish.

  “We get it, if you are closer to the people in that world, you feel closer to Eric.”

  “Do we need to give you the “you are not responsible for your brother’s choices in life speech. Because I will do it,” David threatened.

  Our food arrived before I was subjected to “the speech” and the conversation changed to our usual topics, sex and how to have more of it.

  David was the most successful slut of the bunch. Tall and muscular, he was the guy you see at the gym and think, he must be gay, he’s too perfect. He is gay. In fact, we discovered his proclivity for men together. David was my first. Moments after we did the deed in his bedroom at the tender age of sixteen, he rolled off me with tears streaming down his face and said, “Evie, I’m sorry, I think I’m gay.” Of course he had known for a long time. Having sex with me was the confirmation he needed.

  At the time, I was devastated because I already had bridal magazine cut outs of my wedding dress and floral arrangement ideas in a shoebox under my bed. I had it all planned out. David and I would marry after college—me, a nurse—he, an architect and buy a huge old house in Castle Hill that we would renovate. Our children, three boys, would be adorable and precocious.

  Now, as I listened to the retelling of his latest conquest, I knew that everything happened like it was supposed to. He was a happy single man living the dream as a successful local musician, burning up stages throughout Austin. He never became an architect that was my dream for him. I chose it because the dad from the Brady Bunch was one. Apparently not a sufficient reason to choose a career.

  Toni was next to share. A terrible bartender and reluctant part-time lead singer of David’s band, Toni was a bitter combination of Barbie Doll and Gloria Steinem.

  Between bits of quiche Lorraine, my second favorite Annie’s dish, she regaled us with the story of her last date named Michael—An attorney from San Marcos who spent the better part of the evening arguing with Toni that the G-spot was a myth. Against her better judgment, she had slept with him anyway. According to her, he couldn’t have hit the mark if she had a GPS affixed to her forehead.

  With meals complete and a switch from mimosa to coffee, the assembly looked and me for any updates.

  “So,” Toni started, downing the remaining Bloody Mary from her glass, “what poor bastard have you been toying with this week, Evelyn?

  I feigned innocence, sipped my coffee and refused to take the bait. Both David and Evelyn felt I was too hard on men. Never giving them a chance. Deliberately misunderstanding or ignoring romantic overtures. It was all probably true. I had never really met a man who had the capacity to interest me for any length of time. Men were a disappointment. I work and shop. That is about it.

  David and Toni waited for a response. I am not a big sharer. My friends know this and make up for it by sharing way too much. But I was feeling charitable and the homeless surfer and sexy Latino had been on my mind.

  “Actually, I did meet someone at work this morning.”

  I described the handsome Latino detective and my moment with the homeless surfer dude in the lounge. My friends stared until David spoke up.

  “Don’t you watch cop shows, Evie? The gruff, scrappy-looking badass with a taste for expensive booze and fine women are all the rage.”

  “Yeah,” added Toni, “rough and ready is the way to go. Take charge and take me from behind.” She gave a wink. “You know what I mean?”

  I didn’t.

  “I thought the dark-haired cop was cute.” I countered. “Besides, the surfer dude looks like he washes in gas station restrooms.”

  Before I could finish my rebuttal, Toni started in, “But dark-haired cop didn’t ask your name. Creepy surfer did. Next time you see him, ask his name and give him yours.

  “You got that whole sexy pin up look. Long, silky dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, the killer pouty mouth. Great tits. Get your head out of your butt and pay attention.”

  I looked at David for support. He shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, Evie, I think you’re hideous.”

  Chapter 3

  After brunch I returned to my condo, started a load of whites in the washer and took a nap. The downside to my current schedule was if you try to live like a normal nine to five person on your off days, your work days are screwed. So, after I awoke I cleaned my apartment, went to the library for some new reads and hit the grocery store on my way home. I also needed to have my cell phone check
ed. Something was wrong with the voicemail feature. The little envelope thingy that says “hey, you got a message” was MIA. But that was a task for another day. I knew they would talk me into a fancy phone. I wasn’t ready to commit. Toni and David had been badgering me to get a phone with texting capabilities. I resisted. I didn’t want to learn the short-hand language.

  As I wheeled my way down the aisles, I found myself thinking about what happened at work again. I needed to learn to flirt. The flippant attitude wasn’t serving me well. I’d never had a serious relationship. I’d had a couple of serious boyfriends but none that I could say I had truly desired or loved. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Maybe I couldn’t love.

  Maybe my standards were too high.

  Maybe I was meant to be one of those women who lived alone my whole life, started hording old newspapers and died when a ten foot high pile of the Austin American-Statesman tipped over and crushed me. The authorities would find my remains weeks later after the stench of rotting flesh and cat urine became too much for the neighbors to bear.

  I had loaded my cart with a selection of fresh produce, fish and organic chicken which I would inevitably ignore for Cap’n Crunch and coffee.

  As I made my final descent into the wine aisle, my gaze registered a tall, blonde man in well-worn Levis. Homeless surfer was smiling right at me.

  I honestly considered turning around and making a beeline for the registers. Something about that man triggered my fight or flight response. I’ve met men who piqued my interest. But it was nothing like I felt when this man looked at me.

  I think I was a little afraid. Afraid that this man could see through me and wreck me. My carefully constructed walls were no match for him. I needed those walls. They kept me safe. Kept me in check. Without the fortifications, I was exposed, raw. Maybe it was simply the detective in him but I didn’t like the feeling he gave me when he looked at me. He saw through my indifference.

  After carefully weighing my options, I opted to turn tail and run. My feet, unbeknownst to my brain, delivered me to the blonde, holding a chardonnay in his hand.

  “You don’t strike me as a wine connoisseur.” I smiled. Be nice, relax, my mind preached.

  He looked down at the bottle like he hadn’t realized it was in his hand. His eyes recaptured mine in silence.

  Slowly he made his way around my cart and stood toe to toe with me. He looked marginally better than the last time I’d seen him. His jeans and T-shirt didn’t look slept in and his caramel-colored hair was clean, brushed and neatly tied behind his head. But he still had a wizard’s beard obscuring most of his face. And he had a way of walking like he was a leopard stalking its prey. With stealth and undeniable strength.

  My head bent to study the proximity of his shoes to mine. Why did that excite me? Big badass boots and my pink satin ballet flats.

  Toni was right, I needed to get laid. Shake the cobwebs from betwixt my legs. If I had a regular, healthy sex life I wouldn’t be fixating on the man staring at me. I’d had a crazy sex dream about him last night. When I had awakened from it, I tried to go back to sleep and dream about handsome Latino man. It didn’t work.

  There was a part of me that was afraid to meet his gaze. Maybe he would see I’d had a dream about doing the deed with him against the wall of a skating rink. With skates on!

  From somewhere in the distance, I heard someone calling my name. I continued to stare at my own feet until I felt a fingertip trail from my clavicle to my chin where it brought my face up. An amused grin played across his mouth. He was trying not to laugh. That pissed me off.

  “Do you not understand the concept of personal space?” I asked this with a healthy infusion of bitchiness.

  Then he did laugh. A raucous guffaw that made him double over. I found myself looking around, conscious that the din of his mirth was starting the cause glances our way.

  “Stop it,” I admonished. “People are looking.”

  “Who cares, Evelyn?” he replied, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

  I started to tell him that I cared when his words hit my brain. He knew my name. I asked the obvious.

  “How do you know my name?”

  He had resumed his study of the wine bottles picking up one in each hand like he was weighing them.

  “You know anything about wine? You look like the kind of woman who knows wine,” he asked, ignoring my query.

  “I know you can’t distinguish a good vintage by its heft. And what do you mean; I look like I know wine? And how do you know my name?”

  Homeless surfer made his choice, adding both bottles to my cart and turned back to me.

  “Which question do you want answered first babe?

  “My name?” The ‘babe’ moniker was starting to grow on me. No one had ever called me babe before. I never allowed it.

  “I asked around. You are Evelyn Louise Snow. You are a thirty-year old nurse. An Austin native. You recently left a lucrative job as a shift leader at St. David’s Medical Center to take a pay cut as a supervising triage nurse in the Travis County Justice Center. A perplexing decision but it was your right to make it.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I interrupted acrimoniously

  “I am not finished,” he continued. “You look like the kind of classy piece of ass who makes it a point to know about what wine goes with what food or some shit like that.”

  At the end of his pronouncements, he took my hand in his and with the other guided my cart to the checkout lanes.

  After I had purchased my groceries and he had bought his wine we headed out to the parking lot in silence. We went to my car first without my direction and he loaded my bags into the trunk. Taking the keys from my hand, he led me to the driver’s side door, opened it and helped me in and into my safety belt. The memory of Toni’s advice was pounding at my brain. Ask his name. I could do this, I could...

  “You got plans tomorrow night.” He didn’t ask, he told.

  “I do?”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. My sister, Brenna is having a housewarming party. I will let her know we’ll be there. We are going.”

  “We are?”

  “Yep.”

  He started to close my door when I stopped him. “Wait—do you know where I live?”

  “Yep.”

  “And did you call me a piece of ass in there?”

  “Yep,” he said with a grin, “But a classy piece of ass!”

  The primary reason I had bought my condominium three years ago was for the storage in the master suite.

  The previous owners had renovated a ten by ten feet small office adjacent to the bedroom into the ultimate closet. I am a firm believer that a woman’s boudoir should reflect her personality. If my bedroom could have talked it would have called me a clothes whore.

  The walk-in closet provided ample storage for my clothes, divided by function and subdivided by color, adjustable shelving, wicker bins, an area for my shoes and a slide-out hamper. I do not think I could love a man more than I loved my closet.

  As I sat cross-legged on my bed, the following afternoon watching as Toni demolished my wardrobe, my heart hurt. Clothes and shoeboxes littered my floor. Outfits that have been considered and then discarded were draped across my vanity table. I understood why she was trying to put together the “perfect ensemble.” My getting a date was like seeing a falling star streak across the night sky. A rare and exciting moment. However, I knew how it would end. Nothing but hollow wishes. It was just a date. I was just a chronically single female who hadn’t had sex since I got drunk five years ago at a music festival. I screwed a drummer in an equipment van. At least he told me he was a drummer. It was not one of my finest moments.

  “Toni, we need to wrap this up. It is nearly five in the afternoon. I need to shower and shave.”

  Together we agreed that I should wear the jade Stella McCartney wrap-waist that I got at a consignment shop in Pemberton Heights. Amazing price. I was so excited when I found that dress. I agreed to
the choice to get her out of my condominium.

  As Toni crossed the threshold, she turned and gave me a hug. “Have fun tonight. Be nice.” I started to interrupt but she stopped me. “Don’t do that unattainable bitch thing you do when you are around a man who is into you. The whole reject’em before they reject you is played out. You’re too beautiful to pull it off anyway.” Toni Hume always said what was on her mind. She had no sensor with dialogue that sounded an alert when something inappropriate was about to escape from her mouth. But she was also intuitive and sincere. She knew how nervous I got on dates. She knew I had a bad habit of shooting myself in the foot when it came to romantic misadventures. She always said the right thing to me when I needed it.

  I smiled at my friend. “I love you.”

  “Love you too. Don’t forget to wax those eyebrows. He may not be the one but he could be the one for now.”

  It was seven in the evening and my neighbor was having a birthday party for her husband. I had been interrupted from my preparations more than once to answer the door and explain that the party they were looking for was in the next condo. I had just applied my favorite MAC lipstick when there was a knock at my door again.

  I grabbed my clutch, a dove gray cashmere pashmina that I wrapped loosely around my shoulders and headed toward the door.

  Of course, it was another partygoer. He was beautiful. Dressed in tailored black wool trousers, a fitted burgundy silk shirt and ebony wingtips, the man was tall with beautifully healthy bronzed skin. I watched his jaw work as I took in his honeyed hair, short lazy waves around his face. I realized my mouth was agape. Clearly, he had the wrong apartment. Alternatively, maybe homeless surfer couldn’t make it and his brother—the sexy hottie had come instead.

  “Hi, you have the wrong place; Melanie’s party is next door.” I gave him my best and brightest smile and pointed toward his destination. Maybe I could fake illness at the housewarming party and go to Melanie’s instead.

  “Is that supposed to be funny, Evelyn?”

  My eyes flew up to his face. My focus obscured by confusion and lust. I knew that voice! That voice had a great laugh but came from a man that had been rode hard and put up wet. That was NOT this man. He was...was...flipping gorgeous!