Chapter 4

Murray pulled up to the side of the road where I had been so unceremoniously ditched. I climbed into the car and held up my hand. "Don't say it," I growled.

He shook his head. "I cannot count the number of times I've had to pick you up from a bar, side of the road, or some random woman's place."

"Then you should be used to it."

"Are we going to get your bike?"

"Lot's closed." I sighed. "They do it on purpose so they can charge me an extra day."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"You did something," he said. "Clearly you were up to no good."

"I was speeding a little," I muttered.

"And that's why they impounded your bike?"

"No, they impounded my bike because I guess I had an unpaid ticket or some shit."

He chuckled. "Of course."

"I need a drink. Take me to a bar."

"I'm not a chauffeur."

"Today, you are," I retorted.

"I don't know why I bother," he said.

He pulled into one of the bars he liked. It wasn't really my style but liquor was liquor. We found a table in a corner and sat down. I ordered a double shot of whiskey. Murray ordered a light beer.

"So, why were you speeding this time?" he asked. "Rather, how fast were you going?"

"You know me," I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. "I just wanted to feel the wind in my face, the thrill of the speed. But I guess the cops didn't see it that way."

Murray chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. "You never learn, do you?"

I shrugged, feeling the burn of the whiskey down my throat. "What can I say? Rules were made to be broken."

He shook his head, a fond smile playing on his lips. "Well, at least you're consistent."

"Yeah, finally something in the win column."

"How do you think you're going to get the rest of your trust fund if you keep proving Mom and Dad right?" he chided.

I shrugged, unfazed by his typical criticism. "I don't need them and their money," I replied casually, as if it were no big deal.

Murray rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become all too familiar over the years. "You say that now, but what's your plan for when your money runs out?" he pressed, his voice tinged with frustration.

I waved his concern away with a dismissive gesture. "I've made some smart investments," I assured him. "Just because I was in prison doesn't mean I wasn't keeping tabs on stocks. I've been keeping an eye on things, and I'm slowly gaining back what I lost. I didn't just lose all my money while I sat in a tiny cell. I still had access to the internet because, believe it or not, I was a good boy."

He chuckled. "You've never been a good boy."

"Okay, I might not have been good, but I was a lot better than a lot of the other guys in there."

"Eighteen months," he said. "Wasn't that enough time to get your head on straight? If you keep going the way you are, you're going to be locked up again. This time, it's going to be a lot longer."

"I'm not doing anything," I said.

"Your bike got impounded."

I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't even doing anything all that wrong. Everyone speeds. They just know who I am. They know my bike. I could be doing two miles under the speed limit and they would still find a reason to pull me over."

Murray drank his beer like he wished he could drown in it. I could practically hear his exasperation. Murray was the good son. He was two years younger than me and everything I wasn't. He was the apple of my parents' eyes and I was the biggest, blackest blemish on the family's good name. Murray was going to take over the family business. He went to college like a good boy and he was working with my dad to learn all the tricks to running the business.

There was no way I was ever going to be like that. I hated the idea of wearing a suit. I never wanted to be the guy taking orders from my father.

"The cops aren't looking for you," Murray said, his tone serious. "You're not that special. You just happen to break rules everywhere you go, and it's their job to write tickets for offenders. Quit fucking speeding. That's how easy it is. I don't get pulled over every day."

"Boring."

Murray shook his head in exasperation. "If you keep this up, you're going to lose your license altogether," he warned. "And I refuse to be your personal taxi service. Hire a car like other rich people. Or take a damn Uber."

"I don't want to hire a car. I can drive myself if they quit taking my damn bike."

"You're my big brother," he sighed. "Act like it."

"You haven't needed to look up to me for a very long time," I reminded him.

Murray sighed again, his frustration palpable. "Would it be so bad if you listened to Mom and Dad for once?" "It would make all of this so much easier."

"You mean if I acted more like you," I said with a laugh.

Murray's expression softened, a touch of sadness in his eyes. "I just don't want to see you throw away everything. You have so much potential, but you're always teetering on the edge."

I leaned back in my chair, studying my brother for a moment. He was right, as much as I hated to admit it. I had talents and opportunities that many would kill for, yet I seemed determined to squander them at every turn.

"Living on the edge is fun." I grinned. "Haven't you heard?"

Murray shook his head. "Fun doesn't pay the bills, doesn't keep you out of trouble," he said quietly. "And it certainly won't keep you out of jail. If you keep screwing with the cops, they will lock your ass up for good. Or shoot you."

I scoffed. "I've always found a way to stay out of too much trouble," I replied, more to convince myself than Murray.

But deep down, I knew he was right. My cavalier attitude was going to bite me in the ass one day.

"All they want is for you to get back on the straight and narrow after your mix-up in college," he said. "Once you prove yourself, they'll release the rest of your funds. They just don't trust you with the money after what you did."

"Murray, you're my brother and I suppose I love you, but I don't need the lecture. Lighten up."

Murray rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. He and I were polar opposites. I was always looking for the thrill, always dodging responsibility. He was the one that ran toward responsibility. He craved structure.

"Look, I'm not trying to lecture you," Murray said, his voice gentler now. "I just want you to realize that you have a chance to turn things around. Dad set up that fund for you because he believes in your potential. You just need to show them that you're serious about getting your life back on track."

I leaned forward, meeting Murray's gaze. The concern in his eyes was unmistakable, and for a moment, I felt a pang of guilt. Murray had always tried to steer me in the right direction, even when I resisted.

But the conversation was starting to bore me. I was itching to get out of there. I would have preferred to go for a long ride on an open road, but with my bike locked up, that wasn't happening. "Thanks for the pep talk, bro," I said and got to my feet. "But I think I can find my own way home from here."

"I'll give you a ride home," he said.

"You've done enough for one day," I assured him. "Two rides in one day? I don't want to use you like a taxi service, remember?"

Murray's lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine," he relented, standing up from the table. "But promise me you'll lay low for a while. No more speeding, at least. Just focus on getting your life back on track."

I clapped a hand on his shoulder, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "I promise, little brother, I'll be careful," I said, meaning every word. Despite my nonchalant attitude, I knew that Murray only wanted the best for me.

I thought about walking down the road to another bar that I'd been to more than once. It was a great place to pick up women. I could use a little company after that spy novel turned dirtier than I had expected.

But instead, I chose to get a cab and go home like a good boy. With the way I was feeling, I would just end up in trouble again. And maybe I was still thinking about the mousy librarian who couldn't keep her eyes off me.

I couldn't stop thinking about what she would look like without the old lady clothes. The glasses, she could keep on.

If I let my imagination run wild, I could easily picture her like that.

"Fuck," I groaned and adjusted myself.

I needed to get laid.

I grabbed a cab and leaned back, looking out the window at the many people walking in and out of the clubs and restaurants. Dallas was filled with so many beautiful women, and a lot of them were just outside my window. My eyes swept past them, uninterested. My gaze had turned inward.

The shy little librarian had taken residence in my mind. She looked at me with her kissable lips pressed together firmly in disapproval. Her hair was in a tight bun atop her head, begging to be set free like she was.

I imagined her hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes blazing with hidden fire, and her lips curving into a seductive smile. I wanted to undress her like opening a present on Christmas morning, ripping her clothes off like wrapping paper.

"Here," I said when the driver pulled up outside my house.

He looked back at me, like he wasn't sure if he believed me. I got it. He saw me and then he saw the nice house in a gated community and probably assumed I was here to steal something.

I paid him and got out of the cab, not bothering to correct his assumptions. Most people judged me like that, and those superficial assholes could lick my salty balls. I wasn't about to waste my time with them.

I fished my keys out of my pocket and unlocked my front door. The smell of home wafted out to me and my shoulders relaxed. Be it ever so humble.

The massive house was dark and silent, the perfect cave for me to crawl into after the day I'd had. The place was too big for me and it looked like a family of five should live there. The driveway should have had two fat SUVs and pastel sidewalk-chalk drawings of a smiling family, dog included. I wasn't even sure why I bought the fucking house.

Maybe because I thought it was funny. My neighbors were all doctors, lawyers, and other "classy" people. Most of them had kids. I knew they saw me and wondered why in the hell I had invaded their neighborhood. Won't someone think of the property values?

If I could ever get my shit together, I could use a tiny fraction of my trust fund to buy the whole damn neighborhood. I could kick all their uptight asses to the curb and bulldoze every house but mine while they watched. A chuckle escaped me as I went to the kitchen. I wasn't that much of a bastard, but it was a fun idea nonetheless, pissing away a small fortune out of pure spite.

Maybe my parents were right and I wasn't ready to have that money burning a hole in my pocket.

I grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, feeling the familiar sense of emptiness settle over me. Despite my carefree exterior, there was a part of me that craved companionship, someone to share my life with. Someone to make this big, empty house feel like a home. Maybe have some kids.

But I had long since pushed those thoughts aside as a dumb dream. No child of mine would draw me as a smiling stick figure with lines for hair. I downed the beer in a few swallows and grabbed another one.

The librarian popped back into my mind. I shook my head, trying to dispel the fantasy that was building around her. If I wasn't careful, I would build it up too much and it would all come crashing down on me.