Five Boroughs 01 - Sutphin Boulevard

Copyright

For all members of ACA.

An extremely large and heartfelt thank you to my beta readers for helping through the first several drafts. Without their in-depth comments and suggestions, this may have turned out to be a very different book.

I also want to thank Adriana for providing translations! She and my beta readers were a huge help in terms of verifying that my portrayal of Puerto Rican culture was accurate and realistic. It’s always been important to me to not only write diverse books but to have them be authentic.

Susan Spann was my guiding light when it came to getting through my first publication. With her help, I learned a lot, and that knowledge will be invaluable to me for years to come.

Most of all, I’d like to thank Lenore DiTrani for her editing help and continued encouragement while I was writing this book.

Lastly, I have to give a big shout out to everyone I’ve met in NA and AA, my pops for giving me my first copy of the ACA big red book, and of course to my first and only true love—NYC.

July

“Y
OU
SHOULD
be glad he cheated on you, Michael.”

“That’s one of the stupidest things you’ve said to me.”

I looked up at the sound of clinking glass. Nunzio was pulling bottles of liquor from a black plastic bag and lining them up on his chest of drawers.

“My point is, Clive was a dick and you were never going to end it. He gave you a way out.”

“Whatever you say.”

Nunzio finished emptying the bag and balled it up. “Stop moping. It’s Friday. We’re young… ish, in the gayest neighborhood in New York, and now we’re both single. The possibilities are endless.”

“The possibilities are annoying.”

A few weeks ago, I would have been the first one out the door, but now I couldn’t muster a single thread of enthusiasm. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why the charm of going to the club every weekend had faded, but it’d likely had something to do with my now ex-boyfriend’s endless litany of disapproving complaints.

We’d been together for nearly two years, but Clive had gotten over me at record-breaking speed. In a span of five minutes, he’d called to tell me that we were finished, changed his status on Facebook, and blocked me. Social media made relationships less private and more shallow, and Clive’s burning desire to flip me off in front of our mutual friends had led to me deleting my account.

If I wanted to be honest with myself, I should have expected it. There had been red flags from the start. If I had never watched
Closer
and developed an infatuation for Clive Owen, I would have never dated the fuckhead. The name had hooked me, and his body had drawn me in, even though he had been smug about everything from his appearance to his law career. I’d let those minor niggles slide until his aggressive insecurity caused me to consider jumping back into the sea without a life jacket. But he’d decided to end it before I’d found the courage to do it first.

“You look so damn miserable, Mikey. It’s making me want to smack you around a few times.”

“What do you want me to say? It was brutal, and I’m in a bad mood.”

“How brutal?”

“Humiliating.”

Nunzio’s pale blue eyes flashed the way they did when he was ready to light the fire on his Sicilian temper and go explosive on someone who had pushed him—or someone he cared about—a little too far.

“What did that motherfucker say to you?”

“The usual. I’m just a broke-ass teacher with a bum-ass family, and I drink too much and spend too much time with you. Us going to Italy together this summer was his breaking point, so he took the liberty of banging other dudes for the past few months until he found a suitable replacement.”

“Want me to fuck him up?”

“Oh please. I could fuck him up if I wanted to, pendejo. But we’re thirty-two, not eighteen, and it doesn’t work that way anymore. Just forget it.”

Nunzio was still looking like he wouldn’t mind imprinting his knuckles on Clive’s fine-boned face, and the sight of him all bent out of shape was enough to make me smile for the first time all day.

I stood. “Cógelo suave. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? Because—”

“I said I’m fine. I’m more pissed off than hurt. It’s okay. I’ll go out.”

It wasn’t really okay, but I didn’t want to be responsible for Nunzio’s pretty-boy face going all mean mug, or the way his shoulders built up with tension. We’d known each other since we were twelve, and he’d been protective of me since then, even though I’d grown up taller and broader.

I rubbed Nunzio’s shoulder. “Seriously. Relax.”

“Fine.” Nunzio gestured to the bottles he’d lined up. “Pick your poison. It’s time to get faded.”

I nodded at the tequila, and he measured out the shots. I watched the amber liquid pool in miniature glasses from different vacation destinations around the world and tried to rally myself for the night. Nunzio and I had stumbled our way into adulthood drunk and oversexed, and we’d always had a good time doing it. Even if I was tired of the club scene, I knew we would ultimately have fun.

We did two shots together before Nunzio assessed my outfit.

“I hope you know you’re not going out like that.”

“Why not?”

He scoffed, not dignifying the question with an answer. Tall, well-built, and lankier than I was, Nunzio looked sharp in dark jeans and a button-down. He didn’t try very hard, but he didn’t have to—his piercing eyes, olive skin, and tousled black hair ensured that he always looked gorgeous. My tendency to forget to shave and my love for time-beaten T-shirts and broken-down jeans put me into the hot mess category more often than not.

“I don’t look that bad.”

“You look like you’re about to start doing jazz hands for change on the subway. Did you even shower?”

“I brushed my teeth.”

Nunzio gave me a look of disgust. “Look, I know you’re upset, and I don’t blame you, but we can’t go have rebound fucks if your ass isn’t even washed. It’s inconsiderate and unhygienic.”

“Christ. It’s not like I skipped out on my annual bathing.”

“Go, you filthy animal. I actually have clean towels this time.”

He blasted music while I showered, but my enthusiasm was still nil despite his efforts. I finished up, left the stubble spreading across my jaw, and didn’t bother styling my hair. By the time I left the bathroom, Nunzio had found me an outfit more appropriate for hunting down a rebound lay.

“We could just stay here and drink.”

“No, dude. When you get dumped, you have revenge fun.”

“You sound like a fucking rom-com.” I approached the dresser and downed two more shots in quick succession.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Nunzio held up his hands. “Put on the brakes, big boy. It’s called pregame, not introduction to sloppy drunkenness before we even get to the damned club. Slow that freight train of intoxication down.”

“I’m good.” I loosened the towel wrapped around my waist and dried myself in front of him, shaking my head at the theatrical leer he aimed at my dick.

“I can’t believe that idiot cheated on you. You’re almost as hot as me.”

I didn’t answer. I jerked on the slim-cut jeans and the random black polo he’d decided I should wear. Everything felt too tight on my broader frame, but he walked around me as if assessing whether or not I’d get him any good offers on the auction block.

“Your ass looks good in those jeans.”

“Great.”

Nunzio stopped in front of me and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your bulge looks good too. Damn. I dunno if I like you being my competition for meat.”

“Get over it, Medici,” I said with a half grin. Nunzio got competitive over everything from teaching practices to how much ass we got at a club. “If you want me to get into party mode, you better get used to it. Just wait until we leave for Italy. It will be no-holds-barred.”

“Give me a break. Even before your boring-ass boyfriend was in the picture, it wasn’t no-holds-barred.”

Nunzio bumped me out of the way of the mirror and adjusted his own collar, popping it up before smoothing it back down with a grimace, and then angled himself sideways to check out his profile. He adjusted his dick, stared harder, then gave a decisive nod.

I stifled a laugh.

“Let’s do this.”

I
WAS
starting to hate nightclubs almost as much as I hated Top Forty, and even Nunzio could not change that. Between the endless stream of either heckling or harassment from strangers with you-better-fuck-me smiles, and the depressing spectacle of at least a dozen fading gays yearning for approval as they watched the dance floor from the bar, only Nunzio’s energy kept me in the game. That being said, I did like to dance. As much as rhythmic grinding could be called dancing.

We’d only been at the club for an hour, and I was already three sheets to the wind and writhing against the nearest hard bodies. Sandwiched between my best friend and a tattooed guy in a sideways baseball cap, life could have been worse.

I gasped in Nunzio’s ear that I was thirsty, and he shoved me in the direction of the bar.

Clive popped into my head, uninvited. I scowled at the bartender, demanding water, and banishing the mental image of my ex. Who cared if he’d always taken care of me when I drank too much? He’d been lining up backup generators in case the power in our two-year relationship fizzled.

“Come on,” I muttered, glaring at the bartender’s back. “I just want some water!”

The bartender turned, scathing in his spike-covered vest, and gave me a glass of water the size of a thimble.

“Fuck you too.”

The aggressive beat of the music almost drowned out my voice.

“What do you expect? You snapped at him as soon as you got here, and I’ve been waiting ten minutes for a beer.”

I looked to my left, prepared to unleash the full extent of my rage on the poor bastard who’d dared to speak, but the words shriveled up before I could get them out of my mouth.

The guy was lovely.

I noticed the smile first—too big, drunken, but bright enough to light up a funeral parlor. He had a great face—big dark eyes that stood out like coals in a pale face, wide mouth, and platinum hair. He was several inches shorter than I was, and his body looked slim beneath a T-shirt emblazoned with the periodic table.

“Nice shirt you have there. Nerd.”

“What’s nerdier? Me wearing it or you knowing what it is?”

“What idiot wouldn’t recognize the periodic table?”

The guy raised his hand and twirled his finger to indicate the people around us. “Mostly everyone who’s tried to shove their hand up it.”

“Big tally?”

“Could be if I’d thought to keep one. Keeping track of the number of morons in the world didn’t seem like a useful way to spend my time.”

I wanted to have sex with him.

“Who’s this?” Nunzio slung an arm around my shoulders and sloppily kissed my cheek. He squinted down at T-shirt Guy. “Whoa, the periodic table! That’s awesome!”

I wanted Nunzio to piss off. Instead of saying so, I shoved him away and wiped my face.

“It would figure that the only two smart people in this establishment are together.”

“We’re not toge—”

“It’s because we’re teachers,” Nunzio interrupted. “Teachers are supposed to be smart or the world turns out stupid.”

I willed a sinkhole to open under Nunzio’s feet.

“I’m Nunzio and this fine as fuck Puerto Rican piece of man-meat is my best friend Michael.”

“I’m David.”

“Hello there, David.” Nunzio grabbed the front of the shirt and tugged David closer. “So, check it. Michael just broke up with his boyfriend. You should suck his dick to make him feel better.”

I hated Nunzio less. Especially when David looked up at me with a 100 percent interested smile.

W
E
CRASH
-
LANDED
into a cab at five in the morning. Nunzio swiped his credit card at nothing, missing the card reader twice before managing to pay, because he had one hand down David’s pants while David tried to figure out how my tonsils tasted. The cabbie watched us in the rearview mirror, unmoved.