Read Heartsville 04 - Clique (Jayden Brooks) for Free Online Page B

bed, bleary-eyed, grumbly, and in no way prepared to face the world at large. I needed coffee first. Scratching my chest and stomach, I shuffled barefoot to the kitchen in search of my life fuel.
    Mentally reviewing my schedule for the day only made me more irritable. I’d been working out of town the last few days, and I was buried in edits for the rest of the week. If only my darn schedule would lighten up, I’d be able to make plans with Brandon.
    If not for the flurry of texts ranging from sweet to smoldering, I’d have been tempted to chuck the gig and return to Heartsville. One particular locker-room selfie was enough to keep me in a perpetual state of arousal. I had become a devout fan of that shot. There may have been tributes involved.
    Just thinking about Brandon caused a tingling wave of heat in my belly. I liked it. I liked him. A lot. The dopey smile I wore on my sleep-deprived face vanished, only to be replaced by heartbreak as I cracked open my trusty airtight canister.
    No coffee beans.
    How could this happen? My life was spiraling out of control. That was the only reasonable explanation for an empty canister of coffee beans. I’m not one of those freakishly cheery morning people. Nope, I’m more the type who will eat your face off if you try to talk to me before I’ve been properly dosed with coffee.
    As a public service, and in an effort to remain on the right side of the law, I don’t interact with the public without my java fix. I considered curling up on the dirty floor and waiting for Mark to find me. I’d send him vague but haunting texts heralding my descent into madness.
    While I pondered ways to torment myself and annoy Mark, inspiration struck.
    Salvation was within reach. I had a Keurig and a selection of pods in the studio downstairs. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t touch the things, but desperate times called for stale coffee. Yes, I’m a bona fide coffee snob. But it was either tap the pod stash or chew the grounds from yesterday. Not happening. I hoped.
    My nipples shot to diamond-like hardness in the early morning chill, but I soldiered on. The cold was no match for my determination and need. Stumbling down the back stairway, I entered the darkened rear of the studio and began flipping on the lights unconcernedly. No time to navigate props and equipment in the dark—I was a man on a mission. At the mini coffee station, I blindly selected a pod and in moments had a hot cup of overly sweet cappuccino.
    Ugh, maybe after a second pod I could cope with humankind enough for a run to the store. Or to the café. Or maybe I could send an SOS to Mark. He’d take pity on my poor caffeine-impoverished soul.
    In my haste to exit the apartment, I’d left my phone upstairs, so I sat at my desk, woke my iMac, and pulled up the messenger. My mood immediately improved as I sat at my drafting-style desk. It had been a gift, an olive branch of sorts, from my father. It sat situated to provide the perfect vantage point of the studio and the portrait of my aunt Olivia.
    She was the reason Clique existed. The studio had been her baby, her heart and soul. I’m just the lucky fuck she shared it all with. It never failed—whenever I thought about her life and the legacy she left behind, I was filled with gratitude and a sense of pride that I hadn’t let her down. Raising my cup, I said in toast, “We’re still quite the team.”
    Tap, tap, tap.
    Startled, I swung in the direction of the front window, sloshing the mediocre brew onto my hand and sending it dripping down my arm. “Dammit.”
    Who in the world would come by at this hour? I glanced at the clock to see it was just after eight in the morning. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the crack of dawn. But still. I wanted to ignore the person tapping. I gave it consideration, even as I reluctantly shuffled closer. A scratching sound drew my gaze lower. As soon as I caught sight of Lulu’s electric blue eyes, I damn near skipped my happy ass to