A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,62
so long, the bittersweet ache of longing filled me up and overflowed, pouring out of me in tiny, emotional waves. Like raindrops disrupting a still pond, my reflection was blurred too much to see.
Who will I be after Epic? What will happen when I leave St. Nacho’s?
In the short term, it didn’t matter because it turned out fate had a few surprises in store for Epic too.
Chapter Twenty-One
On our way to the beach, Epic decided to stop at home for a few things. I don’t know what I expected; the sort of apartments I’d lived in when I was going to school, I guess. He’d called his place one step above dorm living, but the charm of the fourplex he lived in was unlike anything I was used to.
There were two units in front and two in back—each with its own welcoming little porch. Epic’s porch was covered with potted plants in various stages of wet. Inside his apartment, there were more, along with the usual youthful bric-a-brac—Funko figurines, LEGO Star Wars toys, and beer bottles. The table in the kitchen was covered in computer equipment, and a gaming setup dominated the living room. His bedroom was little more than a place to rest his head. Full-size bed, chest of drawers, and hamper. All cheaply made.
After the vague little tour, I waited on the porch while Epic got what he wanted. He finally came out with a blanket, a beach umbrella, and a couple of kites. As he locked the door, a Lexus pulled up to the curb. When Epic saw the car, he paled.
“Shit.” His shoulders fell. “Buckle up, buttercup.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
The woman in the passenger seat got out and everything fell into place. She was tall and dark-haired with fair skin and an unhappy expression—a frosty Snow White who let the huntsman take her heart because it was an inconvenience. She wore a stylish knit pantsuit with low-heeled pumps.
“Robert.” She smiled at Epic, but it was a cool thing. The message? Don’t disappoint me.
“Chloe.” Epic took the visit like a punch to the gut. “I wish I’d known you planned on coming down.”
“This is long overdue.”
The driver’s side door opened, and a man I assumed was Epic’s father got out. He wore designer jeans and a billowy sort of shirt with a sweater vest. Though he had a full head of hair, the ponytail he wore made him appear as if he were balding. He wore sunglasses. His smile was bland and magnanimous. Good cop, bad cop. Christ, Epic’s parents were only a few years older than me.
They took their time retrieving three massive suitcases from the trunk of their car. Each of them rolled one up to the porch and his dad went back for the third.
“Where are your manners, Robert?” demanded Chloe. “Introduce us to your friend.”
Epic cleared his throat. “Ryan Winslow, may I present my mother and father, Chloe and Steven Alsop-Gray.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” I shook Steven’s hand. When it came time to exchange a handshake with Chloe, she placed her hand behind her back. Oh, we were off to a solid start.
“So, you’re Robert’s…?” Steven seemed to run out of steam.
Chloe was much more direct. “How do you know our son?”
Biblically. “He recently helped me out of a jam.”
“Is that so?” Chloe asked. “What kind of a jam would you need a twenty-three-year-old waiter to help you out of, I wonder?”
“I went as the plus-one to his ex’s wedding,” Epic answered truthfully. “His original date cancelled at the last minute.”
“Ah. The wedding must be the source of all the pictures from Santa Barbara.”
“Exactly.” Epic locked the door to his place behind him. “As you know, my apartment is very small, and I have a roommate. Where will you be staying?”
“We’re not staying.”
Epic looked pointedly at the suitcases. “You’re a little overpacked for a day trip.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes. “They’re empty, dear. We brought them so you could pack your things.”