Takes me a second after I wake up to remember I'm in an airport hotel room, alone, in North Carolina.
I change into my boyfriend jeans and grungy rocker T-shirt before shoving the few loose items back into my bag. With one quick sweep of the room, I make for the elevators.
9 AM
I grab a coffee and fruit cup from the continental breakfast set up in the first floor meeting room.
My phone vibrates against my leg and I glance at my most recent text from Brooks.
here bae ;)
b right out :)
I cross the lobby and exit through the automatic doors, still clutching my coffee cup, rolly in my wake.
I'm almost expecting to see Brooks's old pick-up waiting for me –like all the times it's picked me up in Cape May. Then I realize I was silly to think big-shot Brooks didn't have a new better car where he lives full-time.
A sleek black car is pulled up to the curb in a NO park zone. Sure. Brooks almost jumps from the car, slamming the door shut behind him. My eyes go not to Brooks, who looks fine as ever in his dark pewter gym pants and leather zip-up, but to the two brosephs peering at me through the tinted windows of his sports car.
"Hi babe," Brooks grins.
"Hey," I manage.
He kisses me and pulls my rolly bag up and is halfway to the car when he looks back at me.
"You brought back-up?" I try to tease.
"Tate and Wells. They were with me in LA." Brooks says, dropping his arms from our hug. He doesn't elaborate.
"Right." I nod.
At least they had the common courtesy to save me the shot-gun, right?
I hop in the car and it REEKS of pot. Which, like OK. But it is 9AM. Def not the homey nostalgic smell of his truck. That shit smells like high school date nights, road trips, and ocean-side bonfires.
My first impression is these boys are sketch balls to the max.
OK. Maybe not hoodlums exactly. But not not hoodlums. Not the type I expected Brooks to hang out with. Or used to expect. Truth is I don't know New Brooks's friends. Another thing I don't know about NB. But who's keeping track?
I don't know who he is around these people. Sure, he's all poetry and "run away with me" when we're alone, but I can already tell he's an entirely different animal in front of these people.
Maybe I just never noticed with our high school friends since I am so used to knowing all of them and how we mesh together.
So here I am getting picked up by Brooks –no, by NB and his new hoodlum friends, Wells and Tate, and I'm greeted by the wreath of MJ smoke encircling all their heads.
"Hi," I mumble, climbing into the front seat.
"You must be Ems." The guy sitting behind the driver seat says. I take him in, his ripped jeans and beanie and remind myself I'm reserving judgment.
"I must be."
"I'm Wells," he says. And point to the guy next to him, "This is Tate."
"Sup."
Tate barely gives me a head nod and goes back to looking at his phone. He's wearing oversized shades and has a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
"OK. Ready?" Brooks says in the driver's seat.
"Sure."
"I'm dropping these losers off then we'll head back to my place and chill." Brooks pulls back into the traffic.
Chill is not exactly standard Brooks's lingo.
"You're the loser. Tho I see why you wanted to leave LA so bad," Wells says –what I assume is meant to be a flattering joke.
Only, ew.
"Do you guys work for Edge?" I blurt out, trying to figure out why they went to LA with Brooks in the first place.
"Nah," Wells laughs.
Tate makes some weird would-be hmpf noise.
"Just went with our boy JJ."
JJ? Brooks is JJ? This ain't Kansas anymore.
"They're free-lancers at the moment," Brooks says.
"Free-lancers in what?" I ask.
"Just stuff. Nothing really." Wells shrugs. As if he could be any more shady.
So these are JJ's friends. His NC boys.
Luckily the car-ride is short and we're pulling up into a fancy neighborhood some miles north of Charlotte. It's a gated community, but the security guard waves Brooks's through as soon as he sees the car approaching. Clearly he comes here a lot.
Reminds me of the type of place Ken would have. Ritzy.
"Tate's parents live here," Brooks says, reading my mind.
"Not too bad." I nod.
"Nah. It's dope," Wells says. "I practically live with him since I left my house a few months ago. My mom was all 'My roof. My rules'. Tate's parents are hardly around."
"Awesome." I hear myself say it but wonder why I do.
Brooks pulls up to a gray stone mansion with a circle driveway. Shrubs are tailored to a T.
"Anyway. Nice meeting you Emmy," Wells says, grinning. "You two kids have fun this weekend."
"Get out." Brooks laughs.
"Let me know about next LA, yea? Cya JJ." Wells slams the door shut behind him. Tate is already walking toward the back gate.
"Next LA?" I raise my eyebrow at Brooks.
"They always wanna come with. I don't mind. It's nice to have company." Brooks grabs my hand in his and holds it over the cup holders.
"When do you have to go back?" I know we are both planning on going back home in 2 weeks.
"Not sure yet. A lot of times it's spur the moment. The office is up and running but they need my face for the launch and the PR," Brooks shrugs, like he's unsure why they need the owner of the company for such things.
"Sure," I nod.
"You should come next time. I'll tell you when and you can fly down," Brooks suggests, eager.
I think of late-night phone calls during PR launch parties with B-list celebrities –phones calls where I can hear the laughing and can practically taste the shots on the other end of the line. I'd love to be there and not in some airport hotel.
"Maybe." I look out the window. "So your friends are –different."
"She says with judgment." Brooks raises his brow at me.
"No. I just mean. They seem not your type," I lie.
I'm not sure what it is about them. They're just not. Travis and Nate smoke cigs. And pot. So it's not that. It's just.
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just not used to seeing you have other friends. You know, besides the ones I'm also friends with."
"Eh, you get used to them. They're good for some stuff." He shrugs.
"Your dealers?" I tease.
"Among other things." Brooks grins.