As the flight attendants start walking up and down the aisles, I put in my ear buds and fall fast asleep. I miss the in-flight meal, two movies, and apparently “jokes that are actually funny” via the pilot (according to my seat mate).

When I finally wake up hours later, the plane is rolling down the Portland runway and I have a new text message from Eric.

ERIC:  Since I know you probably weren’t paying attention earlier, and just in case I’m not home, when you arrive:

Catch a cab from baggage claim. (I already gave our doorman the money to pay for it, so don’t worry about it.)

Take the elevator up to the third floor, second unit on the left, 3A.

The keys under the mat.

Your room is down the hall, first one on the right. 

A thirty-minute cab ride later and I’m standing in front of a building that just can’t be right.

Contrary to what Eric said, it does look like a mansion—gated entrance and all. The name of the building, “The Esplanade,” is etched onto the light blue awnings that stand above many of the building’s entrances.

Fortunately, the doorman actually does pay the cab driver, who places my bags at the entryway.  From outside the huge double doors, I can see a lobby with huge chandeliers that glisten like stars.  Once inside, I see there are several seating areas in the same light blue as the awnings outside, with touches of cream and forest green.  And even though I tell him it is not necessary, the doorman, J. Jones, helps me take my bags up to Eric’s condo.

“My name is Jack,” the doorman says.  “Eric and I our buds and he told me his baby sister was coming to stay.  What kind of friend would I be to let his little sister carry her heavy bags?”

Following Eric’s directions, I take the elevator to the third floor.  Even the elevator is spacious and beautifully decorated with gold-leafed fleur de lis and bright lighting.  The elevator doors are mirrored and I notice that I look frumpy and tired.

“Thanks, Jack, for your help and I’ll be seeing you around.”

I type in the code on the door. Once inside, I drop my bags to the floor in shock.

He definitely downplayed his place...

From the moonlight that’s filtering through the living room window, I can see that the floors are all-white marble. The walls are a beautiful creamed-coffee color, the kitchen is spotless, and there are two sets of French doors that appear to lead to a balcony.

I run my hands along the wooden bar in the kitchen and decide to explore every inch of his place—tomorrow.

I need to make sure I’m not dreaming first.

Chapter 11

MIA

I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs hours later, and even though I didn’t want my current dream to end, I force myself to get up and walk into the kitchen.

“Finally awake?” Eric says, looking up from a bowl of pancake batter.

“Yeah...” I lean against the counter. “Any reason why you’re making breakfast for dinner?”

“One of the girls I’m fucking likes to eat breakfast food at night before sex. I figured I’d cook it today and just reheat it tomorrow.”

“What the...!” I groan. “I did not need to know any of that. Saying you like breakfast at night would have been just fine. Thank you.”

“If I’d left it at that, it would have been a lie.” He steps closer and gives me a one-armed hug. Then he laughs. “I was just joking.”

“About the girl?”

“No, about the breakfast food. I like it before sex, too.”

“Eric!” I roll my eyes.

He laughs again. “How was your flight?

“Long and exhausting, but thank you for the first class upgrade.”

“You’re more than welcome.” He pours the batter onto the skillet in circles. “Are you up for a tour of the city today?”

“Maybe just a part of it,” I look outside the window and notice the sun is setting. “Is there much to see at this time of night?”

“There’s plenty. How about a quick zip-line and then we’ll come back and pick some place for dinner?”

“Just us, right?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, flipping the pancakes over. “Just us.”

I stare at him as he continues to cook, admiring the colorful tattoos that adorn his arms. His name is written in a pretty green calligraphic font, and beneath that is the word “little sister” in Latin.

“When did you get that one?” I point to it.

“The day after I left home...I was always worried about leaving you there, you know? I wished all the time you could’ve come with me.”

“It wasn’t that bad...”

“You told me you wanted to set our house on fire, Mia.” He turns off the oven. “Every single time I called you, actually. How is that good?”

I laugh, having forgotten all about that.

“Exactly,” he says. “Did you get a good look at the place before you passed out last night?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

“That’s not good enough.” He motions for me to follow him. “I’ll show you.” He walks me to my side of the condo and opens a door I didn’t notice. “This is an office, but feel free to use it whenever you want to paint indoors. Pretty good lighting in there.”

He shuts the door and begins to imitate a realtor as he shows me the rest. There’s a balcony that wraps around one side of the condo, another guest bedroom that he uses for super private clients, and a massive game-room that rivals any arcade I’ve ever seen. Complete with two pool tables and stand-up video games that line the walls, it reminds me of a place Autumn and I once went to in high school.

He shows me his massive bedroom which is three times the size of mine, with a more beautiful view and opens his closet, revealing a wardrobe that would probably take him ten years to wear.

“Now, you’re just being a show-off.” I playfully punch him in the shoulder.

“You love it,” he says, walking me into the hallway. “Okay, over there is my roommate’s bedroom. She’s never here though so—”

“Your roommate?” I stop walking. “She?”

“Fuck,” he says. “I mean, he. Long story there. I mean, no. It’s not what you think. It’s two different people, but—” He shakes his head. “I made the mistake of letting an old girlfriend move in here several years ago. Never again. Only guys from now on. Well, except for you, clearly.”

“Right...”

He walks me over to a panel in the wall and presses it. “If you ever need anything really late at night—snacks, medicine, whatever, you can tap this button and ask the staff downstairs to get it for you.”

“Do you do that a lot?”

“Not really.” He shrugs. “Target is literally right around the corner. Besides, I’m more than capable of buying my own condoms late at night.”

“Seriously? Again?”

He smiles. “I’ll take you zip-lining in fifteen minutes. Just let me take a quick shower,” he says. “You mind if I use the shower connected to your room? I’ve got some brand new ink setting in mine.”

“It’s your place, Eric.”

“I’m aware, but I’ve lived with a woman before.” He rolls his eyes at the thought. “I know how you all are about your bathroom space. I’ll be out quick.” He walks past me and shuts himself in my bathroom.

I walk back to the kitchen and pick up one of the finished pancakes. I sit on the couch and devour it, digging through the cushions for the remote. Instead, my hand finds a strange piece of fabric, so I pull it up.

It’s a red thong. With a note attached: “Can’t wait to fuck you again, E. :-)“

Oh my god...My brother is a whore... I toss the panties across the room, and stand up, in desperate need to wash my hands. With bleach.

I start to head to the kitchen, but then I hear water running on the other side of the condo Eric’s side. Remembering what he said about the ink setting in his bathroom, I rush over, hoping a pipe hasn’t burst.

But then I stop when I’m halfway there.