Electric Sunshine (Brooklyn Boys Book 1) Read online

  Electric Sunshine

  Brooklyn Boys #1

  E. Davies

  Copyright © 2018 by E. Davies

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by AngstyG.

  Editing by Pair of Nines.

  Amazon Kindle Edition.

  Electric Sunshine

  Brooklyn Boys Book 1

  Charlie:

  They say time heals all wounds, but it's been five years since my boyfriend died, and I haven't dated since. I threw myself into architecture and thankfully there's just no time to wallow or look for love. My friends push me to get back out there, but I'm not ready to be vulnerable again.

  Then I meet Kev. He dresses like a catalog model, but he talks like he's got an old soul. He shows me what I'm missing, but holds his own heart just out of reach. I can't stop falling for him, and he might be worth taking a risk for. Can I believe in myself enough to win his trust and his heart?

  Kev:

  My parents kicked me out for being gay when I was only sixteen. You grow up fast when that happens. You do things you regret just to stay alive. All that's behind me now. I'm 23, moved to Brooklyn, got an annoying roommate, and all I have to do is stay safe and pay the rent.

  Sounds easy? Yeah, my options are closing in fast. I don't want to stand on street corners again, but everyone in this city just wants to fix their own loneliness, not mine. And then there's Charlie, who sees the best in me when others only see their own reflection. Can we bare our hearts to each other and build a future together?

  Electric Sunshine is book one in the Brooklyn Boys series, where good men find their happily ever afters in a hectic metropolis. It has an HEA and no cliffhanger. There will be naughty bits doing naughty things, grumpy roomies, opposites attracting, retail hell, hangover specials, and cracked hearts made better-than-new.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by E. Davies

  For all of us who felt alone in the crowd.

  Prologue

  Kev - two weeks earlier

  I’d never imagined a date kissing me good night on his front step before he tucked a tip into my shirt pocket. As it turned out, New York City was full of those kinds of dates—guys who wanted the boyfriend experience, but didn’t want to worry about washing the sheets tomorrow.

  Rick was another one of them, and it was strangely disappointing. I’d been all revved up to go, wondering if he’d pay extra for another couple hours. I didn’t even have another date lined up after this, just in case. But Rick had meant it when he’d asked me for time together with no strings at all.

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling as he leaned in to press his lips against mine and murmured, “Thanks for today.”

  “You’re welcome,” I answered, and I meant it. I could pay the rent, and he could go to bed feeling like someone in this goddamn city heard him, and liked him, and wanted him to be happy. And I did, on all counts.

  He was a good guy. If he could let go of his self-esteem issues and his need to appear young and hip, he could find a guy his own age, or even a younger one—no problem. I was sure of it. But maybe I was young and overly optimistic. A lot of guys gave me patronizing smiles when I told them those things, like I was trying to flatter them, or like I had no idea what dating was like in the real world.

  Maybe both of those things were true. I was twenty-three and fresh out of Tennessee, my head still spinning at every neon sign and shop display, not fifty-three and considering early retirement and a house in the sticks to escape the city.

  “Bye, Rick. Have a good night,” I said and finally stepped back with a wave, trotting down the steps of the brownstone house to head for the B train.

  I spent the trip back to Brooklyn planning what I’d replace next in my wardrobe. I could use a Costco run to see what gay-approved underwear brand they had in stock so I could take new profile photos. Plus, we were nearly out of garlic, and Costco had the huge tubs. Garlic made any food palatable, even Adam’s cooking.

  At least my roommate took his turns cooking and cleaning. We’d gotten those roommate negotiations out of the way pretty early on, back in Tennessee. And he dealt with my doing sex work, so I couldn’t complain.

  Well, I did complain now and then when I got home to an empty, dark apartment.

  Adam must be working a late shift. He split his time between jobs cleaning pools, stocking shelves, and stuffing flyers to make ends meet, and I met men for companionship. We were an odd couple of roommates, but we were happy.

  That was what I told myself as I dropped onto the couch with a cheap crystal wine glass full of water. A boy needed to rehydrate his skin, after all.

  For the first few minutes, the apartment was blissfully still, dark, and quiet after the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Brooklyn was just a hop and skip away from where most of my clients lived or worked, but affordable for two country kids to split, if you squinted and tilted your head.

  Our apartment had started life as a one-bedroom, but the landlord had seen a chance to hike the rent and installed a shoddy wall across the living room entrance to make it a two-bedroom apartment. Instead, we had a tiny living room where the dining room had once been.

  I took the horrible bedroom, since I didn’t really give a shit, and I was a lot less clumsy. Adam would have tripped and fallen into it and knocked a hole in the drywall in the first week, guaranteed. It did mean we couldn’t have more than three friends over at once, and that was if two were willing to share the window seat, but it was cozy.

  And boring when nobody was home.

  “On the other hand…” I set aside my glass of water and twirled to the bedroom to grab my tweezers. I didn’t keep them in the bathroom, or God knew what Adam would have used them to do.

  I had to keep my eyebrows in tiptop shape, and I wanted some new profile photos, even if I didn’t have new Diesels to take them in. I’d stop by TJ Maxx later that week, if none of the work I had lined up fell through. There was always that risk, among others.

  I hummed and tilted my head this way and that, nabbing all the fine hairs. My hair was down to my chin now, but despite the waviness, it was under control. That would do just fine. I headed back to the living room and draped the fuzzy blanket across the couch. It made the perfect backdrop.

  Maybe after taking some teasing shots, I’d head to my room and take care of the edge that had built up all evening in expectation. I’d watched Rick’s time ticking down and given him a heads-up when there was enough time to get back to his place and screw, but he’d just smiled and
waved it off.

  The sexual frustration was real.

  I pulled my pants off and my shirt up, arranging my body artistically. I’d been taking lewd selfies for long enough that I knew how to do it for maximum sex appeal. When my legs were arranged just so, I ran a finger along the head of my cock until it twitched to life in my underwear to give an extra little thickness to the bulge.

  “Okay, now…” I bit my lip with concentration as I turned my phone to timer mode, curled my toes around the edges, and lifted it in the air. If I propped it between my toes and my other foot, I could hold it steady enough for a photo with my hands behind my head.

  Thankful for my time at the ranch before I’d moved, I crunched up effortlessly, pressed the shutter button, arranged the phone between my feet, flopped down, stretched my arms casually above my head, and then gave the camera a sultry look.

  Just in time, too.

  I repeated the process a few times with different poses, and then balanced the camera in the usual places—on top of the TV stand, on the top of the armchair in the corner. I needed another set of professional photos soon, but this would have to do for now.

  While I had the run of the place, it was time to reward myself for my hard modeling work. If I missed having someone to talk to about my day and my dreams, nobody had to know. Busting a good nut always helped kill the blues.

  1

  Charlie

  My eyes were fixed on the screen so intently that I grabbed a pencil instead of my fork. I caught myself before I stabbed another piece of microwave macaroni and brought it to my lips.

  “Jesus, Charlie,” I mumbled under my breath. “Way to go. Give yourself lead poisoning and you’ll definitely lose the project.”

  I wasn’t even sure if it was supposed to be breakfast, lunch, or dinnertime. I was pretty sure it was evening—people around me in the office had come and gone, but I was still here, trying to match the client’s exacting specs.

  Thank God the building regulations in Singapore were much better than Hong Kong. I’d just come out of a few months of tearing my hair out. Another project like that and I wouldn’t have much left by my fortieth birthday.

  Not that it was a problem. Unlike many of my peers with trophy wives or cute boyfriends and dogs waiting at home, I was… well, the singleton of the office. They’d long since given up making fun of me for it, at least. A few well-timed comments about my past and everyone had shut up, which suited me fine.

  My current project was my baby, just as they all were. An architect had to be good at letting go once it was out the door and grabbing the next opportunity with both hands.

  I was in that wrestling stage of trying to see not only what the client wanted to be there, but what wasn’t there, and what was there but shouldn’t be.

  And that meant a lot of microwave mac and cheese, staring at notebooks and computer programs and material samples, and pacing around the office, staring into space. I did that best when the office was empty of other people talking and walking around and being generally annoyingly present.

  I shoved the pencil safely into the pencil cup near the back of my desk, found my fork, and kept mindlessly eating my pasta.

  My eyes were getting heavy, so maybe I was adjusting to this time zone after a day back in the city. I largely ignored my computer clock—God only knew what time zone it was set to at any given time. I wasn’t constantly on the road like some of my colleagues, but I often used it to keep track of the time zone in another state or country where I had a project.

  I looked around to give my eyes a break, but they were still tired, and now I was just staring aimlessly at my coworker’s framed picture of his kids and cats. Ugh. Even if it wasn’t like seeing kid photos, it was still something else that normal people had. But even cats needed company, and I was always in the office.

  I knew myself pretty damn well after five years at this firm. Staying too late at night when my creative well ran dry would only make me burn out and need a few days off. It was smarter to go home, rest, and get back to it in the morning. Or evening. Whatever.

  “Done,” I told myself and shut the laptop. I’d leave it at the office for once and treat myself to a whole eight hours without it.

  Maybe I’d stop by somewhere for a bite to eat on the way back. The mac and cheese wasn’t hitting the spot; I wanted comfort food, but not this kind. Singapore had spoiled me. Now I wanted hawker food from a cart. Bah kut teh, or maybe durian. God, I really had no idea what I wanted, did I?

  That was the jet lag talking, then, and I needed sleep.

  I pushed myself back from the desk, shrugging on my jacket automatically. April was still chilly at night in New York City. The edge of spring, green creeping back into the parks and cracks of sidewalks, but biting at night for the unsuspecting tourist.

  I’d lived here since I was eighteen and fresh-faced, off to college for my architecture degree. By now I was used to the rhythms of the seasons, and I wore a light jacket through May. Outfit choices aside—and those mainly mattered because of client first impressions—I tried not to bore myself with many details of mundane life. That was easier when I had no such life to speak of.

  There were advantages to my strategy—like being able to do my job. I didn’t like to take risks, and my safety was one thing I refused to compromise. Too many countries were already off-limits to me. I’d relented on Singapore, but Dubai? Moscow? No way.

  Even if it meant passing up the incredible project in Dubai. They’d only wanted me, and my boss had tried to tell me that there was a thriving underground gay scene in Dubai that would make it safe for me to travel to, as long as I didn’t…

  And there was the rub. As long as I didn’t. As long as they didn’t spot me and want an excuse to execute me, I told her. She hadn’t had an argument for that. They did give a shit about me here at the company, at least.

  All these extra considerations straight people didn’t have to take into account before traveling the globe for business. Thank God my firm was understanding, and it hadn’t held me back, but…

  Well, being gay was more of a theory for me than reality after this many years.

  I took an Uber home, so tired I barely registered it. I only snapped to when I walked through the door and caught myself wondering for a moment what it would be like to come home to someone again.

  I hadn’t had those kinds of thoughts in a long time.

  I cut those thoughts off as I closed the door. The living room stretched out to the right, flowing into an open-plan kitchen and dining room. A cute little powder room and a study completed the downstairs, and upstairs were two bedrooms and a huge bath.

  Everything was the right size and look for me, though I could live pretty much anywhere. A cozy, brightly-painted cabin? High-rise in Manhattan? Meh, same difference.

  Brooklyn suited me pretty well. There was an up-and-coming little gayborhood here—cafes, bookshop, bar, diner, and all. I felt safe and comfortable in the neighborhood as well as my home.

  Man, I needed to dust. This was a gorgeous little place, but I mostly kept it for meetings with clients, dinner parties, occasional cocktails with the few friends who put up with me—that kind of stuff. I certainly didn’t sleep here as much as I ought to, and not because I was sleeping in anyone else’s bed, either. Long days at the office blurred into one long… week? Month? Season?

  I could probably do with more sleep. I didn’t want to end up looking fifty before I even turned forty.

  Not that I needed a reminder of how many years I’d spent drifting along, ignoring my romantic life, pouring everything into work.

  “Enough of this thinking crap,” I muttered to myself, rubbing my forehead. I still didn’t even know what I wanted to eat, but the pizza place around the corner sounded awfully tempting. Why my craving was for cheese on a pizza and not in macaroni form was an unimportant question.

  I turned around and headed back out, ducking through the jangling shop door a minute later. Late evening or not, this
place was always open and always a little haven. It wasn’t like anyone wanted to hang out in a pizza place, but when nothing seemed appealing?

  Yeah, pizza was what I’d been craving. Nowhere else in the world was quite like New York. Sure, there was great pizza in Chicago, but deep dish always felt like eating a tire filled with tomato sauce. Flat, thin, foldable crust was the way to go. Big as a man’s head. Cheap as a MTA ticket.

  “What can I get for you?” The kid behind the counter had already started moving for the cheese pizza even as she asked. Hey, there was nothing wrong with routine. Routine had flown me around the world ten times or more by now, and gotten my name attached to big projects.

  And, apparently, had gotten me known in at least a couple places in the city. Brooklyn could be big and lonely without anyone to know your name. Not that she even knew that, but my order was kind of my name.

  “Cheese pizza, can of Coke,” I said automatically. “Thanks.” I handed over the cash in exchange for the flimsy paper plate. I was already licking my lips at the grease that soaked through and onto my hand.

  The pizza was gone within two minutes flat, even if my burnt tongue was going to be pissed off at me for a few days. Wasn’t like I had any better use for it. My job was a whole lot of “shut up and do crap on the computer” sometimes, and this project phase was one such time.