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“Eh.” Atlas echoed Gabe’s own noncommittal tone. “So, are we ready to lock up? I’m gonna need to swipe some toothpicks to hold my eyelids open if I don’t get some shut eye soon.”
“Yeah, we’re about out of here.” Stretching to pop his back, Gabe stood as Atlas did the same.
“Good.” Atlas yawned. When he smiled, he was undeniably appealing, but sleepy, he was a different sort of attractive. Vulnerable. A weary warrior I couldn’t help but want to tuck in. “Hope we don’t wake Paige coming in. I’ll be quiet.”
“Oh crap. I forgot to tell you.” Gabe groaned. “You’re with Zeb.”
“I’m what?” Atlas rubbed his upper neck and ear like he’d misheard something. But he hadn’t. I’d suspected the mixup earlier, and now, instead of the convenient arrangement I’d been hoping for, I would have to deal with a confused and disappointed Atlas.
“You’re bunking with Zeb,” Gabe said breezily. “Ever since your Aunt Lucy moved in, space has been at a premium.” He wasn’t kidding. The farmhouse we’d grown up in hadn’t been huge to start with, but like with the business, no way did either of us want to see the property sold. “The old guest room is about to be a twin nursery. And I know you said you’d be fine on the couch, but then Zeb volunteered.”
“I did?” I blinked because that wasn’t how it had gone down at all. More like Gabe had reluctantly asked after other options had fallen through, handing me a stack of reminders to clean and prep like I didn’t know the basics of hosting someone. But Atlas didn’t need any more of our brotherly squabbling. “I mean, yeah, I did. I’ve got more room at my place than Gabe and Paige right now.”
“It’s my old apartment. You’ll feel right at home.” Gabe clapped him on the shoulder, and Atlas released a weary groan.
“Honestly, I’m so tired I could sleep on a cactus.”
“Zeb’s place is a step up from cacti. A small step.” Gabe laughed. I didn’t.
“Let’s go.” This had all the makings of an epic fail. I had little hope of resurrecting my original plan to impress Atlas, but at least maybe I could spare myself further embarrassment.
Four
ATLAS
“My old bones aren’t used to the cold,” I joked with Zeb on the walk to his place. I hefted my duffel bag from one shoulder to the other. I’d rather stay with Gabe. I barely knew Zeb, but he’d apparently offered, and I didn’t want to offend his hospitality by being grumpy at the change in plans.
“It’s not that cold. Wait another few weeks.” Zeb shoved his gloved hands deeper into his coat pockets. Unlike me, he was prepared with a thick black coat, a colorful scarf that was likely an Aunt Lucy original knit, and gloves. “It hasn’t snowed yet this season, but I bet it will soon.”
A bitter wind whipped through the night, leaving our breath hanging in the air and me wishing for a thicker jacket. I’d forgotten the harshness of a Pennsylvania winter. Zeb lived in Gabe’s old apartment, which was only a block or two down Main Street, located behind the hardware store in a seventies-era fourplex that showed every decade of its age. But it was familiar, in the same way as a tattered pair of sneakers.
“At least we didn’t have far to go.” I followed Zeb up the stairs to his apartment, waiting as he unlocked the door. “And Gabe was right. I’ve spent tons of nights on the couch here. I’ll be fine.”
“Ah. Yeah.” Zeb made a vague noise as he flipped on the entryway and living space lights. “There’s no couch.”
“No…” I started to protest because Gabe had had a giant, lumpy leather sofa for years. But I trailed off as I gazed around the transformed space. No giant couch. No ancient TV or chipped coffee table. No Formica dining set either. Instead, the space was dominated by a U-shaped desk with three surfaces, multiple monitors, speakers, lights, and a green screen behind an office chair that looked like it could double as a captain’s chair on any sci-fi show. Some monitors appeared to raise and lower, while another desk seemed solely for racing games with a steering wheel and joystick controller. Hardly the setup I’d expect from a broke part-time server. “Damn, Zeb, did you rob an electronics store?”
“I’m a gaming streamer.” He gave me a withering look as if I should have known this fact. “Professional gaming vlogger and streamer. I make money recording gaming content, so this equipment is how I do my job.”
“Job.” I chewed on that word for a second. I didn’t know anyone who made a living playing video games, and I’d always thought that was something of an urban legend—put up enough free content and watch the money pour in. Seemed too good to be true, but Zeb appeared plenty serious, stony stare and all. “Sorry, I thought Gabe said you bounced between gigs and worked part-time at Seasons. Didn’t realize you had a whole side hustle going.”
