In Love With a Gangster

Brennan's [POV]  

Standing in front of the large picture window with my carry-on suitcase next to me, I let out the biggest, longest, most exaggerated sigh I can, mostly to get my mother's attention. The snow is piling up faster than the plow trucks can get rid of it.

Of course, my parents live in a townhouse not far from the waterfront, on a side street, which means there isn't a single plow coming down their street, which means Uber, Lyft or a taxicab won't be able to pick me up.

"What's wrong, Brenny?" Brenny. I loathe the nickname my mother still insists on calling me after all these years.

What's a guy have to do to get his mom to call him by his name, Brennan? It's a fine name, it's the one she gave me at birth but quickly fell into the habit of shortening and adding the "y" sound.

She should've named me Benny. Then maybe I wouldn't be so embarrassed when she calls me Brenny.

"It's snowing," I state the obvious.

"I told you yesterday the Nor'Easter was coming."

"I forgot. How am I supposed to get home?"

"This is your home," she screeches from the kitchen like Laverne from that old sitcom, Laverne and Shirley.

"My other home. Do you know the one that paid for your condo? The one where I have a life."

My mom comes into the living and stands next to me. She's wearing an apron with some type of batter smeared all over it.

She and my dad have big New Year's Eve plans with their friends and I'm due to catch a flight out of Logan in about three hours, at least I hope I am.

"You'll have to stay a few more nights."

She shrugs and walks back to the kitchen. Staying a few more nights is easy for her to say, she likes having me home.

I, on the other hand, have things to do, like bask in the sun and only get wet when I decide to jump in the pool not look at cold white shit falling to the ground in rapid succession.

As if on cue, my agent's ring tone plays from the pocket of my hoodie. I pull my phone out, verify it is my manager, and slide the bar to answer.

“Hey."

"Your flight is canceled," Vance Davis barks into the receiver.

"I'm trying to book on the next available flight out, but with the holiday tomorrow and the snowstorm, everything is pushed back the next couple of days. You cool chilling in Beantown?"

"No one but non-locals calls it that," I tell him.

"Right, you cool though?"

"I'm supposed to be at Rayna's party tonight, can you call and cancel for me?"

"Ooh," he says, and I picture him rubbing his hands together.

"You don't want to call and cancel yourself?" I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhale and exhale slowly, as my meditation specialist taught me.

In my business, we need all the help any guru is willing to offer.

"No, I don't. I'm making an appearance on behalf of whatever contract I signed, nothing more."

"But it's Rayna Freaking Reynolds. Only the hottest, most eligible chick on the market."

"You go to the party then, Vance. I was only going because I was paid to. I'm snowed in. Can't get there. Send my condolences."

I hang up because there's no getting it through his head when it comes to Rayna and me. Sure, she's beautiful, but beauty only goes so far.

If I'm going to date, and that's a big if, it needs to be a woman who has some intellect, who I can carry on a meaningful conversation with, someone I want to spend time with, and don't have to be paid to show up at their parties.