clad in his black leather jacket and matching gloves, leaning against his car while the silver streaks in his beard almost glowed under the setting sun. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, somber eyes and knitted forehead showcasing a stern expression. Borderline intensity filled his gaze through piercing green eyes that caught the light ever so gently, and if he didn’t know himself, he’d swear the guy in that photo was some successful son of a bitch who knew about all things important, drank only expensive liquor, and was the main glittery, golden, shiny thing supreme fantasies were made of.
“Mike, I did this interview about two months ago. I completely forgot about it.”
“How do you forget about something like this?!” Mike looked at him through steely gray eyes. Uneven, messy brows danced above them, condemnation became stark clear in his gaze. “Never mind, you’ve been workin’ too hard; too much has happened too soon. Anyway…” The guy sighed as he looked around. “This place is nice, Sloan. You got it for a good deal, too.” He placed his hand on his hip, turning from left to right as if he were some important appraiser.
“I basically stole it. The price was too good to pass up and I even talked it down. A little elbow grease never killed anyone and besides, I like to haggle sometimes.” He rocked back on his heels, damn proud of himself.
“Your negotiation skills must be top notch.” He squinted at the arched ceilings. “You got a damn good deal. Too bad I can’t say the same for you and baseball.”
“I’m not that bad!” Sloan weakly protested behind a watered down grin.
“You suck and I’m never allowing you on my team again.”
Sloan chuckled as he too looked up at the arched ceilings. He scowled upon taking notice of the grandiose antique chandelier hanging above their heads, with the crystals caked in dirt.
“As soon as I stepped inside I knew I had to have it. Love at first sight.”
“Don’t give me that song ’nd dance. We both know it was because it was once Peter Jones’.” Mike grinned in an all-knowing way. “Who in your shoes wouldn’t want to live with the master?”
Sloan shrugged, closed the magazine, and leaned against the wall once again. His agitation was being fed, but he wasn’t certain as to why. Ranges of raw emotions seemed to pop up at the strangest of times as of late. Everything was happening at once; after all, he hadn’t slept in days and too many things were going completely wrong. Priding himself on keeping his cool during times of stress, he suddenly no longer felt like himself as he yelled at people for the slightest indiscretion, stewed in cynicism, and occasionally refused to communicate with people he held dear. Shoving the grittiness of his sentiments deep within him, he felt them scrape his throat on their jagged journey down to his gut. And then he forced a grin; he’d keep on that mask, whether he liked it or not.
“The man was definitely a ruler in the writing world. I just hope whatever magic he had rubs off on me a bit.” He met eyes with Mike, and a chill eddied through the air. “I’ve been in a writing slump and that deadline is not slowing down even for a second.”
“You’ll get your mojo back; you always do.”
Sloan nodded and turned away, not truly convinced of the encouraging words, but trying to buy them for their low, low price, all the same.
“Well, I better get goin’, but I’ll be back over the weekend.”
Sloan grabbed the guy and gave him a big bear hug. Mike was his college friend, his best buddy in the whole damn world. They’d been through everything together: marriages, birth of children, divorces, unemployment, the 9/11 tragedy when both of them lost close pals. They’d endured the grief together and celebrated important job promotions, supported one another at funerals of mutual friends…the whole nine. In life’s twisted ride, it was such a relief to have someone who gave
“Mike, I did this interview about two months ago. I completely forgot about it.”
“How do you forget about something like this?!” Mike looked at him through steely gray eyes. Uneven, messy brows danced above them, condemnation became stark clear in his gaze. “Never mind, you’ve been workin’ too hard; too much has happened too soon. Anyway…” The guy sighed as he looked around. “This place is nice, Sloan. You got it for a good deal, too.” He placed his hand on his hip, turning from left to right as if he were some important appraiser.
“I basically stole it. The price was too good to pass up and I even talked it down. A little elbow grease never killed anyone and besides, I like to haggle sometimes.” He rocked back on his heels, damn proud of himself.
“Your negotiation skills must be top notch.” He squinted at the arched ceilings. “You got a damn good deal. Too bad I can’t say the same for you and baseball.”
“I’m not that bad!” Sloan weakly protested behind a watered down grin.
“You suck and I’m never allowing you on my team again.”
Sloan chuckled as he too looked up at the arched ceilings. He scowled upon taking notice of the grandiose antique chandelier hanging above their heads, with the crystals caked in dirt.
“As soon as I stepped inside I knew I had to have it. Love at first sight.”
“Don’t give me that song ’nd dance. We both know it was because it was once Peter Jones’.” Mike grinned in an all-knowing way. “Who in your shoes wouldn’t want to live with the master?”
Sloan shrugged, closed the magazine, and leaned against the wall once again. His agitation was being fed, but he wasn’t certain as to why. Ranges of raw emotions seemed to pop up at the strangest of times as of late. Everything was happening at once; after all, he hadn’t slept in days and too many things were going completely wrong. Priding himself on keeping his cool during times of stress, he suddenly no longer felt like himself as he yelled at people for the slightest indiscretion, stewed in cynicism, and occasionally refused to communicate with people he held dear. Shoving the grittiness of his sentiments deep within him, he felt them scrape his throat on their jagged journey down to his gut. And then he forced a grin; he’d keep on that mask, whether he liked it or not.
“The man was definitely a ruler in the writing world. I just hope whatever magic he had rubs off on me a bit.” He met eyes with Mike, and a chill eddied through the air. “I’ve been in a writing slump and that deadline is not slowing down even for a second.”
“You’ll get your mojo back; you always do.”
Sloan nodded and turned away, not truly convinced of the encouraging words, but trying to buy them for their low, low price, all the same.
“Well, I better get goin’, but I’ll be back over the weekend.”
Sloan grabbed the guy and gave him a big bear hug. Mike was his college friend, his best buddy in the whole damn world. They’d been through everything together: marriages, birth of children, divorces, unemployment, the 9/11 tragedy when both of them lost close pals. They’d endured the grief together and celebrated important job promotions, supported one another at funerals of mutual friends…the whole nine. In life’s twisted ride, it was such a relief to have someone who gave
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