taking a long drag off his cigarette. “So the old man is really selling this place?” he asked. “Why don’t you just buy it? You’ve got the money.”
Ryan snorted at that.
“Spent it all jet-setting?” Sawyer asked. “Let me guess, you’re already a quarter mil in debt?”
“I wouldn’t buy this place if it was free,” Ryan confessed.
“You know that’s bullshit.”
Ryan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms coiling across his chest.
“What?” Sawyer asked. “Like I don’t know this is a sore subject?” Growing up as practically the third twin, Sawyer knew Michael Adler well. “He still running around with that Italian chick?”
“
Oh
yeah,” Ryan scoffed.
“Buzzing around on one of those tiny scooters. Circling the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”
Ryan cracked a cynical smile.
Sawyer straddled the air, riding an imaginary Vespa, his cigarette clinging to the swell of his bottom lip as he lifted his right hand, pageant-waving to an invisible crowd of tourists. “
Ciao, bellas
,” he said, bringing his fingertips to his lips and releasing the kiss into the air.
“I’m sure that’s totally accurate,” Ryan said. “Totally.”
Sawyer shrugged. “Is there anything
else
to do in Italy? Or in Switzerland, you asshole?”
Ryan ignored the dig. “What, other than look like a day-tripper? You’d fit right in,” he said. “Constantly smoking that shit like some hipster.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Europeans are known for their love of nicotine. Just wait until you move into your fancy loft in Zurich, traitor. I’m a lightweight compared to their carton-a-day habit.” Sawyer freely admitted that a pack a day was extreme, but it was a vice he couldn’t seem to shake. “I didn’t smoke on the way up here,” he confessed. “It was glorious. You would have been proud.”
“April making you quit?” Ryan asked as Sawyer took his final drag, grinding the butt against the sole of his boot.
“Please, she can take my life, but she can’t take my smokes.” Reaching into the trunk, Sawyer slung a Timbuk2 backpack over his shoulder. “She’s pretty low maintenance.”
“For now.”
“At least she’s hot.”
“There is that.”
“What’s with Janey’s blonde friend, what’s her name…”
“Lauren.”
“You and her?” Sawyer asked. “You know…” He curled up the fingers of his right hand, thrusting the heel of his palm outward, knocking it against the chill in the air.
“Maybe, you never know…” Ryan smirked.
“She’s cute.”
“So are a lot of other girls.”
“You’ll have to settle down eventually,” he warned. “Scared shitless or not.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asked, hefting a duffel bag full of boarding gear out of the back. “Because that ended well for Jane, right? It’s the fucking Adler curse.”
“Yeah, well, nobody likes a forty-year-old bachelor.”
“You’re right. It’s better to get married and run around behind her back.”
“Now you’re talking.” Sawyer slapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Carry on the family tradition.”
Ryan gave him a look.
“Jesus.” Sawyer laughed. “I’m kidding, man. Come on.”
“I’m not carrying on any tradition unless I get a Vespa.”
“Dude, I’ll buy you a fucking Vespa if only to see the wind in your hair.”
They looked at each other, both of them deadpan.
“If it wasn’t for that stupid earflap hat,” Sawyer continued, “I’d run my fingers through your locks right now.”
“Tonight,” Ryan promised. “After the girls have gone to bed.”
“By the fire?”
“With Jane’s chocolate cake between us. I’ll whip us up a bearskin rug.”
Sawyer let his head loll back, the steam of his breath rising from his throat as he laughed. “Perfect,” he said. “Just don’t complain if I smoke afterward. That, my friend, I cannot help.”
Ryan tossed the bag over a shoulder. “It’s fucking cold out here,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Sawyer reached up to
Ryan snorted at that.
“Spent it all jet-setting?” Sawyer asked. “Let me guess, you’re already a quarter mil in debt?”
“I wouldn’t buy this place if it was free,” Ryan confessed.
“You know that’s bullshit.”
Ryan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arms coiling across his chest.
“What?” Sawyer asked. “Like I don’t know this is a sore subject?” Growing up as practically the third twin, Sawyer knew Michael Adler well. “He still running around with that Italian chick?”
“
Oh
yeah,” Ryan scoffed.
“Buzzing around on one of those tiny scooters. Circling the Leaning Tower of Pizza.”
Ryan cracked a cynical smile.
Sawyer straddled the air, riding an imaginary Vespa, his cigarette clinging to the swell of his bottom lip as he lifted his right hand, pageant-waving to an invisible crowd of tourists. “
Ciao, bellas
,” he said, bringing his fingertips to his lips and releasing the kiss into the air.
“I’m sure that’s totally accurate,” Ryan said. “Totally.”
Sawyer shrugged. “Is there anything
else
to do in Italy? Or in Switzerland, you asshole?”
Ryan ignored the dig. “What, other than look like a day-tripper? You’d fit right in,” he said. “Constantly smoking that shit like some hipster.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Europeans are known for their love of nicotine. Just wait until you move into your fancy loft in Zurich, traitor. I’m a lightweight compared to their carton-a-day habit.” Sawyer freely admitted that a pack a day was extreme, but it was a vice he couldn’t seem to shake. “I didn’t smoke on the way up here,” he confessed. “It was glorious. You would have been proud.”
“April making you quit?” Ryan asked as Sawyer took his final drag, grinding the butt against the sole of his boot.
“Please, she can take my life, but she can’t take my smokes.” Reaching into the trunk, Sawyer slung a Timbuk2 backpack over his shoulder. “She’s pretty low maintenance.”
“For now.”
“At least she’s hot.”
“There is that.”
“What’s with Janey’s blonde friend, what’s her name…”
“Lauren.”
“You and her?” Sawyer asked. “You know…” He curled up the fingers of his right hand, thrusting the heel of his palm outward, knocking it against the chill in the air.
“Maybe, you never know…” Ryan smirked.
“She’s cute.”
“So are a lot of other girls.”
“You’ll have to settle down eventually,” he warned. “Scared shitless or not.”
“Yeah?” Ryan asked, hefting a duffel bag full of boarding gear out of the back. “Because that ended well for Jane, right? It’s the fucking Adler curse.”
“Yeah, well, nobody likes a forty-year-old bachelor.”
“You’re right. It’s better to get married and run around behind her back.”
“Now you’re talking.” Sawyer slapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Carry on the family tradition.”
Ryan gave him a look.
“Jesus.” Sawyer laughed. “I’m kidding, man. Come on.”
“I’m not carrying on any tradition unless I get a Vespa.”
“Dude, I’ll buy you a fucking Vespa if only to see the wind in your hair.”
They looked at each other, both of them deadpan.
“If it wasn’t for that stupid earflap hat,” Sawyer continued, “I’d run my fingers through your locks right now.”
“Tonight,” Ryan promised. “After the girls have gone to bed.”
“By the fire?”
“With Jane’s chocolate cake between us. I’ll whip us up a bearskin rug.”
Sawyer let his head loll back, the steam of his breath rising from his throat as he laughed. “Perfect,” he said. “Just don’t complain if I smoke afterward. That, my friend, I cannot help.”
Ryan tossed the bag over a shoulder. “It’s fucking cold out here,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Sawyer reached up to
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