Where there’s a will, or, better yet, a William, there’s a way. Prophetic words, but I didn’t know that yet. All I knew was that I wanted what my parents had, wanted it without restrictions, without caveats. I wanted Brian. I wanted Aaron. I wanted Trevor. I wanted Curtis. Aaron was off the table now, but I still had three other options.
Or so I thought.
It was late when I knocked on Brian’s door. He’d just moved into a new house, one of those adorable little cottages in WeHo that cost an arm and a leg—with a fair bit of torso and kneecap thrown in for painful measure. To be fair, the third of an acre of beautifully manicured garden was lovely and it did come with parking—okay, street parking, but who’s quibbling? Still, it was his, bought and paid for. Good for him. And good for me, bec
