I didn’t know what he was talking about, and I knew it showed on my face. In fact, he was fucking ridiculous, and that probably showed too. He’d basically moved in to my house the minute we’d left the hotel, and we’d spent every night together since. Not sleeping. My brother was all about hands and mouth, and I’d promised not to push him, no matter how badly I wanted to fuck him and get screwed in return.
“Have you lost your goddamn marbles?” I asked incredulously. “We’re together day and night. The only time we’re careful is when we’re around Ace and Mom.”
“But you barely take the initiative!” he argued. “If you’re in the kitchen, I come in and act all sweet. If you’re in the shower, I join you. When we go to bed, I’m the one who makes the move, and—why the fuck are you smiling?” he growled.
I couldn’t help it! He was being cute.
After setting down my food on the coffee table, I went to him and straddled his whiny ass, ready to give him a piece of my mind. And he did the thing where he tried to be all indifferent, leaning back against the cushions, folding his arms over his chest, jaw set, stubbornness written across his features.
“Quit actin’ like a child.” I cupped his cheeks and made him look me in the eye. “It’s been you and me for thirty-five years—as brothers and best friends. And whatever’s going through your head might’ve been building up for who knows how long, but for me, your sudden interest in kissing and getting off together happened overnight.” I couldn’t stress that enough. “I don’t know if you’re going through a phase, if you’re clinging to me because we just spent the last four years apart, or—”
“It’s not a goddamn phase,” he bit out.
I suppressed a sigh. “Okay. But you’re missing my point. I don’t know what the fuck is going on up here.” I tapped the side of his head. “You don’t wanna talk about it—you don’t want me to ask questions. Well, then you’re gonna have to calm your fucking tits and understand why I’m being careful. Because I know how I feel, Boone. I know that I will be a wreck once you figure out that all you really wanted was to secure a place in my life again.”
We all did stupid things when we were desperate.
Boone glanced up at me with a scowl. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. In what universe would I believe I gotta suck you off in order to be part of your life?”
Oh, for chrissakes. I rolled my eyes and shifted off his lap. My back hit the armrest, and I leaned my elbows on it. “Try to think a bit further than that, dick. I confessed to you that I walked out because I had feelings for you, and how do you respond in your grief—to use your words—from missing me? You stick your tongue down my throat. What the fresh hell am I supposed to think?”
He averted his gaze and bit at a cuticle, but then his forehead creased and he glanced back at me. “First time I planted one on you was before any confession.”
Was it? Oh. Maybe so. To be honest, I’d done my best to just shove that memory out of my mind, because none of it had made sense.
“Whatever—there’s the nightclub too,” I pointed out.
He shook his head. “Don’t do that, Case. You’re actively trying to minimize shit now. You know me. I’m a lot of things, but shifty ain’t one of them. Not to you—not to family.”
“Except for when you know I’m on my way home and you feel like getting head from the neighbor.”
That remark earned me a glare, but I couldn’t fucking help it. Sometimes I was still bitter.
He sat on all the answers, yet he demanded patience from me. He wanted to live with me, explore with me—or whatever it was—and now I was apparently not living up to the hype. I wasn’t taking initiative. Fuck him.
“That was uncalled for,” he told me.
“Was it?” I shrugged and got off the couch, wanting some distance. “Even though you didn’t know back then why I didn’t wanna see you with other women, you knew I was serious. I begged and fucking pleaded with you to just make that promise. And the last time, it wasn’t some drunken mistake—you called that bitch over, fully aware that I was gonna walk in on you.”
He flinched. “And I apologized— Hey, where are you going? We’re in the middle of a conversation.”
“I want a goddamn Pop-Tart,” I snapped. “Is that okay with you?”
“No, we’re gonna talk about this!”
Oh, so now he wanted to talk. How convenient for him.
“Blow me, Boone,” I said on the way into the kitchen. “Or better yet, try the neighbor.”
“Fuck you,” he spat out.
“Not in your wildest dreams, sugar tits!” It was easy to mask my anger with laughter. I’d done it for years. Whenever he got smashed and sought out a pair of breasts to get lost in, I’d laughed and wished him a happy hunt.
I swallowed the ancient hurt that threatened to resurface and opened the cupboard. I didn’t even want the damn Pop-Tart. I just needed space.
Since when did I get what I wanted, though? As soon as I heard Boone getting off the couch, I knew our fight was about to level up, and I steeled myself.
“Ask me why I did what I did back then,” he demanded, appearing in the doorway.
I didn’t spare him a single glance. “You can’t even say it?” I snorted and popped two Pop-Tarts into the toaster.
“Ask me,” he gritted out.
“No,” I snapped irritably. “You’re done always getting your way, and you can get the fuck outta my face or move back in with Ma. Those are your only options.”
He completely ignored me. “You think that little of
