“Did you tell Mom that you moved a girl in with you yet?” he asks, walking over to the drawer he hides Swedish Fish in and digging some out.
It’s hard to concentrate on his question when I eye the sexy Velma from Scooby Doo plastered on his shirt with a quote next to it that reads I like my women nerdy, curvy, and dirty. I can’t help but snort. He’s wearing his thick rimmed black glasses that amplifies his nerdiness even though I’m 99% positive he doesn’t even need them to begin with, and a pair of black and white checkered skinny jeans. “What are you wearing? You look like you did when we let you dress you as a child.”
He ignores me. “Did you tell her?”
“Why would I? It’s no different than one of the guys staying here. Zayne has crashed here for a while. So has Calder.” Giving him another once-over, I can’t help but bust his balls. “Seriously, though. Are you about to film a porno where some desperate housewife needs an IT guy? Maybe needs her router unplugged and plugged back in? Someone to check her code?”
He doesn’t find me funny. Lowering his palm full of lollies, he glowers. “Are you going to keep using your sarcasm as a way to mask the fact you’re actually pissed off? Because if you are, I’m going back over to Mom’s, so I don’t have to be the butt of your jokes all the time.”
Frowning, I realize he’s being serious when the annoyance shines in his dark brown eyes and by means of the barely-there accent. “I didn’t mean it literally, Chase. I just like messing with you. And since when do you have a degree in psychology? I’m not masking anything.”
“You can’t bullshit me. I know you too well. Ever since you brought Rylee home you’ve been in a bad mood. You want to help her, but you’re not talking to her. You’re obviously avoiding each other and it’s awkward as hell around here, so what’s going on?”
Staring at my drink, I stifle a sigh. He does know me better than most people—better than Mum, even. The only person who has him beat is Zayne, and that’s a close call. “Not sure what to say to her, man. That’s all. I’m sorry if I’ve made things weird for you here. I want you to be comfortable.”
My little brother glances away, then pulls out one of the purple stools from under the island and sits. “There was something I wanted to run by you, actually. I haven’t brought it up to Mom yet…”
It’s not often he asks for my advice, mostly because I tell him what I think anyway without him wanting my opinion. I sit across from him, pulling my shake in front of me. “It must be serious if you’re talking to me about it before her.”
We’re both close to our mother. She’s been the constant rock in our lives, supporting and encouraging us in any way she can. Without her, I’m not sure where either of us would be.
He shifts, elbows resting on the edge of the white granite countertop and pushes his glasses up his nose. “I’m thinking about getting my own place. It’s about time I get out of Mom’s basement and your house and find something just for me.”
Surprise renders me speechless. He’s never talked about his interest in moving, but it shouldn’t shock me that he wants to. He has the money to do what he wants with, and he’s careful about how he spends it like Mum taught us to be. I probably scared him when I nearly drained my account on drugs back when I used. Not that I’ve told him, but he inspired me to be better. To save, to be frugal, and cautious with my spending.
Gripping the glass, I say, “Shit, man. That’s great. If that’s what you want to do, you know I have your back. I know some great realtors around the area that won’t trick you into spending more money for shit places.”
He nods, almost mindlessly. Knee bouncing, he asks, “Do you think Mom will be upset?”
That’s what he’s worried about? “Mate, you’re 21. If you went to college, you would have been out of the house long before now. You have the money, you’re responsible, there’s no reason Mum would be upset. Hell, you’ve had a better head on your shoulders than I have, and she trusts me out in the world.”
Mum may even be happy to be an empty nester, not that she’d ever admit it. And I’m not about to shatter his bubble. “I think she’ll be fine, Chase. You know she’s always been in our corner. If this is what you want, she’ll do what she can to help. She’d be a good person to go house shopping with.”
He considers it, then nods. “You’re right. And I’m sure you’ll be happier having your space back.”
I refrain from making a smartass comment that might upset him. If he’s not here, one of the guys will be. My house hasn’t been just my space since I signed my name on the dotted line. As soon as Sasha, my interior designer, furnished it, everyone showed up and stuck around to celebrate it being my first real home since rehab. It’s been the only property I own that feels like mine, something to settle and grow in. The entire first floor is modern-rustic—open, light, wood, and white accents with pops of color in the furniture and art, but with pieces that remind me of the split-level colonial I grew up in with Mum and Chase before Violet Wonders was even a thought in the back of my mind. On the outside, people think it’s another celebrity home with money to burn. With little to see, there’s less attention from
