“You think my coach gives a fuck what really happened? You think the PR people care if you caused it all?” I point a finger at him. “And you did cause it all, but it was worth it.” I grumble the last part. It’s true. It was worth it.
“I’m going.” He glares at me.
“Don’t make me call Reagan.”
His face falls. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“I would. I’ll tell her to come and get your sorry ass.”
Reagan is one of the only people in the world he can’t be stubborn with. She always wins. He loves her more than his own life, and everyone knows it.
He has picked up my plate and is holding it below his chin, shoveling the last of my pancakes into his mouth. “Good pancakes,” he says.
“I wouldn’t know,” I reply drolly.
Peck snorts. Damn, that’s a pretty sound.
Pete points to her plate. “Are you going to eat those?” he asks her.
She covers her plate with her hand to block his questing fork, but she’s smiling.
“So you don’t want me to go with you.”
I throw up my hands. “Didn’t I make that clear?”
“Will you call me when it’s over and tell me how it goes?”
“No.”
“You will so.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
I roll my eyes. “I bet your sisters never act like this asshole,” I tell Peck.
Tap. Tap. “Are you kidding? They’re a lot worse.”
“I’m going to use your bathroom,” Pete announces. He doesn’t wait for permission. He just leaves.
“I’m sorry about that.” That’s Pete, and I can’t explain Pete. I can’t even try.
“I like him.” She smiles at me. “I like the way you two are with one another.”
“Are you as tight with your sisters as I am with my brothers?”
She nods. “Maybe tighter.”
I shake my head. “Not possible.”
“We were all each other had for a long time.”
“Same at our house.” Our mom died when we were really young, and we always thought our dad left, but we found out last year he died, too. He died and someone stuffed his dead body into a freezer.
She lays down her fork. “I can’t finish this.” She puts a hand on her stomach and groans.
I hook her plate with a finger and start to eat her pancakes. If I don’t hurry, Pete will come back and I’ll have to fight him for them.
I’m shoveling the last bite into my mouth when he walks back into the room.
Peck gets up and clears the table, and then goes down the hallway.
“What’s she doing here?” Pete whispers vehemently.
“Eating fucking pancakes!” I hiss back. “Now mind your own business!”
“You are my business, dumbass.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, did you bang her?”
“Don’t fucking talk about her like she’s…less than what she is.” I shove his shoulder.
He whistles. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“Fuck you. It’s been like that for a long time. I really like her.”
He opens my fridge and comes back with a container of yogurt. “I already knew you didn’t bang her.”
“You did not.”
“Did so.”
“Shut up.”
“Want to know how I knew?” He sings it out like a playful song.
“No.”
“Because her damp panties are over the shower bar in the guest bathroom instead of in your bathroom. If you’d slept with her, she’d be washing her unmentionables in your sink.”
“If they’re unmentionables, then why the fuck are you talking about them?”
“What did you two do last night?”
“We watched the cook-off show.”
“Oh, hell no.” He moans. “You got better game than that! Did I teach you nothing?” He throws his hands up.
“Yes, you taught me nothing.” I grin at him.
“What happened after the cook-off show?” He watches my face intently.
“Nothing. We went to sleep.”
“You didn’t fuck her.”
“I already told you I didn’t, and I told you to stop talking about her like that. Now get the fuck out.”
“Did she sleep in your bed?”
I draw in a deep breath through my nose.
“She did. But you didn’t fuck her.”
He pats my shoulder like I’m a good puppy. “Good boy.”
“This one matters,” I say quietly.
“I get it.” He’s serious all of a sudden. Pete may act like a dick, but he’s my brother. He’s my twin. He’s my other half. “This one is special.”
“I think she likes me.”
“Don’t fuck it up by being yourself or anything.” He grins and grabs me in a headlock. I can’t fight with him while I’m on crutches. He turns me loose and I hop to get my balance. “I have to go. Reagan wasn’t feeling well when I left home. I think she ate some bad shrimp.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum.
He’s oblivious. Completely. “Call me later?” he says. “Tell me how it goes with the PR people?”
I nod. “I’ll think about it.”
He goes toward the door, stops, and flashes me the I love you sign. “Love you, dumbass,” he says. Then he leaves. I should have gotten his key. That would have been smart.