“Anderson,” she singsongs and then glances at me. Her eyes go from my bare chest then to his wet hair. She purses her lips. “You took your eyebrow piercing out.”
Anders tenses. “Uh … I … umm …”
He has an eyebrow piercing? That’s hot.
3
Lawson
Where did this woman come from? The CIA? Or whatever Australia’s equivalent of that is. This woman sees my brother once a year and she notices when he’s not wearing jewellery?
“You have an eyebrow piercing?” Reed asks.
“I, uh, sometimes take it out for dates.” I wince. I take it out for dates? What kind of lame-ass excuse is that? “Sorry, I need to get home.”
I stumble down the hallway, but Reed shouts out, “You never left your number.”
I know.
“Oh, I can give it to you,” CIA woman says.
Shit.
I race back to them real fast. “That’s my business number. Here, I’ll give you my personal one.” I hold out my hand.
Reed reaches into his pocket and produces his phone, and I feel physically ill typing my brother’s name into it.
Idiot, idiot, idiot.
Hey, Law, can you go break off a date for me?
Sure. By break off, you mean jerk off, right?
I didn’t plan this. Anders called me in the middle of a panic attack. Apparently, a client of his had set him up with a school teacher fresh out of uni, and Anders didn’t expect him to be so … intimidating.
What kind of English lit teacher has a body like Reed? I told Anders he was stupid for accepting a blind date with his issues, but my brother likes to think with his dick. That is, until his head reminds him there are certain situations he can’t handle.
Anders couldn’t call or text to cancel because he didn’t have Reed’s number, and he physically couldn’t bring himself to enter the restaurant, so I found myself running to him to break off the date. Anders was so shaken up, he couldn’t even stay to watch. He filled me in about what happened and what I needed to know and then called a cab and left before I’d even entered the restaurant.
As soon as I saw Reed sitting there, I understood why Anders couldn’t go through with it himself.
Reed isn’t my brother’s type. He would’ve been at one time, but that was years ago. Reed has muscles and that hard look about him. His square jaw is prominent and he has an adorable chin dimple. The most boyish thing about him is his golden hair and his ridiculous preppy boy clothes. The rest is all man.
If he let his facial hair grow, he’d look like the dude from Sons of Anarchy but in a sweater instead of leather.
The plan was to claim family emergency and walk away, and in all honesty, I should’ve checked on my brother. Anders might’ve been hyperventilating into a paper bag for all I knew. But as soon as I sat down and Reed smiled at me? I was a goner.
I almost came clean in the shower—in the confessing sense, not the personal hygiene sense—but it was only a hook-up, and I figured I wasn’t going to see the guy again.
Now he has my number, and Anders’ client knows “he” hooked up with Reed.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
My freak out hasn’t died down by the time I walk through the door, and Anders stares up at me from the couch. He pulls his wringing hands apart. It’s a nervous habit he does that lets me know he’s not handling shit well, so he always tries to hide it when I catch him doing it. “How did it go?” His voice cracks. “You were gone for ages.”
“I ended up having dinner afterwards. He was actually a pretty decent guy.” Really decent. Looks hot naked, if you were wondering.
God, what have I done?
Not that I regret a second of it. Does that make me a bad person? Isn’t one of the commandments ‘Thou shalt not lie about thy identity’? Wait, that might be in the gay rule book of things to do. Especially in a hook-up situation.
“I know you said you weren’t going to do that for me anymore,” Anders says quietly, “but—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I understood why this time. Are you all right?”
Not that he’d tell me if he wasn’t. Anders likes to pretend he has everything under control, and it’s not until moments like tonight where he calls me completely breathless and in agony that I remember the demons from his past will never be gone. Especially when he refuses to go back to counselling for them.
“I’m good now. I curled into a ball and put on classic rock.”
“KISS can cure anything.”
Anders stands and approaches, giving me an awkward and rare brotherly hug. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for a lot of things, but I’m mainly sorry you have to keep bailing my ass out.”