Narrowing my eyes, I wag a finger at my taller, broader, younger bro. “You worship the ground I walk on, and this is your offering,” I counter.
In a blur worthy of a cheetah going for a Serengeti kill, Jason steps forward, whips off my glasses, then wraps his hands around my head. Fucker cages me into an MMA move in less than three seconds. “Say it. I know the peppers were just coincidental, Jaybird,” he says, and holy fuck. He’s stronger than I thought. I seem to have forgotten my five years on him mean jack shit to his gridiron-hardened muscles.
But I am stubborn-er.
“They were on purpose. A gift to me,” I mutter.
He breaks out the big guns, rubbing his knuckles against my skull, and that’s not fair. “No noogies,” I protest.
“Noogies till you admit the truth.”
I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. I try to wriggle out of his chokehold, but hey, I guess the San Francisco Hawks knew what they were doing when they locked him up. His hands are vises.
No choice but to throw in the towel. “The peppers were accidental. You didn’t get them for me,” I grumble.
Jason relents, letting go, then patting my shoulders and smoothing my vintage Roxy Music shirt. “I see we agree at last,” he says, then grabs my glasses and hands them to me.
I slide them back on with a huff. “Then we can agree that I’ll cook up these accidental peppers all by my lonesome then.”
He growls for a good long while. “Fine, I got you those peppers since you love them. Also, you’re really fucking good at making them. So, can you, you know, get cooking?” He eyes the skillet on the stove, pasting on a please cook for me grin, and I don’t feel like a schlub anymore.
“Course I will,” I say, then clap his back. “Want some chicken too? I found a new kale and chicken recipe that will make you salivate.”
He nods. “Pretty please.”
Personal chef I am and happy to do it. He’s let me crash here for almost a month, no questions asked. Though, the brother code dictates I can’t let on that I like being his cook. Must give him shit. “Knew you loved me bunches,” I say, then while he takes off to shower, I whip up dinner, sautéing the chicken and the kale.
A little later, with wet hair from the shower this time, he pads back into the kitchen as the veggies sizzle. “What have you been up to today?” he asks as he yanks open the fridge and grabs a bubbly water.
“I found a cool new contest to enter.”
“Is it for the hottest YouTube stars?”
“Ha.” I roll my eyes because sure, I made that list, and it did give us a boost for a bit. It also gave my friends and family endless fodder to tease me. Fair game, I suppose. “I only wish those paid well. If they did, I’d clean up.”
He cracks open the can and takes a sip. “So, what’s the contest?”
“You pair up with other top creators,” I say and give him the details. “So now, I’m just trying to decide who to reach out to. There’s The Burger Boys, Pizza Paulie, Drive-Thru Babe . . . oh, and the Wine Dude. He’s hilarious with his wine and food pairings for idiots.”
Jason’s blue eyes spark, and he sets down his drink on the counter and snaps his fingers. “I have the perfect duo for you.”
“You do? Who?” I ask, a little surprised since I don’t think he spends his free time chilling with online videos unless they’re of the game film variety or feature new yoga poses for football flexibility.
“I met these adorable grandmas at a signing the other week. They are so freaking cute. You’re going to love them. Dot and Bette’s Home-Cooked Meals.”
“Oh yeah! I’ve heard of them. They started a few months ago and shot all the way up, but I haven’t checked them out yet since their style is so different.” I toss him a side-eye glare as I turn down the heat, then slide the peppers into a bowl. “But what the hell? I can’t believe you watched another food show.”
“Another? You assume I watch yours,” he deadpans.
I heave a sigh. “Why do I root for you?”
“Because I’m awesome, and I’m also your favorite brother,” he points out.
“Participation trophy for you too, Jaybird,” I say, but truth be told, this guy has done more for me than any brother should. Hell, I could say the same for my dad. The men in my family are all the way awesome, and I’d just like to live up to one-tenth of who they are. Maybe I will if I can get the hell off the damn cusp.
I sprinkle some salt and pepper on the green yummies, then put the bowl on the counter. “Let’s check out some Dot and Bette while we eat,” I say, plating his dinner next, then cueing up the ladies on the tablet and crunching into a fantastic pepper.