The Air That I Breathe (The Game 3.5)

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and his jaw ticked. “I’ll be fine.”

Uh-huh. “I’ll give you three days,” I told him. If he hadn’t fessed up by then, I’d drag the truth out of him myself. It wasn’t my style; it was Reese’s, but enough was enough.

Three days from now was also when Pop came home from his latest long haul. It’d be Christmas Eve, and I would need Reese on my side in case there was any fighting.* * *It was rare for this much snow to hit Nashville, so Reese and I decided to bunker up and hunker down. We took a cab from the airport straight to our nearest grocery store, and we bought all the shit we’d need for the next few days. Then we hoofed it three blocks to Pop’s place.

His little ranch house sat at the end of his street and was the only one not decorated at all.

We hurried up the driveway as the snow fell heavier, and Reese dug out his keys while I flipped through the mail quickly. Not that I was expecting that anything was for us, but Reese liked reading grocery ads.

“Fuck me, I’m tired,” he groaned as we entered the house. “I need a nap.”

“Me too.” I kicked off my shoes.

“Okay, well, I’ll put the groceries away and you shower, ’cause then I want one too.”

“All right.” I dumped two paper bags on the kitchen counter and spotted a sweet note from our dad.

I’ll be home around three PM on the 24th. Don’t burn the house down. Money for groceries.

There was fifty bucks.

“Are you hungry?” Reese asked.

“A little.” I shrugged.

“I’ll make us some sandwiches too. Go.”

Sweet.

It took me ten minutes to put our luggage into our room, shower, change into a pair of sweats, and throw myself on my bed. By then, something smelled great from the kitchen. Cheese and oregano—he was making his Italian melts in the oven.

“Dammit.” I eyed the remote to Reese’s TV on his bed. “Ugh.” I grunted as I forced myself up again.

I heard the shower running, which triggered a memory from a dream to pop up in my head, so I hurriedly turned on the TV and found an old episode of X-Files running. It was good enough. Way better than the shit I’d started dreaming about at night lately. I mean, it was nothing. It was just hormones.

Reese was the guy I saw all the time, even more so since he stopped going out every weekend. We’d spent way more time together this year, and he was fucking shameless. So, it meant nothing that he’d starred in some dreams. In some meaningless snippets. Quick flashes—fragments, really.

It was nothing. It was nothing.

I yawned and scratched my stomach as Mulder tried to convince Scully that something was fishy. How she never fucking learned her lesson was amazing.

Reese appeared a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around his hips, holding two plates and two Cokes.

“Thanks, Ma.” I accepted a plate and sat up.

“Eat up quick,” he yawned.

This was the best sandwich out there. He called them basic; it was just a shit-ton of cheese, butter, and oregano between two slices of toast, but man, they were good. And he used shredded mozzarella, not the cheddar that only belonged on burgers.

“You’re a god, baby brother,” I said with my mouth full. “Fuck.” It was burning hot, though. Jesus.

“Six minutes,” he replied flatly. “You’re six minutes older.”

“Minutes or years, you’re still my baby brother.”

He rolled his eyes and took a swig from his Coke.* * *“If we don’t get up soon, we’ll be up all night,” he mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t care.” I buried my face against his neck and stretched out my legs with a groan. “We can stay up and watch movies in the living room.”

It felt too good. The room was cold, so we’d thrown both our covers over us before our nap, and there was no way I’d leave this spot anytime soon.

Reese hummed and drew his fingers up and down my back, which wouldn’t motivate me to move either. I shivered and pressed myself closer to him.

“I wonder if he’s started hiding his porn yet,” he mused.

I chuckled. “Doubtful.”

Pop owned an impressive movie collection, and one of the smaller shelves was all porn. Straight porn, obviously. Nothing we’d be interested in, though I was sure Pop kept it out in case our sexuality was, in fact, just a phase.

Jackass.

“Fuck,” Reese whispered. “I forgot to bring any.”

“What, porn?”

“Yeah.”

“I have some under my bed.” I yawned and rolled onto my back.

My tastes had developed in the last two years, so I wasn’t sure he’d like any of it. I only had three movies and one magazine left.

Reese withdrew his arm from under my neck and twisted his body to reach below my bed, and he had no problems digging out my little stash.