The Air That I Breathe (The Game 3.5)

Reese lowered the volume on the TV. “The past five or six years, we’ve heard people change their tone about our relationship. What used to be cute and funny is now abnormal and inappropriate. And what the fuck are they gonna say if we keep at it? What if we go into the same field—we work together, we get an apartment together… Shit that’s normal if you’re friends. There’s nothing weird about buddies working together and being roommates, but just because we’re brothers, we can’t do that?”

He was preaching to the choir on that one. I was wondering that too.

At the same time, I knew there was an underlying draw that couldn’t be reasoned away. At least for me. Living together and working together—no fucking problem. But I wanted to go beyond that. For me, it wasn’t about finding logic in complicated issues. It was about being okay with them being complicated. It was about accepting the disturbed.

“I’m sick of giving a rat’s ass about what others say, period,” I admitted. “I wanna go with what’s right for us.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, hesitant but showing enough relief in his eyes for me to continue.

He needed to hear it.

“I just don’t care anymore, Reese. We’re all those things—we’re brothers, we’re best friends, we’re future coworkers, roommates…all of it. I don’t wanna put a limit on what’s too much in the opinion of others. Fuck ’em.”

For the first time in…probably ever, I was ready to jump into something before he was. I was ready to say fuck it. He wasn’t. I could tell. My usually spontaneous, reckless, and impatient brother was gonna drag this out.

I was okay with that. My guess was, I’d been thinking in these terms longer than he had. Maybe. I wasn’t sure. I went back and forth a lot. The voice of reason claimed I was only scared to venture out on my own. The rest of me didn’t agree. The rest of me still believed that Ma was right the first time—we shared a fucking soul, and…fuck.

I swallowed hard.

What I wanted was to see how far I could unite us.

Lines crossed be damned.

“We should probably make more of an effort to hang out with others, though,” he said, clearing his throat. “Right?”

He was looking at me all unsure again, which meant he was asking. He wanted my take on it.

“I just mean,” he hastened to add, “we don’t want anyone to believe there’s too much going on behind closed doors. And we owe it to ourselves to find guys we wanna date.”

Jesus. We owe it to ourselves… Was he hearing himself? We owe it to ourselves—come the fuck on. He sounded like Nana. We “owed it to ourselves” to maintain a relationship with Pop. Screw that.

“You do what you want,” I said as patiently as I could. “I don’t like being one of the last eighteen-year-olds who hasn’t gotten his dick wet yet, but I won’t waste my time on idjits who can barely get me hard. I have no interest in dating.”

I had a feeling I’d have to find a specific crowd of people to get what I wanted. The porn I was into had led me to stuff like BDSM and leather culture. I’d found a lot I wanted to explore, and I kinda saw my brother next to me. It was where he belonged.

“You’re still only gettin’ head from buddies?” Reese asked curiously.

I half shrugged, half nodded. “I, uh, reciprocated once, but I don’t know.” It wasn’t a fond memory. The attraction hadn’t been there, and I’d only done it out of guilt ’cause the guy in question gave a lot and rarely got anything in return. I’d felt bad, even though he hadn’t demanded anything. “I just felt awkward.”

“I know the feeling,” Reese muttered and grabbed his soda. “I kinda stopped putting myself in those situations altogether when a guy—you’ve met Josh—he said I was selfish. And I mean…maybe? At the same time, I’m not throwing myself at them. They come to me.” He pointed at his chest. “They wanna suck my dick, be my guest, but you can’t assume I’m interested in some fuckin’ exchange.”

I let out a laugh.

We were so goddamn similar.

But yeah, we were definitely selfish. Otherwise, we’d make it clear that we didn’t wanna give anything in return before they dropped to their knees.

“I haven’t even kissed someone yet,” I confessed, dragging a hand over my face.

Reese groaned. “I wish I could say the same, man. Two years ago, that closeted fucker Paul shoved his tongue down my throat when he was wasted. Caught me completely off guard. It was over before I knew it was happening, and then he threw up on my sneakers.”

I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off; that was too funny. Paul had come on to me a couple times too—always when he was drunk—but I’d dodged that slurring bullet.