Crashed (Mason Brothers 2)

It was the one and only time he’d ask me, I knew. He was giving me an out. “I’m sure,” I said.

He dropped his hand, still looking thoughtful. “Sex with me is going to be different,” he said frankly.

“Okay,” I said.

“I mean, I don’t really know how it goes. I’m pretty sure I can make it good, but I’ll have to figure a few things out. You need to be patient. It won’t be like you’re used to with other guys.”

I couldn’t help it. “You mean you’ll call me afterward?” I said.

Andrew sighed, but he looked amused.

“Okay, seriously,” I said. I reached out and put my hand on his arm, close to his wrist, wanting to feel his skin against mine. “Does sex with you involve your cock inside me?”

His face went still. “Tessa.”

“Because I haven’t had that yet and honestly, I’m pretty interested.”

“Tessa.”

I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “See you later.”

When the door closed behind me, I was smiling.

Twenty-Two

Andrew

* * *

Nick and I were sitting in my living room, Nick on the sofa, me at my computer. Nick’s dog, a ridiculous chihuahua named Scout, was on the sofa next to Nick, lying on her back, hoping he—or anyone—would rub her belly. Yes, my big, tough brother had a chihuahua, and he was actually attached to her. It was a long story.

Nick was jotting ideas down on a notepad. I was using my tablet to draw a panel for the latest Lightning Man comic.

“Okay, so he’s saved Judy Gravity from the underworld,” Nick said. “What next? They need to take on another mission.”

I was drawing the underworld scene. Lightning Man was lifting a giant fiery boulder, looking for Judy beneath it. “Judy?” he called in the dialogue box. “Judy!”

“I called the venue for the comic convention,” Nick said. “They say it’s wheelchair accessible.”

“No,” I said.

We’d been over this once already. A big comic convention was coming to Detroit, a few hours’ drive away. They’d contacted us and asked if we wanted to come—speak on a panel, meet readers, sign copies of Lightning Man.

Leave my house. Stay in a hotel. Talk to people. No.

“The hotel is accessible, too,” Nick said.

I didn’t look up from my drawing. “No.”

“Too bad, dirtbag. You’re going.”

This was my brother’s version of a pep talk. No wonder I was in therapy. “How would we get to Detroit?” I asked.

“How do you think? I’ll drive.”

I put my pen down and pressed the pad of my thumb into my eye socket, where a headache was suddenly starting. Driving was bad for me—very bad. Sitting in the passenger seat of a car made me think of the accident. Short trips to and from the hospital were hard enough; a few hours on the highway sounded like a nightmare. “You go without me,” I said.

Nick patted Scout, who wiggled idiotically in happiness. “No way, asshat. We both go. It’s an opportunity.”