“Hello, hi there, you must be JJ’s brother.” The girl who could have stepped right out of a Bollywood film waves a hand to get my attention with a falsely bashful smile. Pointing at the cup in my hand, she asks, “Know where I can get some of that?”
I can’t help the heavy sigh from escaping me. “Cabinet over the coffee pot,” I say in a gruff voice.
“Thanks.” She smiles, tiptoeing past my hand carved table, and clatters around for several moments before she clears her throat.
For faefucks sake.
I set down my paper and roll up the sleeves on my plaid shirt, trying to pretend I don’t notice her.
She does it again. I still don’t turn around.
Finally, she asks, “Do you have any cream and sugar? Or maybe some sugar-free vanilla syrup?”
Tell her to get out. Tell her she shouldn’t be in your house because you like it nice and quiet. Because you are intensely private and hate people so much as looking in the direction of your property, much less being inside your house.
“Cream is in the fridge,” I answer in a disgruntled rumble instead.
I may be resentful as hell, but I can’t bring myself to be completely rude.
And then horror of horrors, the girl pulls out a chair and sits down next to me.
Why me? What the fuck did I do to deserve this? I grind my teeth as anger and disappointment sit heavy in my gut.
“So where is JJ?” The girl’s voice is high pitched with youthful glee. Realistically, she’s only a couple years younger than me, but I feel old as shit sitting next to her. Luxurious brown hair falls over her shoulders, her skin glows from the vigorous workout I heard last night. She cozies my black stone mug up to her face, while glancing around with a secret smile, as if my brother might pop out from one of the cabinets at any moment, just to surprise her.
Fucking kill me now.
“He’s gone,” I say even as I turn my attention back to the paper.
“Gone, where?” Her voice still has that chirpy giddiness.
“Back into Boston, where he lives and works,” I explain.
Her perfect, thick brows bunch in confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought this was his house.”
Godsdamn, I need a mouth guard to keep up with all this teeth grinding.
“Nope,” I clarify, bracing myself for what’s coming next. “My brother lives in the city. This is my house. He only stays over when he goes to the bars and…”
Her face falls.
Shit. I never get this part right. No matter how many times I’ve had to deliver the news, I never know the right thing to say to the poor girls my brother finds and bring to my house after a night out in Boston.
While he could easily take them back to his place, he chooses to taxi the twenty minutes to my house that’s tucked away in a nice private wooded area.
Except my brother keeps turning my fortress of solitude into a depressing fucking brothel.
JJ complains that if he takes girls back to his place, they don’t leave. And as he works from home for his very important tech job, he can’t afford the distraction or the hassle of getting them out of the house.
What an absolute prick.
When my brothers finally moved out, I thought I’d finally get some time to myself while still staying close enough to enjoy the bond of our pack. But I wasn’t sure if I spent more time cleaning up after their messes now than before they left.
Tears well in the pretty girl’s eyes as she looks away, realizing she’s been blown off.
How does he do it? Seriously, how?
Some of the girls walk away none the worse for the wear, but why did most of them act like they’d found their soulmate in just one night? Either Freddy truly was as slick as salmon oil, or he was a god in the bedroom.
