“You’re a dumb fucker sometimes, Artemis.”
If he knew just how dumb, he’d drag me to a therapist himself.
Ares is theonlysibling who can call me out on my bullshit without me killing him. It’s because he’s this perfect balance of Loki and Thor. Somewhere between cheeky chaos and loveable big brother, in a younger brother’s body.
I say nothing, closing my eyes to enjoy the hot-and-spicy cheesy taste. He’s not ruining this meal for me. I refuse to let him. He pinches me. Fucking pinches me. Right at my middle, making my eyes snap open, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I look at the food. Fuck, he got a double portion of buffalo bites. He means business.
“I’m staging an intervention.”
I’ve half a pork belly taco shoved in my face so I only groan until my mouth is empty. “I see this. At least it’s a well catered intervention.”
“You always used to give me shit about letting my dick make decisions for me.”
I nod, because yes, I did that. We all did. For a while there, Ares’s dick was an unreliable narrator that led him to some questionable characters. I’m not sure how he maintained his sobriety before he met Eloise.
There’s a pang in my chest at the thought of my brotherand his fiancée. She’s the quiet to his loud, the calm to his storm, and the two of them are so sickeningly fucking perfect for each other it makes my teeth hurt. Or maybe that’s all the clenching.
“My dick’s not making decisions.” Anymore. Two days ago, it made the decision to fuck Xavier Martinez over the arm of a couch in the house I bought solely to be able to fuck him without being seen.
Extreme? Maybe. But it’s a good part of the city and will bring in a steady rental value… assuming I turn it around. My realtor has been up my ass about getting it on the rental market ASAP, but I couldn’t do it until I’d had Xavier. And now I can’t do it because the couch needs cleaning.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself. It’s not at all because a fissure has sprouted and spread across the beating organ in my chest. It’s not at all because I want him again. Or want to stay in the house because it’s close to him, and now he knows where it is he might go back to visit?
The truth is uglier: I’m terrified he won’t. And even more terrified he will.
Fingers snap in front of my eyes drawing me out of my potential Xavier spiral. “Earth to Arte.” Another snap of Ares’s fingers makes my hand shoot out to capture his.
“Fuck off.”
“Not until I get through to your thick skull, Hermano.”
“About what? I’m not fucking anyone.”
He arches his eyebrow at me. “I know. But you should be.”
My heart stutters. Wait. What? He might have tried to set me up with one of our rivals, but did he do it as a practical joke? Or as something more? The ache in my chest throbs enough that to stop myself grinding the heel of my hand through my ribs to massage it. I cram another taco into my mouth.
It’s all too raw. The sex I swore I’d never have has wrecked me, and now I want more. And my younger—enabling—brother is here telling me to go do just that?
“You deserve someone who actually sees you, Artemis.”
Being seen feels too close to being known, and being known feels like a fucking liability. I blink, going through the catalog of reasons as to why I can’t be withanyonelet alone let someone in whoseesme.
What the hell is Ares on? If he didn’t treasure his sobriety almost as much as his beloved Eloise, I’d think he was off the wagon saying shit like that. I sigh, getting two non-alcoholic beers from the fridge, popping the tops, and handing one to him.
“I set you up with Xavier for a reason. I thought he’d be good for you. He’s interested in you, he’s hot, he’s a hockey player so you have shit in common, and he’s far enough away that you’ll have space but close enough that you can see him.” He drains half his bottle while what he says sinks in.
“It’s fucking perfect.” He pinches his finger and thumb together and pops them from his bottom lip. “Chef’s fucking kiss, Arte. And you’re just…” He shakes his head. “My Cupiding is lost on you. Wasted. You’re undeserving.”
I shake my head, but he counters with an aggressive nod before reaching for a pizza puff that he rips apart and crams both halves in his mouth. “I don’t know what’s going on in there.” He taps my head with his greasy, pizza fingers. “But you need an intervention.” He gestures to himself. “So here I am. Could you wake the fuck up before this amazing opportunity passes you by?”
“Opportunity?” Opportunity is my middle name. Seems it’s the middle name for all of my siblings. There’s a reason we are all successful independent of our piece of shit father.
He has the audacity to flick me in the face again, so I dig him in the ribs. “Ow. The fuck was that for?”
He looks at me like he’s so completely over it, like I’m the biggest idiot in the whole goddamn world. “My dude, you need fucking therapy.”
Tell me something I don’t already know. But if I start unpacking all of this, I’m afraid the whole damn structure of me, myself, and I will collapse. I open my mouth to tell him I don’t have time, see also: the eighteen-hour day I just worked, when he shoves a potsticker in my half-open mouth.
