My drunk impatient brother.
He takes one look at me and pushes his way into the room, giving me no choice but to back up a few steps, despite my protest.
“Nate! What the hell?”
“Who’s here with you?” he demands, poking his head into the bathroom.
“No one,” I lie, thankful he’s not looking at me to see the deceit in my eyes.
After his snooping in my bathroom, he goes to check the closet, but I slam a hand against the door before he can slide it open. “Nathan Miller! What do you think you’re doing right now?”
Nate’s eyes are glassy, but he seems to be functioning well enough. He’s definitely drunk though. And pissed. “Is it him? Is he here with you?”
For a millisecond I think my greatest fear has come true. Nate’s figured everything out between Liam and me, and he’s here to confront me about it. To catch us in the act.
He growls. “If Paul is in here, tell me right now because I will put my fucking foot straight up his ass and not feel guilty about it for one second.”
The emotional rollercoaster sends me straight into relief. If it weren’t for my hand on the closet, I may sag straight to the ground with how grateful I am that he thinks Paul was the one here. But then anger flashes inside of me.
“If you think I’d let that asshole anywhere near me after everything I’ve been through with him then you’re a bigger asshole than he is,” I snarl.
My reaction seems to startle him. He blinks a few times at me, his head tilting to the side, gauging my response. Finally he comes to his senses.
“You’re right. Sorry. I just…” He runs a hand through his dark hair. “I heard you in here and it smells like men’s cologne.”
Oh god. I don’t want to know what else Nate smells in this room. His fucking nose. I swear to god, I hate it. All I hear about all the time is how good Savanna always smells. It’s the hazards of living with them and their sickeningly sweet romance.
“Who’s in here with you?” Despite his sheepish expression, his tone is expectant. He wants an explanation. Too bad for him, he’s not going to like anything I have to say.
“Bob,” I tell him.
His brows furrow. “Who’s Bob?”
Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest as he puts his hands on his hips. The defiance in both of us would be comical if I wasn’t still panicking over the fact that I have Nate’s half-naked best friend hiding on the other side of my room.
“Nate, you can’t be that dense.” Taking a deep, exasperated breath, I let it out in a huff, trying to give off the impression that I’m annoyed rather than flustered. “Bob is my battery operated boyfriend.”
I see the second my words register in his head, and how he puts the puzzle pieces together. It’s probably slower than it would be if he were sober, but his grimace, and the reddening of his neck that quickly moves into his face, is hysterical.
I beam at him, having no scruples talking about this with my brother.
It’s better than the alternative.
“Jesus Christ.” Another hand through his hair as his face grows redder. “I don’t want to know anymore.”
I figured he wouldn’t. Which means I’m home free.
“Jesus. Did you even wash your hands?” he asks, freezing halfway through his hair ruffle.
“When was I supposed to do that? You were banging on the door pretty hard,” I respond, emphasizing the word “banging”.
“Christ, please don’t say it like that.”
“You were pounding on the door?” I clarify, choking back a laugh at the way his jaw clenches. Even his ears are red now. “Hitting it?”
“Stop!” he waves his hands in front of his face, signaling his surrender. “I don’t want to hear any more!”
With a smug smile, I gesture towards the door. “Great. Get out and you won’t.”
