Immediately annoyed.
“Shut up.”
“You really care!”
“I care about lots of things,” I grumble.
“No, asshole. You care about her.”
I hate it when he's right.
Mostly because he knows it.
“It's just—it’s different with her.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Silence.
Then, he barks like a goddamn dog.
“Ha! Holy shit.”
“Don't.”
“You admitted it.”
“Ego.”
“You admitted it out loud.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I!”
I rub a hand over my face.
This was a mistake.
Talking to him is always a mistake.
Actually, being related to him is a mistake.
“Fine. Yes. She's different,” I mutter.
“Yeah. And?”
“She's not?—”
“Like the others?”
I hate that he knows exactly what I'm about to say.
“Yeah.”
“Because you actually like her.”
“Shut up.”
