Page 8 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

Several false starts before, "Because I wanted to hear you say it!" He guffaws, nearly chokes.

"You and your friends can jump off the Harbour Bridge."

"Not my fault! And I'm calling to make sure you know you can stay at the house⁠—"

"Leon."

"What? Stay," he says, once he can speak. "I mean it. I don't need my room, and I talked to the guys, they're totally fine with it. They're barely home anyway, between work and the bars. You're basically a little sister to them. They're used to you."

Like a little sister to them. Oh, wouldn't he like to know.

"I can't, Leon. It's too weird."

"Only weird if you make it weird."

How do I explain we all already made it weird, three separate ways, years ago. "It's already weird. It can only get weirder."

"Pfft. You're catastrophising."

"Where'd you learn that word, Leon?"

"I read," he says, almost insulted.

"Read what? Word-of-the-day toilet paper?"

"You staying at the house or not? Trying to wrap this up, I'm nearly at the Airbnb, and I'll need the toilet the second I get there, so decide if you want to stay on the line for that."

I pull a face at the phone. "You're so gross. No. I'm not staying. They saw me in a towel, brandishing a banana gun. I cannot come back from that."

"So what, then? Hotel till you find a place? If you've got that kind of money lying around, I'd have hit you up for an investment."

Buttwaffle. He's got me there. The PhD stipend covers the bare necessities, not savings, not luxuries. Not exactly expensive dinners and certainly not a week at a hotel.

"I'll work it out. I'll... sleep in my car."

We both know I won't. I like a bed. Given the choice, I'd rarely leave mine.

He sighs. "Xi-Xi." Register drops, big brother voice. "Stay at the house. I mean I might be gone for a month. So stay at least for the week you would've had if they hadn't come back. Please. Use the time to sort out proper accommodation. The guys really want you to."

Lies. That's a lie right there. I very strongly doubt all three of them want that.

Muffled voices, another door slam, he's arrived. "Jokes aside, you know I'll worry if I don't know what's going on with you. Can't relax and do my job otherwise."

I roll my eyes, but it's not an exaggeration. He's always genuinely cared, my wellbeing, my safety, helping me navigate a world I didn't always know how to. "I'll think about it. And either way, thank you. For looking out for me."

"No problem, little sis. Anything for you. You know you're my favourite person."

I scoff. "After all the other favourite people in your life, right?"

He pauses. "Shouldn't it be enough you're on the list at all?"

Can't help the laugh that gets out.

"Think about it, text me when you land on the conclusion I'm right, and I'll let the guys know." There's the sound of a key lockbox opening. "Wouldn't want you to" — pause, and I know exactly what's coming — "walk in and catch them in nothing but a towel, after all."

"You fu⁠—"

The line cuts before I finish the sentence he fully deserves to hear.