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Self-inflicted. My heart beaten to a bloody pulp because I’m an asshole. “My head is killing me. Mom have anything around here for a headache?”
Tug wipes his milk mustache from his top lip on the back of his hand and opens one of the slim cabinets behind him. He grabs a bottle of acetaminophen and tosses it to me.
“Thanks.” After I get a bottle of water from the fridge, I sit in a chair at the table, toss back two pills, and guzzle the water until it’s gone.
Tug pulls out a chair, then flips it around and sits, resting his forearms on the backrest. “Girl trouble?”
“When do I ever have girl trouble?” I ask indignantly.
Tug laughs. “Drop the act, okay? Being the unsupervised and unnoticed third child, I know more than anyone around here.”
I grab my head, wondering why everyone is so damn loud this morning, then shrug off his comment and tell him half the truth. “I drank too much last night, and now I’m paying for it.”
“Drank too much because you’re living under the same roof as the one girl who just might make you feel something?” Tug deadpans.
“What the fuck, Tug. When did you turn into my therapist?” I try joking to end the conversation.
I’m not successful because my little brother is a pest. “I heard you and Jesse after Jake’s graduation party. You were slurring your words, but you professed your undying love for her. It was the first time I ever remember thinking you were a wuss.”
“Watch it, Tug. I can still whip your scrawny ass,” I threaten, although in my current state, if he pushes it that may not be true.
“I’m right, then.” His expression is clearly gloating. “What happened?”
He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. Maybe he should be the one in law school. My head hurts too goddamn bad to argue. “Tori just gets to me in a way no girl ever has. I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“I know what you mean,” he agrees. “Have you told her?”
His question raises all the hairs on my neck. “Hell, no! And you better keep your big mouth shut. I mean it. I’ll just screw it up anyway. She doesn’t need that.”
His hands grip the top of the backrest, and he leans back, looking at me with a befuddled expression. “That doesn’t sound like you. You usually work your ass off until you get what you want. I’m the slacker in the family.”
Tug’s not a slacker at all. He’s straight-As smart and even skipped a grade or two. Our father calls him a slacker because he’s uninterested in team sports. I’ve always admired Tug for standing up to our father. It’s more than I can do. I like football, but I played for our dad. My injury was an unexpected blessing.
Tug holds his hand to his chest, making a motion like he’s pumping his heart. “Does she make you feel all funny inside?”
“Oh, you’re hilarious, dumbass.” If my head wasn’t pounding, I’d pummel him.
He throws his hands up, preparing for me to do just that. “Just trying to lighten the mood, bro.”
“You’ve succeeded, but you’re still a dumbass.”
“Aw, that hurts, Brady.”
I shake my head. He’s truly hopeless. Obviously a change of subject is in order. “Jesse and I are taking the skis out. You want to come with us?”
He jumps up out of the chair and smacks me on the shoulder. “Do you even have to ask?”
“I’m leaving at 12:30. If you’re in the truck, you can come.”
Chapter 8
Tori
As we round the corner to Liv’s house, Brady’s in the driveway, hitching a trailer with two jet skis on it to his truck. He walks into the garage, and begins searching through the red standing tool box. Once we pull in the driveway and park, I gawk at him. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of blue low-riding board shorts. His abs are sculpted to perfection, as though an artist spent hours carving and defining them. I immediately notice three tattoos. When did he get those? There’s one on his left arm, another on his right side, and one scrolled across his chest. I’d say I’m surprised, but Brady’s always had a desire for things his parents consider to be outside the social norm.
My eyes follow the V-shape from above his hips to the waistband of his shorts. For the briefest of seconds I let myself wonder what he looks like without the shorts. Holy shit! Get your head out of the goddamn gutter, Victoria!
Liv pushes me in the arm. “Close your mouth, Tor. You’re gonna catch flies.”
