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“And you’re not?” He lifts the cup in his hand as if just remembering that Rita handed it to him when we came outside. Smiling, he takes a long gulp.
“Clearly not as drunk as you are.” I laugh at him. My brother is a funny drunk, though I’ve only seen him drunk a handful of times and that was usually when he’d sneak into the house in the middle of the night after partying with Atlas and their usual crowd.
“Sad for you.” He drains the remaining contents from his cup, crushing it before tossing it behind him on the porch.
I’m about to yell at him for throwing his trash down when I see the porch is already littered with cups and bottles that other people left there.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“Almost eleven,” Rita answers after checking the time on her Apple watch.
“Seriously?” I question. “Have we really been here over two hours?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Atlas winks, the two of us sharing a little private exchange. “What’s wrong, B? You’re not going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, are you?” He takes a playful jab at me, no doubt to keep up our usual ruse.
“Actually, it’s the carriage that turns into a pumpkin, dumbass. Not the princess.”
“Oh, so you’re a princess now?” His smile is infectious and damn it, I find myself smiling right back at him.
“Damn right, I am.” I nod, matter of fact.
“My apologies, your grace.” He gives me a dramatic bow.
“I think I liked you two better when you were at each other’s throats,” Brennon grumbles, shaking his head. “I need another drink. Come on, babe.” He drops an arm over Rita’s shoulder.
“You coming?” she asks me, smiling like a lovesick fool.
“In a minute. I’m going to stay out here for a few.”
“Okay.” She throws a little wave up as her and my brother head inside.
“You think he suspects something?” Atlas’s voice washes over me from behind and I turn around as he takes a seat on the wooden bench that’s pressed directly up against the house.
“Brennon?” I shake my head, sliding down next to him before stretching my legs out in front of myself. “He could probably catch us alone in a dark room and not suspect anything. He trusts us.”
“Guess that makes this all the more fucked up then, huh?” He leans back, tipping his cup to his lips.
“We could always stop.” I mirror his actions, taking a long drink of my beer. When he doesn’t respond, I turn my face to find him looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Do you want to stop?” he finally asks.
“No. Do you?”
“Fuck no, I don’t.”
“But we can’t keep doing this forever.”
“I know.” He blows out a hard breath.
“We could always tell him,” I say almost apologetically.
“Why the fuck would we do that?” His response is harsh and I rear back like he’s spit in my face.
“I don’t know, you just said you don’t want to stop.” Irritation grows in my voice but I try to keep it at bay.
Maybe this isn’t the best time to be having this conversation. Hell, wasn’t I just saying earlier how I wasn’t ready for this to end which is why I hadn’t brought this up yet. So what the fuck am I doing?
“I don’t want to stop fucking, B. That doesn’t mean I want to tell your brother about it.”
