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“Not good enough.”
“Then what?” He studies my expression. “Something more personal. Something that’ll really show me, right? You want me to eat a rare steak?”
I heave. “You’re gross, Atlas. I would vomit just watching you eat that, and you know it.”
“You’d prefer something more pervy than gross, wouldn’t you?”
What a fucking prick! “Suck my dick, asshole,” I say through my teeth.
“Okay.” He shrugs, and it takes me a moment to process his response to my insult. “That what you want it to be?” he presses. His expression is so unfazed that there’s no way he’s being serious, but heat surges through me so fast, I clench my fists.
“Shut up, Atlas. That’s definitely homophobic.” There are times where I’m a little quick to throw that at him, but this isn’t one of them. What the fuck is his problem?
His eyes widen. “How is that homophobic?” He looks totally lost.
“You’re making a joke about the fact that, because I’m gay, that’s what I’d want you to do to me. Like I’m some kind of perv.”
“What about that sounded like a joke? I’m trying to help you brainstorm. Surely you realize there’s nothing intrinsically homophobic about the idea of me sucking your dick.”
“You’re not queer, Atlas!”
“I can suck a dick and not be queer.”
He’s being so fucking rational when I’ve got a tank full of emotion. Damn, this is frustrating. “Whatever you meant, you know damn well you have no intention of actually doing that.”
“Well, not if you don’t ace your Thermo test. And just to be clear, you have to get an A or you lose. B plus isn’t gonna cut it, lil stepbro.” His lips tug into his dimples as he taps his beer against my shoulder. Now he’s just trying to piss me off. He’s flaunting the fact that he knows how far I am from even passing my next test, let alone acing it. And this whole BJ shit is the last straw.
“Will you just be serious for a minute? Listen to yourself. You’re telling me, if I get an A on my test, you’ll do that.”
“I’m curious why you’re so sure I wouldn’t.”
“Because we’ve known each other since we were fourteen. You’re straight, Atlas. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with you that you would even suggest that.”
“Technically,yousuggested it.”
“I was just… I…”
Fuck, he’s right.
Again.
He’s got that fucking smirk on his face. He’s living for this.
Why am I letting him get to me? If he wants to play this game, I can play it just as hard—not that my straight stepbro is going to suck my dick; that’s never going to happen, and nothing Atlas could ever say would convince me otherwise, but…
“So if I get an A, you’ll suck my dick?” The words sound ridiculous as they escape my lips, so why isn’t he flinching? “That’s how confident you are that I can’t get an A?”
“Totally.”
Does he really think it’s impossible for me to figure out Thermo? Fuck if that doesn’t just make me want to take him up on it that much more. But I hate that he’s probably right.
Another thought crosses my mind: if I do ace my next test and he doesn’t follow through with this bullshit bet…oh, that will beglorious. Neither of us has ever backed down after we lost a bet. We’ve followed through regardless of the consequences, determined to show we weren’t afraid of a challenge, if only so the other would have to follow through when they lost a bet.
If I ace this test, when he chickens out—and I do meanwhen—I’ll be free to give him hell for that for the rest of his goddamn life.
“You’re really sticking by this?” I ask, giving him one more chance to back down and accept that, ballsy as he may be, this is beyond reasonable, even for my reckless Atlas.
He takes a moment, as if thinking it over—which turns out to be just for show since he says, “Yeah. I’ll stand by that.”
