Page 144 of Hidden Empire

I scrunch my nose at the description. “There’s nothing romantic or sexual about it.”

He blinks, skeptical. “There’s nothing sexual about straddling his lap and letting him kiss your face?” I’d hardly call sleeping on him in distress straddling, but I suppose the description isn’t far off.

“Neither of us gets like…” I groan, trying to explain it. “We don’t see each other in that way, so it doesn’t feel that way.”

He shrugs a little. “Seems unlikely.”

“He’s never gotten hard,” I bite out. “Is that what you want to hear? We don’t want each other that way.”

“And that angers you?”

“No, it frustrates me to have to repeat myself and explain relationship stuff to my brother. I don’t want to talk about what does and doesn’t tickle my fancy.”

His lips thin, but like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle. “Tickle your fancy?”

“I don’t want to talk about what does and doesn’t turn me on, is that better?” I huff, crossing my arms. “God, what is it about brothers and having uncomfortable-ass conversations? Does this give you some kind of brotherly joy?”

He smiles mildly. “No, but it distracts you through landing, doesn’t it?”

What?

Wait.

“Holy shit,” I gape, looking out my window. “We’re on the ground? How did you?—”

“You hate landing,” he muses simply. “And this time, you didn’t have to experience it. You’re welcome.”

My lips threaten to wobble and I stand up from my seat just to toss my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Apollo.”

He grunts at the force of it and awkwardly pats my back twice. “I just distracted you, I didn’t hand you a million dollars. I wasn’t even nice about it.”

“You’re such a good big brother.”

“Okay?” he replies, bewildered.

“For such a sweet guy, you’d think you’d have a girlfriend.”

At this, he grumbles, detangling himself from me and standing up from his seat. “I’m hardly sweet and certainly don’t want a girlfriend.”

“You’d be a great boyfriend,” I counter. “So thoughtful, and?—”

“No,” he interrupts.

“No?”

“No, we’re not talking about this. Do you want me to help you with Dad, or what?”

I pout my bottom lip but relent. “Do you have a plan?”

“Do I have a plan?” he sniffs, offended. “We’re already in phase two.”

Oh. Well, that’s good.

“What was phase one?”

“Calling Dad while you were sleeping.”

Damn. Not so good, actually.

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