Page 88 of The Fake Out

“Hold that thought. Your brother’s about to be here.” He smirked.

I narrowed my eyes. “Ass.”

He chuckled and kissed me one more time before turning back to the stove.

“I’m not sharing my beer now.” I pulled it off the counter next to his water and moved around to sit on one of the stools at the high counter behind the sink.

“You wound me,” he teased.

Behind me, the apartment door swung open. “Bambi! Where my mashed bananas at? My mouth has been watering all day,” my brother called.

“You know,” I called back, “since you moved all your stuff out, seems like you should give back your key.”

Chris scowled as he walked into the open living area. “I still pay half the rent. That shit means I don’t need to stand outside a door, waiting to be let in.”

“They might want privacy, babe.” Avery hopped up onto the barstool at the counter next to me.

“Who?” Chris whipped his head one way, glaring at me, then the other, so he could hit Em with the same expression. He pointed a finger between us. “Are you saying you need privacy from me?”

I forced myself not to react to that statement, but Emerson just chuckled.

He peered over his shoulder with a smirk. “Nah, man. Nothing you can’t see. You see my dick all the time.”

“Not by choice. Jesus,” Chris muttered, shuffling to the fridge. “Wear clothes in the locker room, and we wouldn’t have a problem.” He bent at the waist and pulled out a beer.

Em shrugged. “I tried that. You called me weird.”

“Hmm.” Avery pressed her lips together like she was fighting a smile as she took the beer from my brother.

“You better not be picturing Bambi naked, Blondie,” Chris growled.

She giggled. “No, I was picturing my dad’s face when he has to deal with you all not wanting to wear clothes.”

Emerson laughed again, and Chris huffed.

“Can I help?” Avery asked.

“Nah. Gi offered. She wants to see how I plate the mofongo.”

That was entirely untrue. I hadn’t said that at all, but I wasn’t going to complain about spending a few minutes at his side. I loved that I was his go-to when he needed a hand.

“Are we watching a movie or a show or what?” Chris asked, moving across the room to the sectional and coffee table. The end tables were gone now.

Last week, Chris had moved out almost all of his stuff. It left the place feeling empty. Most of the pictures and paintings were gone, since they had been Chris’s, and the stark walls made it feel too sterile.

Emerson had framed the skyline I’d painted when I first moved in, and that hung where the stadium used to be, but only half as many photos and books sat on the shelves now. And apart from the bed, Chris’s room was completely empty of anything that wasn’t mine.

“We’ve been watching Foyle’s War.”

The brightness in Emerson’s eyes when he mentioned the show surprised me. He hadn’t been thrilled with it when I first put it on.

“What?” Chris glared my way.

“It’s a detective show set in World War II.” It was something I had picked. So, of course, my brother would hate it.

“Why the hell would you watch that?” Chris asked. “Nothing about that sounds appealing.”

“You know, I kinda thought that too, but it’s got the feels, man.” Emerson didn’t turn away from the stove. “Not the tingles of a good happily ever after, but the emotion will choke you up.”

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