Page 22 of Swim To Me

Noah raises his brows. “A somebody?”

I grumble, “Stop taking the piss out of me.”

“Gotta keep your head on the ground somehow… keep going, G.”

“It’s nothing.” I need to give myself a fucking shake. “She might not even show up again, so—”

“Show up?” Noah questions, pushing his –my–now empty beer bottle onto the coffee table sans coaster. Mum would fucking kill him if she saw.

“You dating?” Hudson grunts out.

I smooth down Mollie’s downy hair, desperately trying to get a word in edgeways. Not easy to do when you’re a middle child. “No, I’m teaching her how to swim, so—”

“She hot?” he asks.

“Yeah, but—”

“You gonna ask her out?” Not once does Hudson’s eyes leave the telly. It’s a tiny bit disturbing.

“No, she’s off limits, because she’s a—”

“Not this again,” he grumbles, swigging from his drink. “If you like her, just ask her out. Simple.”

“I—”

“Pretend nothing embarrassing happened, you’ve probably made it worse in your head anyways, and get your head back in the game. You’re Grey fucking Millen.”

Silence creeps across the room after his speech until Hudson reaches for the remote control and turns up the volume, bringing with it the shrill blow of the referee’s whistle and the roar of the crowd in the football stadium.

Across the room, Blake gives me a tilt of his head, as if to say ‘he’s got a point, you know?’

I resume stroking Mollie’s back, the delightful quiet coming from her and puffs of breath tickling my collarbone, telling me she’s fast asleep.

My fucking god, I’ve just been schooled by my twenty-five-year-old little brother.

Not only that, but his words are actually sinking into my skin, into my subconsciousness, making me question why I’m trying to pull away from the attraction I feel towards Delilah in the first place. As long as she feels the same way and it’s consensual between the two of us, then why can’t I ask her out?

I could ask her when I next see her, maybe? After our swimming lesson?

I’m not doing anything wrong. We’re both adults.

God, how did I get to this point in my life, where my little brother is the one helping me shoot my shot?

Faith pokes her head through the doorway. “Dinner’s ready.”

Thank fuck.

Careful not to jostle her awake, I slip Mollie in her mother’s waiting hands, returning Faith’s grateful smile. As she heads upstairs to put the baby down for a well-deserved nap, I follow the mouth-watering scent of home cooked food, practically shoving my siblings out of the way.

The succulent chicken already sits in the middle of the laid-out table upon a platter, freshly carved to reveal juicy white breast, and a mountain full of wispy steam. Smaller plates dot the table too; fluffy roast potatoes, a bowl of buttery mash, mixed greens and two jugful’s of gravy.

“Looks amazing, Mum.” I press a kiss to her powdered cheek, taking the goblet of water from her hands, and taking my seat beside Blake as I always do.

Mum preens under our praise. “Dig in, then!”

Silence falls over us boys, the way it always does when food is involved, as we spoon out our helpings from the large dishes. We’ve been doing this for so long, our routine is practically ingrained in my memory, something I take great comfort in.

Faith slips in as Noah finishes fixing her plate, pouring gravy over her piece of chicken before Hudson can steal it all.

---