Page 75 of A Little Complicated

“Hey,” Archer greets me as he walks into the kitchen.

My head rests in my hands as I chew the tepid oatmeal at the kitchen table. I shouldn’t have come home and gotten shit-faced, but I didn’t know what else to do. The guilt was killing me. And now my head is killing me.

Karma?

Hardly, but I guess it’s a start.

Slowly, I drop my hands to the table and look up at my brother. His hair is still wet from the shower, but the kitchen was clean when I woke up, so I have a feeling he’s been awake for a while. I shouldn’t be surprised. He cleans when he’s stressed, like my dad does. The question is, is he stressed because Ophelia told him we kissed last night or is something else bothering him?

“Hey,” I reply. I shove another bite of oats into my mouth and chew slowly as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the community pot under the microwave.

“Heard you took Lia home last night.”

My heart throbs, and I choke on my oatmeal, coughing into my fist. He knows I took Lia home? Who else saw us leave together? At the time, I didn’t care. I wasn’t hiding anything. I was only trying to help. Then she called me Archer and asked me to kiss her, and—

He slaps his hand against my back in an attempt to dislodge the oatmeal from my throat, his coffee cup resting on the counter behind him. “You okay, man?”

With a nod, I reach for my water and swallow the mush. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“No worries.” He grabs his coffee again and sits next to me. “I actually wanted to thank you.”

I pick my spoon up and draw circles in the oatmeal paste, trying not to puke as I glance at him. “For what?”

“For keeping an eye on Ophelia last night. We got into a fight, and—”

“Don’t worry about it.” I spoon another bite of mush into my mouth and chew mechanically, careful not to choke this time. I’ve never lied to my brother. Not about anything.

Anything excepther.

But, fuck. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend around him. To appear unaffected. To act like I’m not in love with his girlfriend or pretend she wasn’t mine first.

“I told her I wanted to take a break,” Archer replies. “I meant from the conversation, not our relationship, but I think she took it the wrong way.” He rests his elbows on the table and cups the mug with both hands, staring blankly at the dark liquid. “She was pissed I wasn’t acting jealous about the kissing booth.”

“What?”

His focus snaps to me. “Yeah.”

So itdidbother her. Our conversation behind the stage. Is it why she pretended I was Archer last night? Was it some kind of test to see if I still wanted her? No, she wouldn’t do that. She might’ve been shit-faced, but she isn’t a bitch.

So why did she kiss me?

And why the fuck did I play along?

“Should I act jealous?” Archer prods.

Dropping my spoon into the bowl, I wipe my sweaty palms against my dark sweats. “I’m not the guy you should talk to about this.”

“You’re my brother,” he argues as if he has to remind me.

Trust me, I know.

“Fine.” I lean back in the chair and sigh. “Why don’t you get jealous?”

“Who says I don’t get jealous?”

My brows pull. “I thought—”

“I said I wasn’tactingjealous. I never said I wasn’t jealous at all,” he clarifies. “You know Ophelia. You know how much she means to me. The girl’s fucking perfect.”

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