Page 24 of The Brotherly Shove

"Kira, it was wonderful to meet you, but can you excuse me for a second?" I ask, handing the empty shot glass back to her and storming off across the room before she has a chance to answer me.

"Can I talk to you?" I say, purposefully invading Breaker's personal space in the kitchen where I found him chatting with some guy wearing a dark grey cardigan, holding hands with a woman dressed in leggings, a crop top and a flannel shirt with a messy bun tied on top of her head. I can tell they're both staring at me, but I'm only looking at Breaker.

“Later, Lennon. Amir and Rachel here were just telling me about their McLaren—” I cut him off before he can finish.

"No. Now." I grip his bicep and pull him towards the closet door, slamming and locking it around us. A bag of tortilla chips falls from a shelf as I realize I've locked us in a pantry. A pantry that's bigger than my entire bedroom, by the way. I don't like to use my size as an advantage over anyone off the gridiron, but I'm fucking pissed, so I crowd Breaker, backing him into a shelf and caging him in with my arms on either side of his head.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I growl in his stupid, beautiful face.

CHAPTER 14

BREAKER

Now

San Francisco, California

"What the fuck is your problem?" Lennon snarls at me, his face red, a bead of sweat carving a path down his forehead. I've never seen this side of him off the football field. I think I feel my nuts shrivel up just a little.

I don't often say this, but I wish I had been drinking tonight. I never actually got a sip of the beer Lennon brought me, and after the awkwardness, I couldn't be bothered to find a drink when all I wanted was to get away from him. At least if I had been drinking then I would have an excuse for not knowing what the actual fuck is going on. Lennon and I had finally reached a sort of peace in our relationship. Not as friends but teammates at least. I shouldn't have rocked the boat by walking into the house with him tonight. He just looked so damn nervous standing outside of the mansion and even though we were both completely out of our element, my need to care for him overwhelmed all my better senses.

Then that damn adorable kid had to open her big mouth about the forehead kisses heard round the world.

Okay, maybe the words weren't heard around the entire world, but they have most definitely been running laps in my mind for weeks.

It fucking sucks. I had just gotten used to hearing the words 'brotherly shove' without wanting to retreat in on myself and die. I was even able to lie to myself and say I felt nothing everytime Lennon would hug me or kiss my head after a good play. It's just team spirit, right? It doesn't mean anything more than a high five or a butt patt.

But of course, Lennon couldn't have backtracked any further when he answered the kidlet. It's like he opened up a thesaurus to a page titled 'Words to Let the Whole World Know That There Is Absolutely No way I Could Ever See Breaker Lawson As Anything More Than a Pal' and said every single one of them. He called me bro again, and I can't decide if I hate him or myself more for letting it get under my skin.

I just wanted to get through this party, keep my head down so I don't have to face a million questions about what it's like to be the starting QB only a few games into my rookies season, and go home.

Lennon clearly has no such worries about not causing waves, because there's no way he had laying low on the brain when he grabbed me from conversation with two very polite people and shoved me in a damn pantry. He certainly isn't thinking about etiquette now as he crowds my body against a shelf, his face only inches from my own.

Lennon has a look on his face that is typically reserved for staring down his opponents on the turf. His usually icy eyes are dark with ire. His entire body is heaving, I can practically hear his heart beating heavily in his chest. Goddammit, he's gorgeous, even when he's pissed. Again, my need to care for him consumes me, and I squeeze my fists together to keep myself from runninga hand over the thick facial hair on his cheek. I have to take a steadying breath before I can speak.

"What the fuck is my problem? What the fuck is your problem? You're the one who just shoved me in a fucking pantry like a lunatic," I say, attempting to gesture to the room around us, but my range of motion is cut off by Lennon's arms trapping me against the shelf.

"Because you won't talk to me!" He exclaims, his voice a thunderous echo against the four walls surrounding us. "Christ, Breaker, I thought we were finally getting somewhere after that stupid fucking fight at camp. The game in Knoxville, all the ones since, earlier tonight when we showed up at this party together. I thought we were getting past something. I thought we were going to spend some time together."

"Oh my god. We arrived at the same time, Len. It was a coincidence and acknowledging your existence was the polite thing to do. We didn't show up together. You didn't ask me to come to the party with you, Len. I was invited. The whole team was. This isn't a fucking date." I run a hand through my hair and when I look back up at him, Lennon has lost some of the anger that was just burning on his face.

"I…I wasn't suggesting…" He stammers, and god, he actually looks hurt. Dammit, I'm fucking perfecting the art of being a pissy asshole who pushes him away at every turn. I really don't want to be this guy anymore. Ignoring my feelings for Lennon and just being friends when we were in college was tiring. Whatever it is I'm doing now? The sort of friendly but also distant, semi apologetic but pissed off at every turn act? It's downright exhausting.

"Lennon, shit. I'm sorry. You're right. I'm being an asshole, but it has nothing to do with you. I'm just in a mood." I give his shoulder a squeeze and he surprises me by rolling his head back in a sarcastic laugh.

"Nothing do with me. Bullshit, B. You were fine until you weren't. You have no problem chatting away and playing the doe-eyed, future star quarterback schtick with everyone else at this fucking party, but you won't even stand in the same room as me. We used to be best friends, Breaker. We were an inseparable pair. We were meant to fucking be, and then we get to camp and you decide we're just not fucking friends anymore, out of nowhere. I have no idea what happened. Will you just tell me what I did to get that got you all hot under the collar so I can apologize and put this shit behind us? Fuck, I'm sick of tiptoeing around you, dude."

My lip trembles, and I feel the twist in my gut pull tighter. As tired as I am, in this moment, I want to keep playing the avoidance game. It's safe here. There's a big metal cage surrounding my heart here.

But fuck. He's gonna stand here and say shit like 'meant to fucking be' as if there is anything remotely platonic about that statement? He might be blind, but I know he's not stupid. There has to be some part of him that knows there's more between us, and that it's got me all completely fucked in the head.

Screw this. We've been dancing around each other long enough. I'm sick of it.

If he wants the truth, I'll give him the truth.

"What's got me hot under the collar is that I'm not yourfuckingbrother, Lennon. I'm not your bro, not your broski, I'm not any of that shit. I never have been. What I am is the idiot who let a stupid crush get under my skin. I was fine in the friend zone, Len. I was good. I was happy there. I would've been able to sweat you out like nobody's goddamn business if you had just kept your fucking mouth shut and your hands to yourself. That night after the last championship game we won together, you just had to 'go all Lennon' on me. You had to keep your arm wrapped around me in the bar, had to climb into my bed like you alwaysdid. You had to stare up at me with your head on my goddamn pillow with your stupid, gorgeous 'fuck me' eyes and stroke my bare skin before telling I'm like a goddamn brother to you? I know you're an only child, but that's not how fucking brothers act,bro." I spit the last word at him, poking him in the chest as I do. His mouth drops open, and I think for a second that he might skip the talking and just punch me square in the face.

"Oh my god," he says after a heavy moment. "You are an idiot." He runs a hand over his face, swiping over his jawline a few times.

---