Page 76 of Claiming What Is Mine

Chapter Thirty-Four

Gabe

“Hank, damnit.”

“What?” Hank looks at me, confused by my irritation.

“You just spilled your beer in my lap, ya jerk.”

“Did not. I wouldn’t treat a beer that way.”

I point at the dark spot in the crotch of my Levi’s. “What’s this look like to you?”

“Like you have issues with bladder control.” Hank smiles, pleased by his timely cleverness. “And how do you think I spilled my beer in your lap, anyway?”

“Uh, did you not just lean across me to snag the remote?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t use the hand holding my beer. Duh.”

I shake my head. “Well. While your free hand was reaching for the remote, where was the other one? The one holding the beer?”

“I braced myself on your leg, so I didn’t fall into your lap.”

“But you didn’t keep the bottle upright—hence...” I gesture back at the crotch of my jeans.

“Stop trying to make me look at your junk and go home and change already, if you’re going to be such a Nancy about it.”

His dismissing my complaint only pisses me off more. “What are you trying to watch anyway? Do you want to watch the game? Or, are you just trying to be a dick?”

Without looking away from the television Hank answers, “Nah, the Broncos aren’t playing today. I’m just biding my time, until the turkey is ready.”

I roll my eyes. “Ever think to ask if there’s something I’d like to watch?”

Hank cocks his head to consider the question. “Nope.”

“Seriously, are you at least going to apologize?”

Hank chuckles. “Will you stop whining if I do?”

“You’re such a dick.” I lean back into the couch, contorting at my waist to find an angle that allows me to kick him with the toe of my boot. “At least get up and grab a towel.”

“Jesus. I know Meredith is pregnant, but when she gets here, ask if she has a tampon in her purse, will ya?”

I know I’ll regret it, but I ask anyway. “Why?”

“Sounds like you could use one.” Before he marches off towards the kitchen, Hank stops to make a big gesture about setting his beer down on the end of the coffee table—as far away from me as he can—to be sure we are both aware that it’s not at risk of spilling on me while he’s gone.

What’s got me on edge tonight? It’s Thanksgiving, and no one knows for sure if Leo’s going to show. If that little shit does show up without his tail between his legs apologizing, I’m going to lose it. Frank and I haven’t spoken since Chet’s wedding because of him. So, I guess I’m nervous for Mom. Maybe I’ll feel better when Mer gets here. She’s home putting the finishing touches on a cake for dessert. Mom insisted it wasn’t necessary, but it was her way of contributing (without waiting for an official invitation to help Mom in the kitchen).

A hand towel smacks the side of my head, causing me to jump up from the couch. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Damn. That was awesome. ” Hank plops back down in his seat. “I wasn’t even aiming for your head. I mean, not really.”

I roll my shoulders and crack my neck before wiping at my beer stained crotch. “Little brother, it really says something that your company makes me wish Chet was around, you know?” I blot my jeans with the towel. “Why don’t you see if Mom needs help in the kitchen?”

“I’m fine right here.” Hank picks up the remote and resumes channel clicking too fast to know what he’s looking at. “You’re the one who’s all sensitive tonight. Why don’t you go help?”

I look up from my jeans. “I already offered, and she kicked me out.”

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