Page 32 of The Wild Charge

Reese hadn’t ever been on the receiving end ofthatsort of look, so he paused, uncertain. Held his arms out to his sides. “Is it okay?”

A long beat of silence passed, filled by the inane chatter of whichever reality show Tenny had decided on for the evening. (He always claimed he didn’t like that sort of thing, that he was watching it to “see what civilians deemed entertainment,” but he always wound up grinning over whatever housewife catfight was playing out on the screen.)

Tenny’s throat bobbed as he swallowed; Reese could hear the dry click of it. He hadn’t blinked yet, face still caught in a state of absolute blankness. Finally, voice flat, he said, “Yeah, it’s okay.” Then he stood, stretched, plucked up one of their shopping bags and ducked into the bathroom.

Reese stared at the closed door a moment. As the shower cut on with a hiss, he realized the feeling in the pit of his stomach was disappointment, but he didn’t know why.

~*~

“Congrats,” Fox whispered, right in his ear, “you played yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Tenny snapped, because it was the only thing he could think to say besidesyou’re right, and like hell was he saying that to Fox of all people.

They’d rented a car for the night, and, once Fox’s phone pinged with the notification that it had been dropped off at the hotel, they’d headed down to it.

Night had fallen, the cicadas competed with traffic for loudest background noise, and Reese walked ahead of them across the parking lot, jacket covering the stripe of bare back that Tenny knew to be exposed between his tank top and waistband.

The outfit had seemed like a great idea while they were shopping. He’d picked out the choker and the belt himself; added a cheap silver chain with an obnoxious skull pendant to hang around his neck. Sight of the tank top had left his mouth a little dry in the store, sure, with its overlarge arm and neck holes.

He hadn’t realized, somehow, that it was acrop top.

“Is it okay?” Reese had asked, uncertainty writ clear on his face – or, well, clear to Tenny. Anyone else would have thought he looked bored. Or, even worse, expressionless.

And, no, he hadn’t lookedokay.

In truth, he looked stupid, because college kids these days leaned hipster and Reese looked like he was headed to a Fall Out Boy concert in 2003. The studs on the belt were just…no. Very no.

But his waist was tiny, and his abs were more shredded than his jeans, which fit like a second skin, and he lookedincredible.

Tenny took a very cold shower before he pulled on his own clothes: black jeans, too, only a little shredded, and a long red flannel; a pair of fake black-rimmed glasses.

Reese had looked at him, when he’d emerged from the bathroom, and his nostrils had flared in a faint show of irritation.

“We can’t both be emo,” Tenny had reasoned, shrugging into his jacket, stealing another glimpse of bare midriff; the jeans were so low-slung he could see the faint blond line of Reese’s treasure trail.

He tried to think of anything but that, now, as they crossed the parking lot. A family was camped out at the hotel pool, the kids shrieking and bashing each over the head with foam noodles. The quick whoop of sirens signaled someone getting pulled over for running the light at the intersection. Moths clustered around the security lights, and the heat and humidity were already getting him sweaty between his shoulder blades.

“…earth to Randy Shithead.”

Oh. Fox was talking to him.

Tenny took a breath and turned to his brother with slow control, single brow lifting in mild inquiry.

One of Fox’s brows shot up, too, his smirk mocking. “You going to be able to do this? Or should I just go on my own and leave you to your imaginings?”

Tenny let several seconds pass. “You look ridiculous,” he said, and reached to flick the bill of Fox’s trucker cap. It was white and red mesh, with the Bud Light logo printed across the front.

Fox’s grin was sly. “Uh-huh. You know, if you can’t hack it in the club, you could always have Raven hook you up with some of her fashion contacts. You could be one of those guys behind the scenes who dresses people.”

“And you could suck my cock.”

“No, thanks. You’ve already got someone to do that for you.”

Very much against his will, Tenny felt his face heat, and could only hope that the blush didn’t show in the dim parking lot. He and Fox had gone back and forth with each other from the first, but he wished now that he’d never confessed to him; now, the teasing was pointed, and no longer the aimless, typical jabs of a brother searching for a weak spot. Tenny had handed his weak spot over on a silver platter.

How sloppy of him.

How pathetic.

---