Chapter 9 Freddie #2
I give myself a shake. That’s your ego talking, Freddie.
Damn, this feels rotten. Getting knocked back by guys at Sabre, rare as it might be, doesn’t sting like this.
It’s weird—I can count the number of times I’ve been rejected by men on one hand, each of them just as easy to forget about as the last. So, what’s so different about this time?
Why do I feel like I’ve just had the shit kicked out of me by a hundred angry bouncers?
Once my food’s ready, I eat it on the couch and sulk for a bit. I play a few rounds on Rory’s Playstation to distract myself, but no matter how many monsters I eviscerate, I can’t shake the gnawing feeling inside.
The front door opens and Rory stomps in, carrying three bags of groceries in each hand. He struggles with the door for a moment, and I use the opportunity to hide my dirty Tupperware under the sofa. He clocks me, a suspicious look in his eye.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Just got in,” I explain. “Shouldn’t you be picking up heavy things and putting them down again?”
Rory frowns. “You’re finished already?”
“Six hours, done and dusted. Oh, and look at this,” I pull the twenty out of my pocket and wiggle it in the air. “My tips! Not bad, eh?”
Rory places the shopping down on the kitchen counter and marches over to me. He takes the twenty and inspects it, as though it might be a very convincing hologram.
“You earned this in one morning?” he asks, dubiously.
I flatten my palms and frame my jaw with my hands, pouting like a pageant winner. “What can I say? I was born to sell hipster coffee.”
“Maybe you were,” Rory says, folding up my twenty and putting it in his pocket. I open my mouth to object but he cuts across me. “You can give me the other thirty when you earn it.”
“The other thirty?”
“From the fifty I gave you yesterday.”
“Wait, seriously? I thought that was—” Rory’s thunderous expression tells me that fifty quid was not, in fact, the donation I thought it was, but a loan.
Guess I should’ve known better. This is my banker brother we’re talking about.
I wilt under his gaze, remembering the manners I don’t have.
“I mean, um, yes. Thank you. I will get that to you as soon as I can.”
“Correct.” Turning his back, Rory returns to his groceries. “It’s for your own good, Freddie. Paying your debts is just part of being a grown up.”
I lay back on the sofa and buckle in for a lecture.
“Getting stoned and fannying around on your guitar isn’t helping anyone. Shagging your way around the town isn’t doing you any good either—”
Debatable, but there’s no point in boasting about my sexual exploits, especially to my brother whom I'm pretty sure hasn't gotten laid in years. Instead, I grab a cushion and mash my face into it as Rory drones on. I’ve heard this speech a hundred times. I wish I had some weed.
“I mean, just look at me!” I can tell from his tone that he's swaggering around like an overzealous estate agent. “Four years at Mason it’s the only guarantee I have of not pissing him off further.
I groan into my hands. Today was going so well.
Fuck my life.