Chapter 6 Andrew
“Where the fuck am I going, Nicki?” he mutters, eying the navigation on his dash for the umpteenth time.
The request was one that he had no plans to comply with, until he remembered that Charlie and Eden were on a family date with Eden’s best friend Addy and her daughter Ella.
While they’ve all made it clear Andrew is invited, he sometimes doesn’t want to play the fifth wheel. Being the third one is bad enough.
He tried to call Nicholas back half a dozen times, but he never picked up or returned Andrew’s messages. Even Amanda was unavailable. Given that it’s her and Denise’s anniversary, it made sense but didn’t make Andrew happy.
Now he’s driving down the freeway, pretending he doesn’t want to throw up because he has no idea where he’s going.
Andrew hates surprises. He hates not knowing what to expect.
He hates not being able to mentally prepare for what’s coming so he can try and figure out a plan.
The only time Andrew has any capacity for spontaneity is when he is the one being spontaneous.
The second other people are changing the plans or refusing to make any in the first place, Andrew feels like a fucking metal rod while everyone else is relaxed and flexible.
Most of the time Andrew is fine with his brain.
It’s detail-oriented, it finds solutions to problems and it allows him to read a lot of really good books without getting distracted.
Sometimes though, sometimes his brain spirals, and he’s reminded how much work it takes him just to wake up and be a person every day.
Sometimes his brain feels like a flag blowing in the wind and fraying at the ends, and one too-strong gust is going to send him blowing into oblivion.
Abandoning all pretenses of playing it cool, he calls Nicki again, hoping he will answer.
He doesn’t. He’s watching the freeway signs indicate an upcoming merger with the Ventura freeway, which eventually leads to several more merges and splits before he would hit the I-5 at which point he’s going to end up in Los Angeles.
Nicki better not be making him drive to Los Angeles on a Friday night.
After three more rings, the phone picks up.
“Finally,” Andrew sighs. “Where the hell am I supposed to be driving to?”
“Now who’s hangry,” Nicki replies. “Did you have dinner before you left? I did tell you in my message to eat first.”
“Yes, yes, no eating on this date, I got that message loud and clear,” Andrew snaps, tapping his steering wheel. Three times with his left hand and three with his right. His eyes dart across the lanes, tracking the movement of cars as they speed down the freeway. “Where am I going, Nicki?”
“I’ll text you the address so you can tap it directly to your navigation.”
“Okay great, but where—”
“See you soon, highness.”
The phone disconnects, followed seconds later by an incoming message with an unfamiliar address that is close enough to Los Angeles to make Andrew’s blood pressure rise.
He hates Los Angeles. The city itself is fine, the people are great, the food is incredible, but the traffic is enough to almost make Andrew want to quit driving.
Setting his navigation to the address provided, he’s surprised when his GPS pops up with the name of where he’s going.
What. The. Fuck
* * *
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not, Nicki.”
“We did your date, now it’s time to do mine.”
“First, I don’t think that’s how dating works. Second, what does this kind of date have to do with making your father believe that we’re a couple? Third, did you fill out the paperwork?”
“One, it is, because I say so. Two, it’s all part of the plan. And three, uh I forgot.”
“What plan?” Andrew asks, planting his hands on his hips in an eerie impersonation of his mother. Thank god Charlie isn’t here to see it. “And did you actually forget, or are you lying to me? I swear to god if you’re lying to me, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Nicki interrupts, leaning against the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
He’s dressed down just slightly today in a pair of designer jeans and a soft looking long sleeve black shirt with a scandalously low v-neck, a myriad of his tattoos on display.
Andrew has the inexplicable urge to map them out, which only makes him feel more flustered.
“You’ll do what?” Nicki prompts when Andrew hasn’t answered.
“I’ll have strong words for you.”
“Oh no, strong words,” Nicki snickers. “You gonna tell me I’m naughty too?”
“You are naughty,” Andrew sighs. Until this very moment, he didn’t know there was a person alive who could try his patience more than his twin brother, but Nicholas Whitmore takes the cake as the most annoying, difficult, pain-in-the-ass man alive.
“You know, some of my exes called me that.”
“Yes, well I’m not your ex, am I?”
“No, you’re my boyfriend.”
“Fake boyfriend,” Andrew corrects.
Nicki waves a dismissive hand. “Details.”
Andrew twists his watch band. “I like details.”
“I bet you do. You probably read spreadsheets for fun before bed too, don’t you?”
“I do not,” Andrew answers, thinking about the book he just started last night, something he found recommended on Reddit with fated mates, and feels his face heat. “I read—well, it doesn’t matter.”
“What kind of books do you read?” Nicki questions, as if sensing Andrew’s sudden unease. “Let me guess, history?”
“No.”
“Oh wait, I bet you read something super boring like memoirs.”
“Memoirs aren’t boring, but also, no.”
“Is it—”
“Let’s just go inside and get this over with,” Andrew snaps. It’s bad enough his brothers know what kind of books he reads, but at least with them, he knows the teasing is meant to be playful.
While Andrew knows that what someone enjoys in fiction isn’t a direct relation to what they want in real life, he’s had people be weird in the past. He had one ex in college who convinced himself that Andrew’s love of reading certain things would eventually translate to him wanting it in the bedroom and had been rather unkind about it when it didn’t happen.
Andrew is perfectly content with who he is as a person.
As long as he’s in control and doesn’t have to explain it to anyone new.
He’s still not sure if he should come out to Nicki, as ace or autistic.
Both of them are so central to how he experiences and navigates the world, and yet he sometimes resents having to label himself for other people in order to be accommodated or accepted.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over there, highness.”
“I’m sure that’s a novel concept for you.”
“Ouch.” Nicki lays a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
“Fuck off.”
“Someone is feisty tonight.”
“I’m not feisty,” Andrew argues, following Nicki inside the rage room.
The fact that he’s in a rage room at all is laughable. If anyone needs this place, it’s Alec or Charlie. Not that either of them have an excessive amount of rage, but they do have a lot of energy and feelings that could use releasing. Andrew is fine. He doesn’t need to be here.
“How come there’s no one else inside?” Andrew asks when they walk into the lobby and are met with absolutely no one.
“Because I rented the entire thing out. I thought you might want some privacy to get all your rage out.”
“I don’t have rage.”
“Are you sure? Your mouth is saying one thing, but your face is saying something else.”
“Ignore my face,” Andrew says, wishing he was better at controlling his facial expressions. It’s a wonder that with his experience at masking in social situations he hasn’t yet figured out how to keep his expressions neutral.
“I can’t ignore your face, highness. It’s so nice to look at.”
“Are you flirting with me or making fun of me?” Andrew asks, ill equipped to handle either.
“The fact that you even have to ask makes me wonder.”
“Make you wonder what?” Andrew asks, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It’s not hot, but his body is flushed, and his heart is beating at a rate that is mildly uncomfortable.
“Wonder what—” Nicki starts, cut off by the back door clanging open loudly.
Andrew startles, standing up straighter and smoothing his shirt down.
“I thought you said no one was here,” Andrew grumbles.
“That’s just John. He’s got to pass out the safety gear and watch the cameras, but he’s signed an NDA so nothing that happens here will get out. You can let out all that pent up rage without fear of judgement, highness.”
“I told you I don’t have rage,” Andrew hisses, feeling a startling amount of it despite his protests. He tries to calm himself down, to will it away. He’s usually pretty good at it, but somehow it simmers too close to the surface for Andrew’s liking.
“Careful there, your face is speaking for you again.”
Nicki reaches out almost as if he intends to pinch Andrew’s cheeks, but he takes a step back before he can, glaring at him. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Hold onto that anger, it’ll be fun.”
Anger isn’t fun. Anger is stressful. Anger garners the kind of attention Andrew has spent a lifetime avoiding, or trying to divert towards his brothers whose emotional needs surpass his own.
He’s always been the calm, reliable one, and he likes it that way.
He knows he can be difficult and particular at times, so he’s always done his best to minimize himself when he can.
“You and I have very different definitions of fun.”
“I know you’re going to have fun,” Nicki replies. “We can bet on it. One thousand dollars says you’ll have a good time tonight.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being stupidly cocky right now or just stupidly rich.”
“You scared, highness?”
“I’m not scared, I’m just not going to make illogical wagers for your dick measuring contest.”
“You can measure it any time, boyfriend.”
“No, thank you,” Andrew replies.
“I bet you want that, too.” Nicki looks Andrew up once and down in what is possibly supposed to be sexy or something but just makes him look slightly unhinged. “I’ve seen how you look at me.”