Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Brandon
The last few days hanging out with him one-on-one have been … interesting. I thought us kissing, and then standing there, listening to him jerk off while barely being able to see more than a flesh-colored blur, would make things awkward or tense, but Robbie is Robbie. Nothing gets to him.
I’m glad for it too, because I don’t know where to go from here.
It’s a weird feeling to have the house to ourselves.
He spends a lot of time knitting while I scroll through social media or play video games.
I’m so used to the constant noise, even late at night, the movement of people coming and going, the cars passing up and down Greek Row.
With all the houses empty or close to it, things are quiet.
Too quiet.
The line between peaceful and boring is a thin one.
I finish drinking my coffee, looking out at the clean, untouched snow on our front lawn before grabbing my phone and calling home.
Mom answers on the first ring. “Merry Christmas, oh wayward son.”
“You’ve been waiting all week to say that, haven’t you?”
“She wouldn’t have to say it if you’d come home,” Dad calls from somewhere in the background.
“You’re both making me regret calling you.”
“Brandon Blakely, you show your parents some respect.”
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Grandma.” I chuckle when she pretends to gasp. “Must be a side effect of getting old.”
“Where did I go wrong with you?”
“I thought you kept a list?”
“Now, children …” Dad says in a familiar exasperated tone.
I drop the joking. “You guys okay up there? It’s not too late for me to drive up for the day.”
“I thought you wanted to spend your last Christmas there.”
“I do.” Well, with Robbie, at least. But no way am I taking him home for the day, even if it is only an hour’s drive. “But I miss you guys.”
“You know you’re welcome home whenever,” Mom says. “Just let me know and I’ll throw lunch on.”
“Way to make me feel guilty. It’s our first Christmas apart,” I admit.
“Yeah, we’re unsupervised,” Mom says. “No telling what we could be getting up to.”
“Don’t need to know.”
She laughs. “I miss you.”
“You too. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie. We love you.”
“I love—”
“Even if we’re not important enough to spend the holiday with …”
“Mom.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Dad says.
“Thank y—”
“I’m sure you had your reasons for abandoning us.”
I sigh. “You two are worse than my frat brothers.”
“Love you, bye,” they chorus.
I hang up, exasperated but smiling.
My gaze drifts to the Christmas present on the table beside me, and I grab it before heading up to wake Robbie.
If I was at home, this morning would be a mad rush of presents with the family, then cleaning and cooking—while I hid outside—ready for everyone to come over. I’m surprisingly happy with my choice to stay behind.
I push Robbie’s door open to find him asleep on his back, mouth open, large chest rising and falling with each deep breath.
After the conversation I overheard the other day about him wanting to see me naked, I can’t stop thinking about it. Trying it while our brothers are gone and it’s only us here makes sense, but I’m nervous.
And excited. But mostly the nervous thing.
It’s why I haven’t mentioned to him yet that Jenny and I broke up.
My thoughts about wanting to try more are hard enough to work through, let alone having him suggest it outright, which he would if he knew. And selfishly, I like this time we’re getting where we get to be idiots without having a list of worries hanging over my head.
I grab one of Robbie’s discarded pillows, lift it high, then whack him as hard as I can with it.
“The fuck?” He grunts sleepily, eyes squinted as he sits up and looks around.
“Merry Christmas, douche nozzle.”
He collapses back against the bed. “The fuck you waking me for? We didn’t go to sleep until early.”
“Because we have a day of festivities ahead. You promised to teach me how to make eggnog.”
“Yeah, but not now.”
“No time like the present.”
“Bro my god, get out.”
I flop down on the bed beside him and prop my head on my hand. “Is that any way to talk to Santa?”
He cracks his eyes again. “What?”
“Here.” I place his present on his chest. “It’s nothing exciting.”
Robbie frowns at the brightly wrapped package. “Fuck, Brandon, I didn’t get you anything.”
“Actually, that’s the best thing you could have gotten me.”
“Huh?”
“Now, whenever someone mentions Christmas, I get to point out how I got you something and you didn’t get me anything. I get full-on bragging rights over who’s the better friend and get to use it against you.”
“That’s not a present.”
I stretch one arm up over my head. “And yet, it’s made me happy. I’m going to be all, ‘Hey, Robbie, remember that time we exchanged Christmas presents? Oh? We didn’t? Huh. Guess you better fetch my next drink for me.’”
He sits up. “This present better be good.”
I cringe. “It’s something small. Not important or anything …”
And yet, I’m nervous as he unwraps the gift. It’s a dumb gift—an essential, really—that I hadn’t thought about twice while I bought it, and yet now I’m off-balance, sure he’s going to hate it.
“Is this …”
“Wool underclothes? Yeah. You’re welcome.” I force false bravado. “Now your dumb ass can stop whining about the cold.”
He still hasn’t said anything when the ten packets of mini M&M’s I bought fall out of the wrapping with the rattle of little candies. Robbie’s whole face lights up. “Brando … this gift … it’s kind of awesome.”
And when he looks at me, his blue eyes are unexpectedly soft. I’m not used to seeing anything other than cocky derision in them.
So I try to channel some of his usual energy. “I am the greatest gift giver in the history of ever. You can thank me later.”
“And now I feel like a shithead that I didn’t think to get you something.”
Yikes, this has taken a turn for the serious. “Dude, stop. I’m not used to genuine. Call me an asshole.”
“Yeah, how dare I appreciate this.”
“Exactly.”
“Fine.” He shrugs and climbs out of bed, wearing only his boxer briefs, and I give myself a moment to take him in. “Thanks for the gift, asshole.”
I try to picture walking over there and running my hands over his barrel chest, stroking the hairs on his thick torso, dropping my hand and slipping it into the waistband of his underwear.
Considering my interest in chicks is so strong, I’m legitimately surprised at how enticing that whole image is.
There isn’t a single feminine thing about Robbie.
Nothing I can look at and be like, “yup, that’s why,” other than the fact he so unashamedly went after what he wanted, and for a short time there, what he wanted was me.
I think I want that back.
We’re good friends, frat brothers, and he’s made it clear he’s interested in exploring his sexuality, so it makes sense that if I’m also curious, he should be the one I go to. So why am I holding back?
Despite his objections to the wake-up call, it’s almost eleven, so while he jumps into the shower, I go downstairs and pull everything out for our feast. Robbie better not have been lying when he said he knows how to cook these things, because I’m already anticipating golden potatoes and juicy meat swamped with gravy.
He joins me a few minutes later, hair a damp mess, and wearing only the undershirt I got him and a pair of joggers his legs look ready to burst out of.
“Why don’t you have Christmas music on yet?” he asks.
“We’re doing Christmas music?”
He laughs as he disappears, and then a minute later, carols are blasting from the TV speakers.
For the next two hours, I’m treated to Robbie’s terrible singing while he teaches me how to cook a Christmas lunch. He knows his way around the kitchen, and that laid-back confidence is unexpectedly attractive, especially coupled with his focused attention.
The whole time we work, he doesn’t goof off once.
It’s … disconcerting.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Yeah, fine.”
“You were staring into space. I thought you were stroking out or something.”
I scoff. “There’s no getting rid of me that easily.”
“Total opposite of what I want to do with you.”
My gaze flies to his, and we have a beat where we look at each other. I have no idea how to respond, and it’s clear he isn’t sure what he meant by that.
Robbie shifts, and his light laugh is fake as shit. “You know, because if I get rid of you, I can’t annoy you. Obviously the reason.”
“Of course.” We still haven’t broken eye contact.
“So stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Umm …” He clears his throat and turns away. “Like you’re plotting how to give me food poisoning.”
“Maybe then I’d finally get to watch what I wanted.”
“I can’t believe you’re still complaining about that. We watched Die Hard last night. Die Hard. You can’t tell me you didn’t want to watch the most epic Christmas movie of all time.”
“Ehh.”
“Ehh?” His mouth drops. “Fucking ehh?”
“It’s overrated.”
Robbie attempts to say something but can’t seem to make noise happen.
“Shit, look at that. I made the big man quiet.”
“I … I just …”
“And Christmas movie?” I push, because annoying Robbie is fun. “Can it actually be classified as that?”
“You need to stop.”
“Or …?” I know I’m pushing my luck, but he’s too fun to rile up.
“It’s Die Hard!” he splutters. “That’s it. We’re watching it again tonight, and I’m going to point out all the most epic moments and why it’s a Christmas movie, and you’re going to sit there and like it.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t get dramatic about it.”
He points at me. “I’m onto you, Brando. Keep it up and no eggnog for you.”
“You’ll keep your piece-of-shit drink to yourself? Oh no. I’ve learned the error of my ways.”
Instead of responding, he takes my shoulders and steers me toward the small table we’ve set up the ingredients on. “Time to learn how to make the best-tasting thing you’ll put in your mouth today.”
“Did you mean to make that sound dirty?”
“Not on purpose, but it’s me. Are either of us surprised by this point?”
“Nope.” And because I can’t stop myself, I ask the question that’s been on my mind since the party. “How did you go with that twink guy anyway? Finally fulfill your lifelong dream of cock?”
“Lifelong.” He snorts. “And nah. I passed on that.”
“Why?”
“No reason. Just did.”
I let it go for now, but I want to know more.
For someone who’s been so full steam ahead on finding a guy to hook up with, I would have thought Robbie would be all over that.
We focus back on mixing the eggnog, and Robbie puts way more nutmeg and vanilla in than should be legal.
Which is probably a good thing when he adds almost a full bottle of bourbon.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
He winks. “You’re more fun that way.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to hook up with me again.”
“Nah, no worries there.” He nudges me. “I know better than to go after someone with a girlfriend.”
“Good thing I don’t have a girlfriend, then.”
His whole head snaps toward me, and I’d tease him about his over-the-top reaction if I wasn’t freaking out over what the hell I was implying. “You …”
“We broke up. At the party.”
“Why?”
I almost say because she wouldn’t let us kiss anymore, but that would be a bullshit lie. “I knew I had to, and before break seemed like the best time.”
His stare is fixed on my mouth, and I wait, wanting to see what he’ll do next and hoping like hell he makes a move. If he takes it out of my hands, I won’t have a chance to think through what’s happening. I can lean in, enjoy it.
Instead, Robbie fills two glasses with our eggnog and hands one over. “Merry Bromas, Brando.”
“You can’t just add ‘bro’ to words and make them work.”
“Sure I can. With enough conviction, you can make anything work.” He lifts his glass and takes a long gulp of eggnog, watching me over the rim.
With enough conviction, anything works.
I guess I’m going to test that out.
But first, a drink. Or … two.
And even though the eggnog tastes every bit as disgusting as I remember, I choke it down, needing the liquid courage.