Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Robbie
When I told Brandon I love him, I think … I think I might have meant it.
Not over broning, though that was beautifully fucking epic, but because of everything about him.
He’s sexy and confident, keeps me on my toes, and has amazing visions for the future.
Even that deep-seated responsibility he pretends doesn’t exist, I kind of love anyway.
He’s the perfect balance of fun and cautious, and damn I didn’t know what a sexy thing that could be.
But then I’d given him a hint, mentioned I might not be moving back to Arizona after all, and … nothing.
Not even an opening for us to talk about more, and even when I brought up the wife and the guest room, he’d agreed.
I’d thought the kissing and him sneaking in to share a bed with me might have meant something, and yet … I’d ended up with blue balls from being near him, and a blue heart from our conversation.
These last two weeks have been harder to act like everything is fine, but I think I’m managing.
I’m trying to remind myself to keep this in perspective, that getting regular amazing sex is nothing to whine about, but that gets harder to convince myself of every time we’re together.
He’s with me most nights, even if we don’t have sex, and I’m getting used to having him around and knowing that we’re more than frat brothers.
Knowing that behind closed doors I get to make him mine.
For tonight’s party, we’re doing look-alike, and I have the perfect costume.
I’ve borrowed jeans off Rooster, who’s almost as big as me, which means these fuckers cling to every inch of me.
I snuck a scarf from Brandon’s room and even found a blond wig that will do.
Then, just in case it wasn’t totally obvious, I printed out a hazard log form and hung it around my neck.
It’s been a solid two months since Sigma house threw an absolute rager, which is unheard of in frat years, so tonight I plan to remind everyone why we’re the shit around here.
Only, when I get downstairs to start pre-drinks with my brothers, I walk into the front room, where people are playing flip cups, and as soon as I catch sight of Brandon, I double over with laughter.
“You little smart-ass,” I choke out, eyeing his cargo pants and fanny pack.
“Like you can talk. What do you always say to me? Can you even fit a credit card in those pants?”
“Considering I struggled to fit my balls, I’m going to go with no.”
He leans in and drops his voice. “If it helps, those pants are so goddamn hot, they make me want to strip you out of them.” He gives the scarf a tug.
“And that fanny pack makes me want to see your fanny.”
“Dude.” He shoves me. “What is wrong with you?”
“Why are you asking me? Aren’t you the one with a list?”
He mutters something under his breath, and I grab him in a headlock. “You love me.”
“No way, man.”
I tighten my arm. “You love me. Say it.”
“Like a hole in the head.”
“Hey, if you’re talking about my mouth hole, that’s a whole lot of love.”
Brandon tries to tackle me, but I hold firm. “Let me go, asswipe.”
“I will when you say it.”
“Fuck off.”
“I love you, Robbie.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I love you so, so much. You’re superious to everyone.”
“Superious isn’t even a word.”
“It is now. It’s like the ultimate supreme.”
He tries to shove me off him again. “Just like adding ‘bro’ to words doesn’t make it a word, using made-up shit in a sentence doesn’t make it a sentence.”
“Coming from the creator of broning.”
“That’s the last time I humor you.”
“Aw, come on.” I squeeze his arm tighter before I let him go. “Admit it. Just once. It’ll feel so good to get off your chest.”
His face is bright red when he straightens. “You know what’s good to get off my chest?” He flips me off.
I probably deserve that.
Doesn’t make me any less salty about it.
I’d only wanted some kind of affection as a friend, hadn’t expected the ultimate L word, but damn, he couldn’t even give me that.
I leave him and head for where Chad is pouring out a round of shots and quickly swipe two before he can stop me.
“Anyone ever mentioned you’re an impatient mofo?” he asks.
“All the time. Now top me up.”
He fills the shot glasses again. I’m twice the size of these twigs, so statistically, I need way more alcohol to get drunk than they will. Because blaming it on my size is way easier to do than confronting the fact my college years have been one giant house party and now I practically sweat vodka.
All my brothers have gotten into the theme tonight.
Chad’s wearing a white button-up and red bow tie, and I have no clue who Pee-wee Herman is, but he and Bailey find it hilarious.
Bailey is dressed as Prince Charming, and Zeke is wearing a Speedo and swim cap, a fake gold medal hanging around his neck.
He’s also shirtless, showing off all his tattoos.
I walk over to him, and before he can even say hey, I flick his nipple. “You’re gonna freeze your tits off, man.”
“The benefit to being so cold you’re numb?” He grabs my nipple through the shirt and twists. “No feeling.”
When he releases me, pain burns the site. “Ouch,” I complain, but I kinda like it.
Well, not just kinda based on the way my dick twitches.
And fucking perfect. Brandon’s got me conditioned.
The later it gets, the more the party fills up. Brandon had nothing to worry about with Jenny and her sisters, because look at that, first party we throw and they’re all in the door.
And no matter where in the house I am, she’s always around.
She’s pretty, I can give her that. Really pretty. And I know Brandon isn’t interested in her because I take him at his word, but she’s a reminder of everything I’m not.
Maybe Jenny wasn’t it for him, but another chick will be.
Another chick who’s petite and sweet-looking and basically everything I’m not.
Well, hello, insecurities, we finally meet.
This uncertainty bullshit isn’t me. If someone’s not interested, I move on to the next person who is.
Easy as that. The guys like to joke that I don’t have standards, but I view it as being open to all women—and men now too.
I don’t give a shit if someone is tall or short or fat or thin.
They only need to be cool as tits and a fun time in bed. Those standards are good enough for me.
So why can’t I move on from Brandon? If I do feel the things for him that I suspect I do, ripping off the Band-Aid is one hundred percent the way to go with this. And yet, I know I won’t.
Because goddamn do I want to keep him.
The beer goes down too easily, and the insecure thoughts bombard me at a level I’ve never had happen before.
I try to shake them off. Try to drink them away.
And every time my thoughts circle back to just riding this thing out until it ends, I spot Jenny and the cycle begins again.
She’s the gold standard. Well, not her specifically, but that type of person.
Social, good-looking, the type you take home to meet the parents.
I throw back a shot.
He took you home to meet his parents.
Yeah, but not as his boyfriend.
His mom knows you’re something to each other.
But he told her it wasn’t serious.
Just talk to him.
No way in frat hell will I ever talk to him about this shit.
Aaand now I’m arguing with myself.
I know how awkward it is when your hookup wants more. I’m not being that person to him.
But he took you home to meet his parents …
I throw back another shot. And another.
The night disappears around me, and next thing I know, I’m standing on the upstairs banister, ready to jump onto the chandelier.