I hook Rex under the arms, and the second Mase gives in to Jonah’s command, I pull Rex back and set him on his ass to recover.
“What the fuck, Baywatch?” I get in the punk’s face and ready for him to take a swing. Hell, I walked in here looking to burn up some energy. Weights would do the job, but I’d much rather beat someone’s ass. “You try that shit again, I will end you, you understand?” I shove him back and he drops his chin, breathing hard.
“You’re done for the day. Pack your shit, go home, and calm the fuck down.” Jonah doesn’t waste another word on the kid and moves to check on Rex, who has a huge fucking grin on his face.
“That was epic.” He pushes up, heads over to Mase, and grabs him by his headgear. “Good job, man. No hard feelings.”
Baywatch shakes his head and has the decency to appear ashamed. Good little shit. “Sorry, man. I’m . . . fuck . . . that was uncool. I’m sorry.” He offers his fist to Rex, who fist bumps him back.
Better man than I. Although, it wasn’t too long ago I was all juiced up and had no idea and pulled something similar with Rex.
“Rex, our resident punching bag.” I motion to him and he takes a dramatic bow.
“At your service,” he says with a bloodied-lip grin.
We all laugh, the tension in the air dissolving enough that we move to get on with what we came here for.
I hop the octagon fence and give my brother a shove. “Show’s over; let’s hit some weights.”
He follows me toward the weight room. “Dude, that was kickass. I can see why you like it here. I mean I get to train, but we never get good hand-to-hand like what I just saw there.”
Poor guy never has been sent to the war he’s training for day in and day out. I remember what it was like to know so much and have to bottle it up, never given the opportunity to exercise my training in a physical and tangible way.
I flick on the lights and hit the stereo, putting Black Sabbath on Pandora to make sure plenty of hard metal pumps through the room and keeps us energized. We hit the free weights first, and I realize immediately that my baby bro has been spending plenty of time in the gym. He needs zero instruction as we move mindlessly through our own workouts, grabbing weights similar to what I lift.
He fatigues quicker than I do, but that could have a lot to do with his extracurricular activities. As much as I enjoyed living that life when I did, I’m glad it’s part of my past. I push him to hit the bench press, and after a few sets, we take a water break.
“How’s the hangover now?” I toss him a towel that he immediately presses to his face.
“Much better,” he says, out of breath. “Thanks for asking me down here. I’d probably be nursing this hangover with a little hair of the dog in the casino if you hadn’t texted me.” He takes a swig of water. “Also helped me get rid of my date from last night.”
Well, I’ll be damned. My baby brother’s got game.
“Careful, dude. Vegas chicks aren’t like the chicks back home.”
He glares up at me. “Why not? I mean *’s *.”
I drop my chin and laugh at how he sounds just the way I did the other day at the OB’s office. I take a minute to imagine the heaping pile of verbal comebacks my Mouse would lob at Brae if she were to hear him say that. Damn, I love that woman.
“I’m just warning you now not every girl is as innocent as she might pretend to be. ’Lotta pros in Vegas.”
He lifts one eyebrow. “You mean prostitutes?”
I wipe the back of my neck with the towel. “No, not necessarily, but professional manipulators that prey on pretty boys like you.” He throws his sweaty towel at me, and I swipe it out of the air before it hits my face. “Just be safe, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
He recoils, his lips twisted as if he’s tasting something he doesn’t like. “Please, tell me this isn’t the you-better-be-using-protection talk. Got that from Mom at fourteen.”
“Yeah? From Mom? I never got that talk.”
He shrugs. “That’s because you were too busy running off to play piano when you were fourteen. I was going to the senior prom with ‘Kitty Cat’ Coffman when I was fourteen.” His eyes go unfocused and he grins. “Never heard a woman purr before, but damn . . .” He shakes his head.
“You fucked ‘Kitty Cat’ Coffman?” That girl was gorgeous and four years older than him. “She was in my grade.”
“What can I say, brother?” He swipes a pretend piece of lint from his shoulder. “Hate the playa’ not the game.”
“Dude, never say that again.” I toss my sweaty towel in his face. “You sound like a douchebag.”
“Whatever, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big boy.” He chuckles and pushes up from the bench. “At least, that’s what she said.”
My jaw falls open on its hinges. “How dare you? That’s my line.”
He laughs and pulls his elbow over his head to stretch his triceps. “Your concern for me is sweet, but I can take care of my own dick, thank you very much.”