Blaire has stopped tormenting me. There were six weeks that I didn’t see her at all after our talk at the end of January. About five weeks ago, she started coming into to the library again when she needed me to help interpret something she’d read. We sit and work it out at the resource desk. But she’s stopped flinging sexual innuendo at me with every other breath. When she’s here, I keep my hands splayed on the counter as to avoid any accidental brushes or any hint of impropriety.
I start the interview process for the adjunct faculty position next week and my moral character cannot be in question. I need to be above reproach.
But in private, all bets are off. I don’t even want to know how many hundreds of millions of my potential future children I’ve washed down the shower drain or scrubbed out of my boxers and sheets.
I’m just bundling them into a pillow case to wash in the dorm laundry for the third time this week when I realize Chris is on the foldout in the family room. Technically he still lives with me, but he has a girlfriend at school he crashes with most nights.
No one drew the shades so the late morning sun is beating in on him. I drop my sheets near the door and go to the kitchen for my morning caffeine.
It’s halfway through percolating when Chris’s head lifts from under his pillow. “I’m fucking begging you, Bro,” he says, his voice coarse with sleep. He holds out his arm. “Hook the IV up and just mainline it.”
I pull the carafe and pour two mugs, then bring one over to him. The fact that he looks much more like Mom than I do—dishwater blonde hair and eyes bluer than mine, with her thin face and fair skin—didn’t save him. As far as Mom’s concerned, he still bears the cross of the dreaded Y chromosome.
“Didn’t hear you come in,” I say, handing him the mug.
He pulls himself up and leans against the back of the couch before taking it. “It was late. Taryn got a little pissed at me last night.”
I rub a hand down my face and look at him. “What happened?”
He downs most of the contents of his mug in two huge swallows, then balances it on the arm of the couch. “That’s the thing I don’t really get. We were…you know.” He gives me a meaningful look. “She started crying in the middle and everything I said just made it worse until she was screaming at me to get out.”
I lower myself onto the arm of the couch, wondering why I asked. I’m about the last person who should be giving relationship advice. “Just tell me there’s no chance she’s pregnant or anything.”
He holds up his hands. “No glove no love, man. I’m a firm believer in suiting up.”
I know Chris lost his virginity way younger than I did. I had “the talk” with him when he was fourteen. Glad to hear he got my message, which was basically: Be safe. The first time I found a used condom in the trash when I got home from school he was only sixteen.
“Things have been good between you?” I ask after a long swallow. The coffee burns on its way down, just the way I like it.
“Yeah.” He looks down at his mug as he swirls the contents. “I really think there’s something happening, you know? She’s…” He shakes his head. “She’s fucking amazing.” His face screws into a grimace. “Except when she’s screaming at me to get out of her apartment.”
“Then maybe that’s what you should tell her…the part about her being amazing.”
“I did,” he says, meeting my gaze. “I told her I loved her.”
“Last night?”
He nods.
“For the first time?”
He nods again.
“So, maybe that’s the conversation you need to have with her. I don’t know what to tell you, but sounds like Taryn does.”
“You think I freaked her out?”
“It’s possible.” I push off the arm of the sofa, downing the last of my coffee. I drop the mug next to the sink. “You don’t have class this morning?”
He swings around and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his short hair. “Not until eleven.”
“Any laundry you need done?” I ask with a nod at my pile.
He shakes his head. “Taryn took care of me.”
I grab my sheets and tug open the door. “Let me know how it goes.”
“You’ll know it ain’t good if I’m back here tonight.” He arches his back and rubs the small of it. “Forgot how bad this foldout blows.”
“Later,” I say, closing the door behind me.
My little brother’s in love. I’m seriously happy for him, but I’m also jealous as hell. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve known from the minute I met her that it would be easier to fall in love with Blaire than not to.
But falling in love isn’t an option.