The first cracks start to show as he snaps, “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? With your Harvard education and your big Hollywood movie? Well fuck you, Ian. Fuck you.”
Very deliberately, I yawn right in his face. And if I thought he was pissed before it’s nothing compared to the rage on his face now. Rule number one about my brother—he hates being ignored.
His hands clench on the table and I can tell he’s thinking of taking a swing at me. Again, just like old times. But, again, I’m not a kid anymore. He doesn’t scare me the way he used to. I won’t let him have that much control over me.
And so I don’t move, don’t flinch, don’t so much as breathe as I wait to see what he’s going to do. I almost want him to do it—being his little brother, if nothing else, taught me how to take a punch, physical or metaphorical—but it turns out he’s smarter than that now. Or he’s got more to lose. Because when the punch comes, it’s verbal, not physical.
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. Did you bang that blond bitch yet? The one who stars in that movie of yours?”
My whole body tenses up, no matter how hard I work to stay loose. To stay blank. I can’t stand him talking about her, can’t stomach the idea of him even thinking about her. For the first time, it’s a struggle to keep my voice even when I answer him. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m just the guy who wrote the book.”
He likes that. Likes how unimportant I am. Likes even more the thin thread of tension I can’t keep out of my voice.
“That’s a shame, man. If that bitch was working on one of my books, I would have given it to her by now. Would have made her take it whether she wanted to or not.”
“And we both know how well that worked out for you so far, don’t we?”
“Don’t kid yourself. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Whatever it takes to get you through the day, brother.”
He really doesn’t like that.
His eyes narrow and his fingers drum on the table. “What was her name again? Oh, yeah, that’s right.” He snaps his fingers, points at me. “Veronica Romero. Big Hollywood royalty. You hit that yet?”
My jaw clenches despite myself and I force myself to relax. Force myself to let it go when all I really want to do is reach across the table and wipe the smug look off his face. Instead I just shrug, keep my voice low as I answer, “In what world would I have hit that?”
He laughs. “Good point, good point. But you best get on that, son. Prime pussy like hers isn’t gonna wait around forever.”
It takes a lot of restraint not to plow my fist into his filthy mouth. At this point, it’s only the knowledge that he’s expecting it—no, not just expecting, but hoping for it—that keeps me from breaking a couple of his teeth. “She’s not really my type.”
He laughs, full and loud. “Now we both know that isn’t true, don’t we, bro? Tall blondes with long legs and good racks have been cranking your tractor since you were fourteen years old.”
“Cranking my tractor?” I deliberately go a little heavy on the twang when I repeat him. “Who knew all it took to turn you into a redneck was fifteen years locked up in Texas?”
He shrugs. “I’m adaptable. It’s part of that whole survival of the fittest thing.”
“I’m pretty sure Darwin wasn’t referring to rapists and murderers when he proposed evolution.”
“See, that’s your problem right there. You’ve always underestimated me. Because I’m pretty sure guys like me—guys like you—are exactly who he was referring to.”
“I’m nothing like you.” It slips out before I can hold it back.
“Oh, brother, you are exactly like me. It’s what freaks you out so much. What had you running to the FBI like the little pussy you were. Because you couldn’t handle what’s inside of you. Just like you can’t handle it now. But we both know that if you had your shot at little Miss Veronica Romero, you’d take it. You’d spread her out and fuck her like an animal, wouldn’t you?”
My stomach pitches and rolls, but I hold it in and glance very deliberately at the clock on the wall. “We’ve got seven minutes left. Is this really why you wanted me to come?”