Page 37 of A Stealthy Situation

Me:

Then it was definitely a compliment. Geez, Harry, stop hitting on me.

Harrison:

You’d love that, wouldn’t you?

The line is flirty enough to give me pause, but then he follows it up with a winky face. A winky face. The international sign of “oh, yeah, I’m definitely flirting.” My jaw is somewhere around my balls when I finally type back.

Me:

As fun as this conversation is, I’m really not looking forward to this weekend.

Harrison:

Relaaaax. I’ll even give you half my earnings.

Me:

No fucking way, man. You need that money. I’m freeloading off my rich big bros.

Harrison:

Fine. What if I promise to make it fun?

Me:

I’d say you’re a big, fat liar.

Harrison:

Oh, yeah? Wanna bet on it?

Me:

That’s an easy one to make. Mowing lawns is the devil’s work.

Harrison:

Maybe.

There’s no reply for a second.

Harrison:

But what if I promise to do it shirtless?

Fuck me. Suddenly sounds like a whole lot more fun.

Emmett’s laugh breaks through the images of Harrison with his shirt off, and he starts singing, “Benny is fucked … Benny-boy is fuuuucked.”

Brothers are the fucking worst.

11

HARRISON

If nothing else comes from my friendship with Benny, at least I’ll walk away a grade A texter. My message game is strong, and somehow, we’re up until 2:00 a.m. trading stupid response after stupid response, and I have to pry myself away from the damn phone.

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