Page 58 of Strange Lad

He plops right back onto his ass and then falls over dramatically.

Shaking my head, I suppress my smile and go outside. Moving my car one block over, I jog back to his house and let myself inside. And then I stand at his window like a ghoul, watching for Phoenix. I take a quick break to stir the soup, then return to my spot. Jorge falls asleep where he keeled over, so when they pull up, I’ll have to wake him up again.

This is what I’m talking about. Jorge is so special that people will push into his space to ensure he’s okay. After all, isn’t that what I did? I didn’t ask for permission to come over. I simply did. So, as irritating as it is having to hide, I understand why my brother is coming. That doesn’t mean I’m inclined to share. Am I even capable of it anymore?

The curtains are sheer enough to see the street without worrying about anyone recognizing me. I’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes. My jaw clenches as nerves run rampant through me. Can I successfully pull this off? Even being hidden, I’ll still be in the same vicinity as my brother. I swallow hard and decide to wake Jorge up.

“Hey,” I whisper. He doesn’t stir or move a muscle. “Jorge.”

Nothing.

My hands shake as I realize I’ll have to touch him. I did it earlier and when I first got here. I did it yesterday. So whatgives? He’s fucking unconscious. Wetting my lips, I heave out a breath and lift my hand. My fingertips hover over his cheek, a lock of curls sticking to it because he’s sweaty. His fever might be breaking right now, and he needs to sleep it off.

Fucking Phoenix.

“Jorge,” I say a bit louder and move the curls. His eyes flutter, but he doesn’t wake up. Shit. I glance over my shoulder to peer out the window. From this angle, I can't see much. I’ve got no choice. I have to actually touch him. I gulp loudly, my stomach fluttering like crazy, and I cup his face. “Wake up, kitten.”

His eyes shoot open. I almost pull my hand away, but he nuzzles into it as soon as he sees me. “I hate being sick. I get so sleepy.” He twists his head so he can kiss my palm. That’s twice now that he’s kissed me, and it makes my brain short-circuit. “Are they here yet?” he asks, raising his hand to circle my wrist.

I’m hyper-fixated on his mouth, on the slight tingle in my palm. “Oli?”

“N-No. Not yet.”

He groans and nuzzles my hand again before pressing his lips to my palm. I’m frozen solid as he rubs all over it, holding me by the wrist. “Shit. I’m kind of horny now,” he slurs, lashes fluttering like he might fall asleep. “I love your hands.”

I rip my arm away just before he kisses it for a third time.

Fuckinghell.

I stand up quickly, look out the window, and see Phoenix’s car roll up. Adrenaline punches through my system, and Irunto Jorge’s room. I shut the door without much noise, and because it’s deathly silent in his house, I hear when my brother knocks. I hear Jorge mumbling that he’s dying and to go away. And then I hear when he eventually gives in and opens the front door.

I’m pressed against the thin wood, ear flat to it so I can hear.

I’m aware that I should be freaking out over Jorge kissing me, but that can wait. I need to know what they say and if Phoenix is going to notice my fucking soup. He definitely will if he tastes it.

Inwardly cursing myself for leaving such an obvious sign, I brace for what will happen next.

Leaving isn’t an option anymore because if it all comes to a head right now, I willnotlet Jorge take the fall alone.

Jorge

Take This Lonely Heart

“I’m fine,” I cough into my elbow, wanting Phoenix to go. Oli is hiding somewhere, and I can’t tell if I was dreaming earlier or if I actually kissed his hand. All I know is that I have a semi.

Eli slithers into my house, somewhat shy, and I glare at the two of them. Home invaders. Boner killers.

“Ignore him,” Phoenix says and strolls into my house like he lives here. Bitch. “He’s grumpy when he’s sick and refuses to do anything about it.”

“The biggest asshole grump in the world,” I say pointedly as inget out of my house.I choose to ignore the other comment.

Phoenix goes into my kitchen, and Eli simply blinks at me. I offer him a big, fake smile and go back to the couch. I roll into a blanket burrito and shove my face into a cushion. There’s some tinkering in there, and then I hear a mumbledwhat the fuck.

“Jorge,” Phoenix barks, his boots clicking over the kitchen tile.

“What?” I groan and roll back over to look at my best friend.

“Where did you get that recipe?” His straight eyebrow arches, and it’s creepy. So similar to how Oli does it.

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