Page 8 of My Brother's Best Men
I make my way out of bed, into the hall. The house is quiet and dark, and I realize I don’t know where the bathroom is. Because I’ve never been here. I’ve never been to my brother’s house before. The realization makes me feel like complete shit, and the memory of how I acted earlier comes seeping in. Of how I snapped at him.And Elijah.
I groan, knowing I should probably apologize to them in the morning, or at least to Sam. I know I’ll see Elijah at some point, but I doubt I’ll see him in the morning. It’s not like he’s hiding in these halls like a damn ghost or something.
I rub my eyes as I carefully make my way down the hall, and stop when I see a closed door, the light on behind it. The light peeks through the sliver at the bottom of the door, and I hear the irrefutable sound of someone taking a piss.
I contemplate searching to see if there’s another bathroom, but before I can, the door opens and someone walks right into me. Someone tall, thick, and heavy.
“What the fuck,” the gravelly, raspy voice calls out, and I realize all at oncewhothat voice belongs to.
I look up at Benny, at his messy hair, his rough stubble adding to the shadows that fall across his sharp features. And then I notice his chest.
Or rather, hisshirtless, muscled, tattooed chest. And then I do what I probably should not do at three am when I run into the guy I used to fantasize about when I was a teenager.
I look down, somewhat relieved he’s wearing sweatpants and isn’t parading around my brother’s house in his boxers like he used to do when he spent the night at our house when we were in high school.
“Oh, it’s just you,” he mutters, his voice tinged with sleep.
It’s just you. Just you. No one important. My friend’s sister.
“Uh-huh,” I say, brushing past him, making a beeline for the bathroom because I’m not sure I can hold it any longer. I barely get the door shut before my jeans are around my ankles and relief hits me as my ass hits the?—
“Fucking hell!” I curse as I fall into the toilet, because fucking Benny didn’t put the seat down.
“Oh, shit!” I hear him curse on the other side of the door as I extricate myself from the bowl of cold water, but the damage is already done. My ass is wet, and I’m pissing like a damn racehorse. I groan as I finish, feeling like this day can’t get any worse.
Technically, it’s a new day, Soph. So you’re now two for two.
“Asshole,” I mutter as I hunt for a washcloth to clean myself. I’ll shower in the morning, but for now, a quick wipe-down will have to suffice.
I find a washcloth in one of the cabinets and run warm water over it to clean up. Shaking my head as I finish up, I toss the cloth into the hamper beside the sink. When I leave the bathroom, I don’t expect to see him, but he’s still standing there.
Shirtless, in a daze. Shadows play over his defined chest, illuminating the sharp lines on his hips, which only draws attention to the way his sweatpants are hanging off of him.
Embarrassment floods me, but also frustration. Anger.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” I bite out, my exhaustion evident in my voice.
Benny looks at me for a moment, and for a moment I wonder if he’s sleepwalking or something because his stare is so vast and vacant, it’s practically a shadow itself.
His gaze trails over me for a second, as if he’s finally remembering where he is.
Is he drunk?
Of course, that would explain why he’s here. At three am. I know my brother sometimes lets the guys stay over when they’ve hada couple too many. Which makes me feel bad, because there’s only one guest room, so if I’m occupying it, that means Benny’s probably sleeping on the couch.
Why the thought of him sleeping down the hall makes me feel flustered, I haven’t a clue. Well, I guess I havesomeclue, but I don’t exactly want to processthattidbit at three am in my brother’s house when I’m still tired as shit.
Besides, the damn idiot doesn’t know how to put the seat down. Which is rude as fuck, in my opinion. Especially at someone else’s house.
And then he speaks, as if his faculties are finally returning.
“Sorry…” he mutters.
I huff out a tired sigh. “Whatever, I’m going back to bed.”
He gives me another look, shrugs his broad shoulders, and runs a hand through his hair. “Bed, right,” he says, almost like he’s forgotten how to speak or something.
“Yeah, bed.” I roll my eyes, because clearly heisstill drunk. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
