Page 29 of Break the Rule
Andrew curses, startling so much he slams the horn. “Give it back.”
“Why?”
“Just give it back, asshole.”
“Oh, someone is testy,” Charlie laughs, turning the phone over. His eyes widen when he sees what’s on the phone screen, or more appropriatelywho. A very attractive who. “Andrew King, is this a hockey player?”
“No, he plays golf,” Andrew deadpans.
“His club is big enough for it,” Charlie retorts when he scrolls to the next photo, an unmistakable thirst trap disguised as an endorsement ad. “Damn, he’s hot, Annie.”
“He’s fine looking if you’re into Neanderthals with tattoos,” Andrew grumbles, trying to snatch his phone back.
“Which clearly you are,” Charlie points out, curious how long this has been going on. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Andrew look flustered over looking at a man before. “You should go for it. He’d be lucky to date you.”
“Date me,” Andrew splutters. “I’m not—no.He’s just…aesthetically pleasing, that’s all. Besides he’s rich and famous and a bigger slut than you, so I wouldn’t be his type anyways.”
Though Andrew’s tone is dismissive, Charlie recognizes the self-deprecation there.
“You have a lot to offer beyond sex.”
“I’m not offeringanythingbecause I don’t know him. He’s probably a dick anyway.”
“Speaking of dicks,” Charlie whistles, scrolling down to a photo of him in nothing but a pair of tight white briefs. “Do you enjoy his…puck? Because damn, it looks like there’s a lot to enjoy.”
“First, puck is usually a euphemism for fuck, not dick. Second, if you ever utter that sentence again, I will disown you.”
“Liar,” Charlie laughs. “Also, why do you know that and I don’t?”
“Because I work for an NHL team, sort of. Also I read.”
“You’re a financial analyst, not a fucking hockey player, Annie. Just admit you read hockey smut,” Charlie goads, pretty sure he’s seen a cover or two on Andrew’s Kindle that suggest this possibility.
“Fuck you,” Andrew retorts.
“I’ll be getting fucked tonight,” Charlie pipes up, suspecting Andrew is reaching his limit being teased.
“I really don’t want to know,” Andrew sighs, starting his engine and rolling up his windows. When Charlie slides into the passenger seat, settling the food by his feet, the radio is turned up and the AC is on exactly two. He turns it up, prepared when Andrew slaps his hand. “Touch my dash again and walk home.”
“But I brought you food.”
“The food can stay, you can walk home.”
“You would never make me walk, Annie.”
Andrew mumbles under his breath, but they both know it’s true. Andrew has always been there for Charlie and he always will be, even when Charlie’s an obnoxious fuck.
“What did you get me?” Andrew asks, eying the bag on the floor.
“Your usual, obviously. With extra tortillas to see if carb loading might help your pissy mood.”
Andrew’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me when you’re overstimulated. I just wish you wouldn’t shut me out.”
“Needing time alone isn’t shutting you out.”
“Yes, it is,” Charlie counters. He and Andrew have never had time apart. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were born. They dressed the same until middle school when Andrew discovered polo shirts, they took all the same high school classes, they attended the same college, and they moved back home at the same time. Hell, Andrew even lived with him after he bought his house for a while. At least until Charlie’s erratic night owl tendencies and art messes got to be too much, and he got his own apartment. The only reason Charlie can handle that is because they still live in each other’s pockets. Jason and Alec said they’re codependent, but maybe if they had someone who shared their face they’d understand. Charlie loves his other brothers, but there aren’t words to express what Andrew meansto him. Being shut out feelswrong,the same way not being able to paint does.
