Page 5 of Break the Rule
“Also,” Andrew continues interrupting Charlie’s internalmoleappreciation, “a made bed quiets the mind.”
“What if I don’t want a quiet mind?” Charlie counters, tugging the blankets out from the bottom of the bed to be ornery. He’s too hungry and tired to deal with this.
“Everyone wants a quiet mind,” Andrew says, tucking in the bottom of the blankets.
Not Charlie but he’s too hungry to be more of a shit and argue so he rises from the floor. Before he makes it to the bedroom door, a pair of boxers hits him in the back of the head. He peels them off, arching an eyebrow at Andrew, who looks far too innocent.
“Put those on,” Andrew instructs. “I’m not staring at your dick while you eat.”
“Why not? You have the same one.”
“Not all of us spend hours staring at ourselves in the mirror every day.”
“Bold of you to assume it takes me hours to appreciate how hot I am,” Charlie laughs, shimmying into the boxers before running to the kitchen, needing to escape before Andrew throws any more clothes at him. If he’s going to spend the next few hours in a suit then the least he can do is ensure he’s as close to naked as possible until it’s time to walk out the door.
Waiting for him in the kitchen is a styrofoam container tied up in a plastic bag. He rips the plastic open, stomach grumbling as the scent of freshly made tortillas wafts out of the steaming hot foil container on top. He sets the tortillas to the side, flips the lid open and nearly weeps with joy when he sees chicken surrounded by mounds of fluffy orange rice all covered in thickmole.
“I can feel you salivating from the bedroom,” Andrew laughs, settling himself at the kitchen island beside him.
“Can you fucking blame me?” He rips open the foil, using one of the tortillas to scoop up rice andmoleand shoves it all in his mouth, pretty damn close to crying happy tears. Again. WhenJuanita’s opened up in a small storefront situated between the laundromat and apanaderiaacross town, Charlie quite literally cried the first time he tried theMichoacan red moleso close to the one hisabuelaused to make that, for a second, it’d been like she was still alive. Theirabuelahad never taught Alec to make it, and their poor Midwestern mother could hardly manage white people taco night, let alone attemptmole. Since then, he makes it a point to frequent there as often as possible, both to support a small business and to support his belly. If Charlie could live on it, he would.
“Slow down before you choke,” Andrew snorts, sneaking one of the tortillas. Unlike Charlie, he doesn’t likemole,so he merely rolls his tortilla tightly before taking a bite. His appreciation of the handmade tortillas isn’t as vocal as Charlie’s, but it’s evident in the way he smiles. Charlie feels his face break into a mirroring smile as he leans his shoulder against Andrew’s.
Only when the pile of tortillas are gone does Charlie get a spoon, shoveling every last bite ofmolecovered rice into his mouth. Possibly too much at once if the way Andrew gapes is any indication.
“What?” Charlie asks around a full mouth.
“I was wondering if you were trying to break a world record for putting things in your mouth.”
It’s lucky for Andrew that there’s too much food in Charlie’s mouth for him to make a dirty joke his brother would definitely not appreciate. He thinks it to himself though, laughing while he chews.
“Seriously?” Andrew groans.
“I didn’t say anything,” Charlie points out once he’s finished chewing.
“You were thinking it though.”
“Not my fault you know me so well,” Charlie laughs, mood infinitely brighter than it was when Andrew first woke him up.With a full belly and Andrew beside him, he might even make it through tonight’s showing without a hitch.
“By the way,” Andrew starts, gathering up Charlie’s trash, “Amanda texted me about the dress code.”
“Why did she text you?” Charlie frowns. He knows that Andrew is friends with his agent, but they don’t usually text about Charlie. At least, he doesn’t think so. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never asked what they text about. Maybe he should.
“Because you don’t follow rules.”
“I hate rules.”
“I know you do,” Andrew says in an appeasing tone. Charlie feels his good mood zap away, knowing exactly what’s coming.
“She wants you to wear real shoes.”
Charlie wiggles his bare feet, flexing his toes while imagining them in shoe prison.
“Crocs are real shoes,” Charlie tries.
“You are not wearing Crocs with one of Denise’s custom suits.”
“I wore them last night,” Charlie points out.
