Page 87 of Break the Rule
“Fucker.” Charlie sweeps his silk robe around himself dramatically. It’s stupid as fuck and also makes him look ridiculously handsome with his sleep tousled hair and miles of tan skin of display. Who the fuck wakes up looking so good? Eden woke up with a pimple on his chin and red splotches on his face, and Charlie looks like he rolled out of a sex dream. It’s got to be the robe. Fuck that robe.
“Asshole.”
“Shithead.”
“Cradle robber.”
“He’s notthatyoung,” Charlie gapes.
“He’s not even legal to drink yet,” Andrew points out.
Charlie winces, and Eden isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or kick them both.
“Heis right here, dickbags.”
“Dickbags,” Charlie repeats. “I like that.”
“Careful Eden,” Andrew says with the hint of a smile. “You’re feeding into his repertoire of immature insults.”
“For the record, I don’t need help being immature. I can handle that all on my own, thank you.”
“Idiot,” Eden scoffs. Charlie scoots just a little bit closer, and Eden turns to eye him skeptically. “You running out of room over there?”
“Nope,” Charlie grins, draping an arm over Eden’s shoulder. “Just happy you’re here. I woke up and thought you were gone, but here you are.”
“Here I am,” Eden croaks, unsure why it makes his throat tight to hear that Charlie had not only been sad to think he’d left, but is happy that he's here.
“Well now that you’re awake, I really should go,” Andrew says, tapping his fingers against the side of his mug.
“You could stay,” Eden blurts, even though it’s not his house or his brother.
The look Charlie gives him—equal parts surprise and relief—makes Eden squirm.
“Yeah, stay. Even Eden says it. You can cook for us.”
“I’m not cooking for you,” Andrew scoffs, already moving to the fridge.
“He’s so gonna cook for us,” Charlie whispers.
“Fair warning, the only thing I can make is scrambled eggs,” Andrew says, pulling out a carton of eggs. “Don’t get too excited.”
“I can cook,” Eden finds himself offering.
“You know how to cook?” Charlie asks, as if Eden’s just said he knows rocket science and not how to fry up some fucking eggs.
“Yeah, can’t you?”
“Fuck no, I can barely make toast.”
“That’s pathetic, Charlie.”
“Isn’t it,” Charlie agrees without an ounce of embarrassment. “Guess you better stick around to take care of me.”
“Absolutely pathetic,” Eden grumbles, refusing to acknowledge how much he likes that idea. He moves away from the table, bringing his Red Bull with him as he situates himself at the counter.
There in Charlie’s house, surrounded by two people who seem to want him around, Eden whisks eggs and wonders if maybe this could last. If maybe, there’s a future where Charlie doesn't get sick of him. If maybe, there’s a future where this could happen again, with Addy and Ella at the table too.
“You alright?” Andrew asks with a gentle touch to his shoulder. “You’re whipping those eggs awfully hard.”
