Nate? Nate!
xoxo
All of a sudden, white-hot sunlight exploded into the room and Julian was shouting, “Wake up, loser.”
Nate squinted, thinking he was looking at his brother. No, he was looking for his brother. Where the hell had his disembodied voice come from? He swiveled his head from one side to the other, sunlight streaked with soft black lines—oh, right, his own eyelashes—blinded him from figuring out which continent he was on, what time it was, and where Julian came from.
The bedsheet tore off him. “Jesus Christ, put your ass away!”
Nate dropped his head to his pillow. “‘S my own fucking house, man.”
“I said get up.”
“I’m saying fuck off.”
“I am closing my eyes and you are getting out of bed right now.”
Nate was about to protest, but it came out as a petulant, baby-bear-esque growl-groan-thing, since Julian wedged both hands underneath his torso, flipped him over, and threw the sweaty sheet over his waist. “You smell disgusting. Where were you?”
Forced to sit up, Nate immediately hunched forward and braced his head in his palms, elbows on his thighs. “Keep yelling. Gonna make me hurl.”
“I’m literally not yelling.” Julian paused, clearly unamused about doing what he was told. “Mom’s downstairs.”
If Nate had been exaggerating about being nauseous before, he sure wasn’t now. His stomach rolled into his throat, his whole body lurched, but he managed to keep the booze and everything else, whatever it was, down. “Get rid of her.”
Julian scoffed. “Yeah? Think anybody on the face of the planet can do that, big guy?”
“Fuck. Off.”
“You said that already.”
“And you haven’t done it yet.”
Bracing himself, Nate forced his eyes open. They stung with dryness, begging to close again, but he knew the easiest way to get out of this was to go through his. He sighed, and his gaze snagged on something that made his insides drop into his gut like a bomb.
On the floor by the bed was the biggest bag of Taco Bell he’d ever seen in his life—like, he didn’t know they made bags that size. It was empty, too, judging by the cheery yellow paper with dried grease littering both his nightstand and the other side of the bed.
Fuck. Fuck.
He swung his legs onto the floor and stood. Julian shouted at him when he strolled to the dresser without a care in the world that his brother was getting an eyeful, and pissing his brother off was very, very good for the remains of his ego. He bent and tugged a pair of boxers on, then rubbed a hand over his chest and face before casting a glance at the mirror.
He looked like shit, but he felt worse. It wouldn’t be hard to tell Mom he’d just had a long night studying; she’d fall over herself cooing at him.
Maybe she’d even let him skip the…
“What does she want?” he asked over his shoulder.
Julian looked at him like he was stupid. “Brunch at Palm Court.”
Nate rolled his eyes. Right. He’d been the one to suggest the boys take Mom to her favorite restaurant, the tea place in the Plaza, once a month. It was a small sacrifice to appease the dragon, and it had been working wonders—but Nate had yet to show up halfway between drunk and hungover.
Well. First time for everything.
He pulled an undershirt over his head and, catching Julian’s skeptical gaze in the mirror, he huffed. “Now what?”
A pause. Too long. “You good?”
Nate grimaced. “Are you serious?”
“I mean—” Julian broke off and shifted. His eyes darted away as if he couldn’t bear to look at Nate while he continued, “It’s just— You’re, um—”
“Hungover within an inch of my life?”
Julian gave him a quick, harsh look, but it didn’t stay. He was looking out the window again in a flash. “That’s not new.”
Nate snorted.
“You’re kind of getting fat,” Julian blurted.
Nate froze. He did the thing he read in a magazine while waiting in line at the corner store: counted to ten. It didn’t help.
Because what was going to help him when his dipshit little brother pointed out that his ass had swelled by inches and there was a fresh gut where one had never been before?
“I saw that headline—”
Nate sucked in a sharp breath and, when he turned, held it so he could pretend he didn’t lose his abs under comfort calories and shame. “We do not talk about headlines in this family. Not without an army of PR professionals and lawyers. You know better.”
Julian bowed his head, looking sufficiently scolded, and Nate held onto the feeling of pride that gave him. He amplified it with purpose, made it so loud that it blocked out everything else: the embarrassment, the disbelief, the denial, and the pitiful arousal he felt every time he let himself find something, anything in the art of ruining his perfect body.
That thought left him with a bolt of fear: did he like the shame?
