16
“He’s getting into her, I tell ya,”Ez babbled something next to my ear as I watched some shit Netflix that was playing on the big screen in the living room, though no one was actually watching it except me. Whoever put it on lost interest and left it running
“What?” I snarled in a bad mood because our mom left a message asking me to call her, and I knew exactly what it was about. That’s why I’d take my time to call her back. Or at least until I could think of an excuse to dodge the Charity Ball—she always wanted the oldest son to escort her. She tried hard notto let her favoritism show, but the reason she wanted me there instead of Ez was that I am the oldest son. I beg to differ, though. I think it’s because I carry our father’s dark features and have been told many times how much I look like him. Ez, on the other hand, looked more like her side of the family, but his dark humor and obsessiveness definitely came from Dad’s side.
“Dirty ol’ Deano,” he added as if I should know who he was talking about, “our Finance tutor.” Obviously, he was reading my blank expression. “You know the one who likes to fuck his students.”
“What about him?” I didn’t care, and I wished he’d stop speaking in cryptic language, so he’d get to the point faster.
“I caught him making the moves on the Boleyn girl,” he stated, “luckily I interrupted before he touched her.”
“So what?” I hit back. “They’re both adults.”
“Ah, fuck, you said you don’t want us to touch her, yet you don’t mind if the Dirty ol’ Deano gets into her,” he sat down in the leather lounger chair, slid back a bit, and started scrolling on his phone.
“The two are not comparable,” I stressed as some chick on the screen pulled a gun on a dude, and I thought it looked comical, rather than the serious show that it was supposed to be.
“What do you mean?” he asked, staring at the screen of his phone.
“I don’t give a fuck if the dirty tutor fucks her and leaves her in the dust, whereas you and Lev need to keep your hands to yourselves and your focus on the objective,” I explained.
“Nah,” he snapped, shaking his head, still staring at the screen of his phone. “Mullane won, bro.”
“What?” It looks like we’ve changed the subject. Ez’s brain flicked around the place, covering several topics in three minutes, then would come around to the first topic eventually. It was a matter of keeping up with a spinning web.
“Mullane,” he held up his phone for me to see the video of a dirt bike race on the screen, and it occurred to me he was talking about Mullane, the dirt bike racer.
Ez and Lev had a greater interest in motocross than I, whereas I preferred team sports, like football and baseball, partly because I was in the Castlehill Kings. “Good on him. So he’s moved on to the next round?”
“I’m not having it, bro, that dirty ol’ Deano and stay the fuck away from her,” he argued, and now we’re talking about the Boleyn girl again. “Yeah, he’s off to Europe for the champs over there.” Fuck, this convo was making me dizzy.
I barely looked at the Boleyn girl, so I didn’t care about her welfare, not just because she was our enemy, but because I didn’t give a shit about most girls around here. Just another chick, nothing special, but extra attention was given to scaring her shitless to wear down the daddy’s little girl. The ultimate goal was for Boleyn to drop charges against our father, and we’ll do whatever we can to make that happen.
Taunting, teasing, torturing, whatever. That was why Ez and Lev had to be level-headed about it.
I took my sneaker off and threw it at Ez, and his head snapped up and scowled at me. “What?” he blurted hotly.
“Keep your fucking feelings to yourself, bro,” I snarled, warning him. “Keep focused.”
“Iam,” he argued back, grabbing my shoe and throwing it back at me, and I caught it in one hand, then slipped it back on my foot.
“She’s not human, Ez, she’s a fucking Boleyn. I don’t give a fuck how hot you think she is-” I stressed, hoping it would sink in.
“Fuck off, she’s not hot at all,” he argued back, and I didn’t believe him. “Anyway, have you called back Mom?”
I groaned as I’d been trying to forget it, “How do you know about that? Did she contact you?”
“Yeah, because you didn’t answer her call and then didn’t call her back an hour after she left a message. You know how much she panders over you, bro,” he was clenching his jaw as he spoke, as if suppressing unwanted emotions from brimming up.
But I knew my brother too well not to realize that it hurt him when Mom paid more attention to me. I wish it were the other way around because Ez loves attention, while I don’t. If Mom didn’t contact me for an entire year, I wouldn’t notice, but he would. We were different people from the same parents.
Then there was Lev, who was always on the outside, where he was happiest, and I was kind of jealous of him for that. He’s not blood-related, so he could have one foot in the family when convenient and hold no responsibility.
“She needs to chill,” I mumbled, annoyed.
Ez’s head tipped back and he laughed loudly, “Sure, bro. Try and say that to her face. Mom is the boss, and you know it.”
My phone started ringing in my pocket, and Mom flashed up on the screen, and I groaned again. “She’s fucking telepathic,” I blurted, showing Ez my screen, and cracked up laughing even louder.
