“Dylan! What the hell are you doing here?”
Dylan laughs boisterously. “I leave today! Had to say goodbye before I leave you for a month.”
Reaching over the edge of the bed, I grab my oversized hoodie off the ground and tug it on. “Are you feeling better?”
“Good as new.” He grins. “Like I said, though, I definitely don’t recommend seafood from a street vendor.”
“I don’t know why you thought that was a good idea to begin with. I wouldn’t even get a hot dog from a street vendor.”
Dylan visibly shudders. He hasn’t had a hot dog in years because of a different bout of food poisoning.
“What time is your flight?” I ask, tugging on a pair of sweats.
He turns around so I can get them on completely. “In an hour.”
“An hour! Dylan, you should already be at the airport!”
He waves his hand at me. “Nah, they just like to say that to scare you. I have TSA PreCheck, and haven’t had a plane leave without me so far.”
“Awfully ballsy for a guy with a layover. You can turn around now.”
He chuckles, stepping toward me with his hands outstretched. “I’ll be fine, but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll head out. Give me a hug.”
“I’m going to miss you!” My voice comes out garbled, face smushed into his sweatshirt. “Please be careful over there.”
“Don’t worry about me, sis, I’ll be just fine.Yoube safe here though. I’ve enlisted Gareth as your designated older brother to make sure you are eating, drinking—water—and are safe at work.”
Knots form in my stomach.Designated older brother?Fuck my life.
“Gareth doesn’t have to do that. I’m a grown woman, Dylan. Fully capable of taking care of myself. Plus, he doesn’t even live in Ridgewood.”
“A little drive time didn’t seem to bother him when I asked! Gotta run.” He side hugs me again and presses a kiss to the side of my temple.
“Be safe!” I call after my brother as he practically runs from my room. My front door slams shut, and I sink back down onto my bed.
I push the heel of my hand into my eyes. There’s no way Gareth would take Dylan seriously and become my personal…what, babysitter?
Designated older brother.
If Dylan only knew that the things Gareth and I want to do to each other are not the least bitsibling-like.
A sense of dread sits heavy in my chest as I wipe the fog away from the bathroom mirror, still steamy from the scalding shower I just stepped out of. Water droplets roll down my skin, some stopped by the towel wrapped around my body.
Squeezing out the excess water from my hair, I stare at my reflection. I’m not in the mood to go into work tonight. The thought of dealing with handsy men and the attitudes from entitled women sounds like a giant chore. Ladies’ night is always the worst night of the month, but Rosie insists on continuing them because profit is always so much higher than a regular night.
My phone vibrates on the counter next to the makeup strewn around. I don’t have to glance at it to know it’s him.
I’ve been waiting for Gareth’s text all day—I’m surprised it didn’t come earlier.
When I abandon my hairbrush, the saturated strands of pink straight and cold against my shoulder, I finally open the text.
Golden Boy
What time are you off work tonight?
Rolling my eyes, I pick up my makeup primer and rub it into my skin. While I let it air-dry to tacky, I run my hands under the water to remove some of the product, then text him back.
What’s it to you?
