“Hell yeah. That sounds great, thanks.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Russell had always been a little shy, like he was now, but I had gotten to know him some when I lived with the Youngs senior year. As he stood in front of me now, he still seemed withdrawn, but I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown into himself over the years, too. His sandy hair was lightly curling over his speckled hazel eyes, and the curve of his lips and cut of his jaw caught my eye.
If Russell were a stranger at the bar, I’d probably be all over that shy hotness. There was an energy in his eyes like he was ready to burst and break through, and I could definitely enjoy helping out with something like that.
I flipped on the skillet, then slathered butter across the bread while Blake got himself and Russell a beer. Those thoughts needed to disappear immediately because Russell was Peyton’s little brother, and that was just not appropriate.
It wasn’t the age. He must have been twenty-three, and I was twenty-nine. But still, he would always be Peyton’s little brother, and I did not need to notice how hot his ass looked in his sweatpants. Especially not while he was still hiding out in the basement whenever he was home and clearly trying to keep to himself.
“How was your day?” I asked Russell as I cut the tomatoes.
“Not bad. I had the cabinetry class that I told you about and then work at the bookstore.”
“Whatcha making?” Blake asked.
Russell spun the beer bottle in his hand. “Just a little nightstand with some shelves. I’m learning how to do a good veneer.”
“You make furniture?” I asked, then flipped the bread in the pan and threw the cheese on.
The Young siblings were all so skilled, it almost gave me a complex.
“Not really. I basically grew up in the hardware store and the woodshop with my dad, though. I don’t want to make a career out of it, but I like working with tools when I can.”
It hit me—the last time I’d seen Russell was at his father’s funeral, which was probably true for Blake, too. I knew that Mr. Young wasn’t a perfect dad, and he definitely would have struggled with his son being gay, if he were still around.
But I also remembered that Russell’s dad tried to do right by his family, and hell, he’d taken me in when I didn’t have anywhere else to go. So I was glad to know that Russell had some good memories about him, too, and grateful that I was able to help one of the siblings out, just like the family had helped me.
My mind flicked back to our childhood. Russell was a gentle kid, and I remembered how he was always helping the other neighborhood kids with projects, building tree forts and collecting butterflies and that kind of thing. His dad had always seemed to be gentle with him, too, which I took as a sign that they loved each other.
It really stuck with me, like proof that my own house was as fucked up as I always thought.
That was probably why it felt weird to notice Russell was hot. He and I had seen each other’s lives up close and personal, in a way not many people had. We hadn’t kept in touch over the years or anything, but Peyton’s brother was still a part of my life.
The tomatoes sizzled in the pan, and I flipped them into the sandwiches. The toasted cheese smell hit my nose, and I quickly tossed it all onto three small plates. “Late-night snack,” I said, then leaned back against the counter. “Give it a second. You’ll burn your tongue.”
Russell lifted the sandwich, and a string of melty cheese fell to his plate. “Yum, thanks,” he said, his eyes lighting up like he’d just gotten a present.
“Looks good, right?” Blake agreed with a grunt.
My pulse kicked, and I turned my eyes away, because feeding Russell and Blake felt way more satisfying than it was supposed to.
