Henry tries—and fails—to look away from Mirabelle as she retreats up the stairs, and I wonder how he ever hid his feelings for her, given how much of a lovesick fool he’s acting like now.
“So if you didn’t have freaky sex last night, why are you acting like you have the man flu?”
His eyebrows knit in confusion, and he blinks. “What’s the man flu?” he asks, and our age difference has never been more glaringly obvious.
I shake my head, laughing under my breath. For someone who loves to take a red pen to my essays when I send them to him, he’s not doing a very good job of keeping up with the times.
“Man flu is when a simple cold knocks a man on his ass and he acts like he’s dying, when a woman can still do everything like normal with a little pack of tissues,” I explain, tucking my long legs underneath me on the couch.
“I do not act like a cold knocks me on my ass,” he protests, frowning.
“Then what’s wrong with you today?”
Mirabelle skips down the stairs, phone in hand. “I accidentally crushed his dick with my knee this morning. Sorry,” she chimes in, and now a lot more things are making sense.
“Oh, so man flu.”
Mirabelle chokes back a laugh, shaking her head. “I’ll be back in like a half hour. Maybe try an ice pack so my uncle doesn’t murder me for being the reason you’re walking bowlegged.”
I think the vein in Henry’s forehead might threaten to make an appearance right now. “I am not acting like I have man flu. Why don’t I knee you in the nuts and see how you like it, Kait?” he asks, and I snort because that’s anatomically impossible.
“Well, that’d be crazy because I don’t have nuts, and you shouldn’t hurt women,” I joke, continuing to give my brother a hard time.
Henry frowns, and now I know I’ve taken the jokes too far. “I would never hurt a woman,” he says, as if I don’t already know this. I do appreciate him clarifying, though.
“I know,” I say, relaxing against the cushions, giving him a smile.
He reaches for his coffee, and it’s funny how hard he’s trying not to make a face.Jesus, how hard did Mira get him earlier?
“So, I would normally segue into this better, but Mira’s probably going to be back sooner than she said. Do you know what’s going on with the twins?” He cuts straight to the chase, and I know it was dumb to hope this wouldn’t come up during my visit.
“I don’t know,” I mumble, looking at my phone in my lap for a moment because I swear Henry can see right through me.
“Kait, please. If you know anything, I need you to tell me.”
I sigh, reaching to mess with my braid, finding the pattern on the throw pillow next to me interesting. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to be able to look me in the eyes and tell me whatever it is you know. Pretty damning that you can’t look at me right now.”
I’m not looking at him because I don’t want to disappoint him by not knowing anything. He probably already knows the little I do know.
“Hunter is mad because Bailey won’t tell him what’s going on with him. I knew Bailey had quit soccer, but he wouldn’t tell me a reason other than he didn’t see the point anymore. He’s been pretty upset since the fire, but every time I ask him what’s wrong, Bailey shuts down.” I shrug, stealing a glance at him to gauge what he might be thinking.
I love Mira, and I want to get to know her better as my brother’s girlfriend. But I’ve also been trying to figure out how to get Henry alone to talk to him about what it’s like making that jump from friends to being in a relationship. Ugh, I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t even know if Bailey wants to be in a relationship with me.
Obviously something’s going on with B, but I don’t want Henry to hate him for it.
“Why didn’t you tell me he quit soccer?” Henry asks, and I know it was a mistake to not say anything, but I thought it might be okay. I’m still hoping it’s going to be okay.
“Because I thought if I let B sort through his shit without involving you, or Mira, or our parents, it would all be fine. I didn’t think he’d get drunk at school,” I say, feeling embarrassed because it sounds childish and naive to admit out loud.
“I get that,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. All of this is so confusing. I hate being in the dark, but maybe if I’d said something sooner, things would be back to normal by now. I grab the pillow next to me, groaning into it dramatically. “You good?”
“Can I tell you something that you have to promise to keep a secret?” I ask, lowering the pillow just enough to peek at him. I know I’m putting him in a shitty spot with Mira, but I’m dying to tell someone, and I don’t know who else I can talk to about this.
“Does it involve anyone getting hurt?”
“I don’t think so, but you can’t tell Mira.”
