Page 49 of Emerson | AllFreeNovel

No more roughhousing over breakfast. No more all-nighters spent playing video games or whatever it is that lame, straight dudes do when they're yelling at the screen for hours. Honestly? I'm more sad to miss out on opportunities to see Dillon. Which makes me the worst brother ever, but I hate video games. And I also hate wrestling.

I do not hate Dillon.

Well, I at least don't hate looking at him.

I stop in front of where Warren and Dillon are leaning against the borrowed box truck, and hand them each a cold water.

Warren drinks half of it and burps before tugging on the braid that's over my shoulder. “Thanks, Em. You can go somewhere else now and stop drooling over Dill.”

A few years ago, that comment would have sent me into a full panic spiral. I would have huffed and puffed, making a dramatic exit to go cry in my bedroom. But I'm sixteen now, not twelve.

Now I just do the huffing and puffing and leave the rest out. I cross my arms and glare, ignoring the heat on my cheeks, and keep my eyes on my brother.

“Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I have the hots for everyone, Borren.” Warren snorts, and Dillon makes a noise that's suspiciously amused-sounding.

Dammit. I guess there will be tears after all.

I go to spin away, but to my horror, Warren grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug I don't want, nor ask for. I keep my watery eyes downcast and my arms at my sides.

“Oh, come on, Em. It's okay. Morgan will have you over, and you guys can do all the gay shi—”

“Bro,” Dillon says. Yeah, definitely amused.

“I mean girly shit…”

Dillon exhales a chuckle at that, too. Warren holds me at arm’s length. “Whatever, man. You know what I mean. I'll be around, dude, every Sunday dinner.” He tugs my braid again, then punches me lightly on the shoulder. I grimace, stumbling back a step from the force anyway. “And don't worry, Em. I'll bring Dill around.”

“Leave the kid alone, War.” Dillon snickers. Then he taps his knuckles on my other arm, much softer than Warren did. “I'll see you around, Emerson.”

I wipe a tear that manages to escape with a swift hand and clear my throat. “Whatever.”

They both chuckle when I walk swiftly back to the house. Not a run, though. I no longer dramatically run from anything. Ever.

Bitches & Bros

oh my GOD Ian. You broke into my house and went through my stuff???

Z: sent photo evidence of his snooping and everything.