No, it wasn’t, was it? I was always going out—work friends, other friends, Hutch, men I wanted to fuck. It was basically how I spent my life. “And you wonder why I’m so cocky? How could I not be when you say things like that?”
“You don’t need me to say things like that for you to be full of yourself. And bring him, your brother. It’ll be fun. And how the fuck didn’t I know you have a brother?”
No one at work had met Lane, and I didn’t make it a habit of talking about him there. I shrugged. “Maybe next time.”
“Wow…when did you turn boring?” Steven winked, and I flipped him off. All a normal day at work for us. He slipped out of my office, and I finished up my responsibilities for the day.
The whole drive home I wondered if I should have gone with Steven and the others from work, or if I should have taken Lane with me. Maybe telling more and more people that I had a brother and it was Lane would help put a damper on my feelings for him. The more people that saw him as my brother might help.
When I got home and heard music through the door, I frowned. I’d lived by myself since I was eighteen, so I wasn’t used to coming home to someone being here or listening to… Was that George Michael?
I unlocked the door and slipped inside. Lane had the music playing loudly from his phone. He was in the kitchen, his back to me, wearing shorts and a tank top that I knew were both splattered with paint. They were old and faded, a hole in the top. He hadn’t brought a lot of clothes with him, but he’d done some shopping to get more since he’d arrived, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t have options. We were so different that even at home, I wouldn’t have worn it. The clothes would have been thrown out ages ago, but Lane wasn’t like that. They were worn and comfortable and that was all that mattered to him.
The countertops were covered in food. There was a pan on the stove, with something boiling inside. He had a headband on, keeping his hair out of his face while he danced and sang, using a spatula for a microphone and alternating between that and drumming on my marble countertops.
This was…definitely a new Lane. I’d never seen this when we were growing up. I couldn’t help but stand back and watch him, smile as he belted out about having faith.
He was…God, he was absolutely fucking ridiculous in the best way.
He spun, then stopped, socks slipping on the floor when he saw me. “You scared the shit out of me!” he said, then reached for his phone and turned it down.
“Don’t let me interrupt. I was enjoying the show.”
Lane pointed the spatula at me. “You were thinking of all the ways you could make fun of me. Don’t lie. I know you better than that.”
“Maybe a little,” I conceded, but I’d been enjoying myself too.
“I tried to respect your boundaries, but you don’t fucking cook. Or buy food. How do you not buy food, Isaac? I’ve been withering away, living off takeout and no snacks.”
“Clearly that changes today.” I went farther into the kitchen.
“Yes, it does. I swear I don’t know how you have such a great body with how you eat.”
“Like my body, do you?” I said, my voice low and flirty, which, fuck, that hadn’t been on purpose. I definitely wasn’t supposed to be flirtatious with my brother.
Lane didn’t seem to notice. He rolled his eyes and said, “You’re so conceited. I went shopping and I’m cooking. You put the groceries away.”
“Too close to cleaning for you, is it?” I set my bag on the table and loosened my tie.
“Hey, you knew how I am before you said I could stay with you. That’s your fault. Jayden was always giving me shit about my messes. Are you going to start now too?”
I hated that name. I could go through life perfectly happy never hearing it again. “I’m going to tease you about it because I always have and I don’t see that stopping anytime soon. But I won’t try to change you, and I learned a long time ago how to live with it.”
Lane frowned. “Does it bother you? I’ll work harder on—”
“It’s fine, Lane. As long as there are no more socks on the kitchen counter, we’re good.”
“Deal.” He grinned. “Now if you’ll put the stuff away, I’ll finish making us dinner.”
It would have been easier if he’d done that before he started cooking, but I let that go. I took my tie off and unbuttoned the top few buttons on my shirt before rolling up the sleeves and getting to work. He’d bought…shit, he’d bought a whole hell of a lot. I wasn’t sure my cabinets or fridge had ever been this full.
“How was your day?” Lane asked, going over to stir whatever was in the pot. There was something baking in the oven as well.
“Good. I made a lot of people money…made myself money. I call that a win.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
I shoved the milk in the fridge, wondering how long he’d had it out. It still felt cold, so that was a good sign. “Pretend what?”
“That money is what you care about. You’re good at what you do, which I guess, yeah, that results in money, but you like numbers because you’re good with them. Because they’re consistent to you and you can control them—not how much money you make, of course, but where to invest and how much. You research to know these things, and one plus one is always two.”
I shrugged because he was right. “What’s for dinner?”
“Ah, the Isaac shuffle.”
Leaning against the counter, I crossed my arms and looked at him. “What’s the Isaac shuffle?”
“You and how you change the subject. You’ve always done it. I’ve never let you get away with it—at least not without calling you out on it. Hopefully things haven’t changed between us that much that you’d expect me to change now.”
No, no they hadn’t. As inconvenient as all this was, it meant a lot to me to have someone who knew me so well.
“Nope, but it’s a two-way street. Hopefully you don’t expect me to have changed either. I will likely always be an expert on the Isaac shuffle.”
Lane rolled his eyes, but a small smile teased his lips. He had slightly more scruff on his face than usual. “I know,” he replied. “Baked chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, with sautéed green beans. I haven’t cooked like this in years. It’s nice.”
“Feel free to do it as often as you like.” I winked.
“You can go change if you want. I’ll finish up here.”
“Okay.” I nodded, enjoying having Lane in my space.
As I walked toward the hallway, the music came on again. It must have been an eighties playlist because now he was listening to Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.” He used to listen to music like that when we were in high school too. That was part of the reason I even knew the songs. I remembered when I had a few friends over from the football team, and Lane had been listening to some of his favorites from that decade. When I wasn’t in the room, the guys had been laughing at it, at Lane. I heard them when I came back. They’d shut up real quickly because they knew I didn’t accept people talking shit about him. I’d lied and told them Dad said it was time for everyone to go home, and then I’d lain in Lane’s bed with him, my head on his pillows, his facing the other direction as he played all his favorite songs for me and drew.