Come to Me Quietly

Jared frowned at me as if he’d caught the perplexity of my thoughts. Self-conscious, I dropped my gaze and distracted myself by chalking my cue stick. The band struck up, lifting the din in the bar to deafening levels. Christopher returned with the beers and my soda.

“Here you go, man.”

“Thanks.” Jared accepted his, flicked off the cap, and tipped it in Christopher’s direction before he took a long swig. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“I’ll sit out the first game,” I offered as I leaned up against the wall, sipping my Coke from a straw, “but I play winner.”

Christopher grabbed his cue and grinned. “Well, sounds like you’ll be playing me, then, little sister.”

Taunting laughter fell from Jared’s mouth, his blue eyes gleaming with mirth. “Ah, feeling pretty sure of yourself there, huh, Christopher? I’d say we need to put a little wager on this.” He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and slapped it on the table.

“Oh, you’re on.” Christopher dug out his wallet.

They picked up their play while I hovered near. We laughed and the guys drank. Jared was good, but so was Christopher. The two of them battled in this constant harassment, flippantly slinging low-blow gibes and sordid insults at each other that neither took to heart.

By the end of the game, Christopher was tucking Jared’s twenty in his pocket, all too happy to rub it in. “Jared, will you ever learn? You should know I always end up coming out on top.”

Jared leaned up against the wall with an easy grin as I stepped in for my game. How good would it feel to claim him openly, this beautiful boy, to stroll up to him, lift up on my toes to brush my lips across his? For a fleeting second I wondered how he’d react, how Christopher would react.

I glanced at Christopher, his black hair unruly and his green eyes sharp. Without a doubt, that would be a really bad idea.

I shook off the thoughts and feigned confidence as I sauntered up to my brother. “You’re in so much trouble now,” I said, tipping my chin up in mock challenge. I held back laughter that threatened to work its way free. The only time I’d ever beaten Christopher was the one time he let me.

He quirked an amused eyebrow and his green eyes sparkled. “Really?”

“Really,” I said with a resolute nod.

It took him about five seconds to annihilate me.

Jared dragged a high barstool over and set it up near the wall for me. “Here, hop up here so you can see better while I kick your brother’s ass in this next game.” His smile was loose as he gestured for me to sit. He reached out to help me climb onto the chair. And I assumed it was the few beers he’d already consumed that had lowered his walls, because his touch was gentle and lingered a beat too long. His hand gripped at my side and his thumb caressed along one of my ribs.

That simple display of affection quickened my heart. Because with him, I wanted it all. There was no disguising my yearning as I looked up at him, his eyes so soft as they looked down on me. I watched as he swallowed, the heavy bob of his throat; then reluctantly he turned back to Christopher. “All right, my friend, time for me to show you how it’s really done.”

Another hour passed, and I sat on the stool slowly swinging my legs, watching the two of them. I’d fully bailed out of the good-natured contention three games before, saying I’d been humiliated enough for one night. Christopher won another game while Jared won two. They drank a few more beers, their laugher and jests increasing, their banter so much like it used to be. A hum of satisfaction pulsed into every crevice of my being.

Jared had stayed and I thought maybe he was happy.

Christopher was obviously having a really good time. Probably a little too much of a good time, as his jests started verging on the edge of obnoxious. It only made me laugh. With his bottle lifted high, he polished off what had to have been his seventh beer of the night. He slammed the bottle down on the small table before he leaned in to attempt a ridiculous jump shot. He fumbled and knocked the cue ball into the side pocket.

“Ah, shit,” he yelled through his raucous laughter as he stumbled back. He knocked into a guy trying to take a shot at the table behind him. Christopher jerked around, stretched out a hand to steady the guy he’d run into. A casual apology rolled naturally from his mouth. “Hey, sorry, man.” Christopher’s grin was wide.

But the other guy was furious. His hand fisted on his cue stick, aggressive as he sneered. “What the fuck, you little prick?”

He was shorter than Christopher, but wider, older, rougher. His head was shaved or bald, I couldn’t tell. I could almost read his thoughts in his too dark eyes, the flame of aggression as he made the decision to mess with my brother. The guy liked it. Hostility dripped from his body, and he took one antagonistic step forward.