Page 3
“Ignore him.” Brandon pushes off the counter and moves closer to her. “How about you come find out if the sword matches the gladiator?”
I lean in between them. “Hey Bran, quick question. You think they make French maid outfits in double XL? Because with those shoulders…”
Brandon stops mid-step. His jaw works side to side. Eyes on me. On Megan. Back on me.
“Shit,” he mutters.
Megan looks genuinely confused now. “French maid?”
“Inside joke.” Brandon steps away and rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, can I get your number? I’ll hit you up in December.”
“December?” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s literally November first.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “I know.”
Her mouth twists. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Wow.” She shakes her head. “Okay then. Good luck with your sacred vow, I guess.” She grabs the bottle of tequila on the counter, pours herself a shot, throws it back, and click-clacks out of the kitchen without looking back.
Brandon stares at the door, then slowly turns to me.
“She was a sure thing, Dylan.”
“Yep.”
“A sure thing.”
“Yep.”
“And I just said no to her.”
“You sure did.”
He leans back against the counter and tips his head toward the ceiling. “What did I agree to, man?”
“Thirty days of discipline and personal growth.”
“I hate you.”
“You’re going to hate me a lot more by week two.”
He drags both hands down his face, then drops them. Looks at me. That stubborn glint is back in his hazel eyes. “You know what? Fine. You just watched me turn down the easiest lay of the semester. If I can do that, this whole month is nothing.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“But when you lose—” He jabs a finger at my chest. “And you will lose. I’m gonna have you on all fours next to the couch so I can rest my bare feet on you while I play Madden. In the full outfit. Little apron, feather duster, the works.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re going down, bro.” He shoves my shoulder, a little harder than necessary. “Big time.”
I grin and hold up my beer. “Bring it on.”
2
This is harder than I thought.
