NICO
Alexander has been gone for nearly half an hour but my brother is still shooting me the look I recognize all too well. Growing up, I only got that look from him when he was truly angry and I was about to get punched in the face, which I deserved most of the time.
"Spill." I say, bracing myself to go on the defense.
This time, however, he has no intention of punching me.
"What the hell was that about?" He snaps.
I know exactly what he's referring to but where's the fun in admitting that? I recline in my seat, emptying the last of my scotch on the rocks. "What the hell is what about?"
He looks like he's reining in the urge to kick me in the guts, which is a surprise. Any other day, he would have launched at least a few punches or kicks at me. Which could only mean one thing—he needs a favor from me.
So I take a big sigh. "You gotta admit though, she's lovely, isn't she? With just the right boob size."
