I Want My Asshole Brother II

NICO

He seems defeated, like a broken man in a way, but he’s still the one moving forward with this, at a much more rapid pace than I expected.

I mean, shit… I expected him to punch me in the face and storm off. Now he’s sitting on the couch, talking about terms??

He must be really drunk…

“Terms…” I repeat the word, ambling over and taking a hesitant seat next to him on the couch, making sure to leave a few feet between us.

Still, he scoots away from me.

“First off, we split everything fifty-fifty,” he says, watching her for a moment, before peering at me. “No greedy bitch skimming off the top.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, but you need to help with the marketing. I’m not gonna do all the heavy lifting while you sit back and reap the benefits.”

He scoffs. “Trust me, this won’t be fucking easy.” His eyes scan me for a split second.

I squint at him. “Why are you acting like you’re doing me some huge favor by even considering this??”

“Uh, because I am,” he grunts.

“No, we’ll both be doing something we don’t want to do, and we’ll both be making bank doing it. Even fucking playing field, asshole.”

“Fine, whatever.” He leans back, covering his face with his hands.

“Which brings me us to our next term,” I go on. “No arguing. We can’t spend this whole experience bickering at each other, or it’ll never work. If we just look at it like a job, and stay professional, it’ll be a little easier to get through it.”

His hands slip away, and he peeks at me, giving me a look as if he agrees, but he doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction.

He just nods and mumbles, “Next term… No one ever finds out about this. That’s the most important one.”

“Agreed.”

“No, I’m serious, Nico.” His tone has taken on an almost desperate, pleading lilt as he faces me. “If this got out, the money doesn’t fucking matter anymore. I’d be kicked off the football team. Not to mention, if our parents ever found out…”

He nods, clearing his throat as all vulnerability vanishes. In one eye-blink, he’s back to scowling and hostile, glaring at me as he says, “Final term… No touching.”

I laugh out loud, and his eyes narrow. “Okay, you don’t seem to understand how this works. These dudes are not gonna pay all this money for us to just sit side by side.”

“I don’t fucking care. That’s what they’re gonna get,” he grunts stubbornly.

“You’re being unreasonable,” I scoff, and he straightens.

“I’m not fucking gay, Nico.”

“Yea, I think we already established that.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “But we have to at least act like we’re into it, or this will all be for nothing… We don’t have a choice. We have to do it for the cameras.”

Puffing out an unamused chuckle, he shakes his head, grabbing the bottle from me. He takes a long pull, gurgling over the disgustingly sweet cinnamon flavor. “I don’t know if I can…”

“You won’t know if you don’t try.” I shrug.

He peers at me. “Well, what do you suggest? What do these fans of yours even want?”

My mind sifts through the insane filth they’ve been messaging me all week. “I think we’d need to start small…”

“I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near your dick,” he growls.

And for some bizarre reason, my eyes fall to said mouth. Swallowing, I stand up, avoiding everything that just started swimming around inside me from that one look while I rush into my bedroom, grabbing the tripod and my laptop.