Page 53 of Silver Sweet

I could banter back,gladyou’re admitting you know what I am,but I worry I’ll sound breathless with how much oxygen is escaping my lungs.

He’s not standing still. He’s shifting his weight, then his hand slides against his jaw, his lips. Restless. Next-level impatient. I hate that I find thisflawattractive. What the hell is wrong with me?Nothing.I’m amazing. Horny for my bandmate, but undoubtedly amazing.

I finally turn the doorknob, and when I enter my room, I realize there was something I totally and completely forgot to warn Phoenix about.

12

TOM COBALT

An uncaged, jubilant stark-white bird shifts excitedly on his window perch. He rocks side to side like he has to piss, radiating joy at the mere presence of people. Reminds me a lot of Ben, actually. Not the piss part, just the happiness in the company of others.

I smile a little.

“Hey, ho!” he squawks as I close the door behind my drummer.

Phoenix stalls out three feet into the room. The privacy curtains are drawn open, so Ben’s side is in full view—along with the Versailles of bird cages. It’s almost the length of Ben’s fuckingbed. The number of toys would make a dog jealous.

His eyes narrow at the sulfur-crested cockatoo. “You have a bird?”

“My brother, Ben, has a bird.” I gesture to Ben’s side where his checkered quilt is tucked neatly into the wooden frame. My bed is alsonicelymade. I am not a slob, for the record. I’ve already warned Phoenix that I’m sharing a room with my little brother, but I missed giving him a memo about the bird.

In my defense, this is a very new development. As in Ben brought home the cockatoo (and his insane amount of belongings) this morning. He did “okay” it with me last night, but what was I going to say? No?

My goal of being the best brother does not include rejecting Ben’s wishes to get a pet with his demonic girlfriend.

The cockatoo hops off the wooden perch and to the floor. Phoenix moves backward, then takes deliberate steps around my bed while the bird bounces toward me. The yellow feathers on his head fan out in excitement.

I frown at Phoenix. “Are you allergic?”

He slides me a glare. “I don’t like birds.” He grimaces like he sees the trap he’s fallen into. “Don’t?—”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, but the irony is too good. Your name is literallyPhoenix.Please tell me your brother is scared of them too.”

“Did I sayscared? Fucking hell, we’re going to need to get cotton swabs so you can unclog your ears.”

The bird is at my feet. He hops on my sock, then tries to climb my leg. I’m betting he already loves perching on my six-five brother. Thankfully I am well-versed in caring for birds because of Ben’s childhood pets, but this is the first cockatoo he’s ever had. This feathery chaos-maker is larger, more vocal, and more curious than Ben’s cockatiels were (RIP).

I get the bird on my fingers and bring him over to his cage. He flies half of the way there himself, enticed by the hanging rope which he bites onto.

Perfect. I latch the cage closed with him inside. “Have a good workout. Do not hurt yourself.” Last thing Ben needs is to blame himself for this little maniac’s broken wing.

I spin around and see Phoenix has sunk down on my bed like he’s already been here five thousand times.

“Make yourself at home,” I tell him with a wave.

“Thanks. I will.” He grabs the book off my nightstand and flips through the yellowed pages. My well-worn copy ofCatcher in the Ryeholds his attention for half a second before he tosses it aside on my mattress. His eyes roam my darker side of the room from the guitars displayed on my wall to the rock posters to the amps and my tall dresser.

He doesn’t glance back at Ben’s side.

I’m on edge wondering what’s coursing through his head.

“Ho!” the cockatoo squawks. “Ho! Ho!” He nibbles at his enclosure. I almost feel badly locking him back up. I’m the one who let him roam the room after Ben left. Because I, too, would not want to be caged.

Then again, he flew in there himself, so…it’s his fault.

Phoenix grimaces. “Does it have a name?”

“Not yet. Ben and Harriet are still workshopping names for him.”