Page 56 of Stranger Danger

I pout, but he widens his eyes, silently mouthing, “Come on,” when her back’s turned.

“Crowd” Ira just doesn’t want to work. Normally, I have zero issues moving past crap like this, but lately—

I can’t.

My phone decides now is a perfect time to ring, and I can’t agree more. Standing, I pull it out of my hoodie pocket and thread my arm through his, pulling him toward the front of the store.

“Hello?”

“You are in so much trouble.” Asher’s voice is on the other end, pissed to the point of quivering. “Where are you? Right this instant, Ira Matthew Colson.”

I flinch, and Beckett looks down at me, one eyebrow raised. All I can do is shake my head. After Dad left, my brother took on the role of “father” so literally that I always forget he’s only four years older. Maybe I should’ve checked who it was before answering.

“Target,” I say quietly.

“Is Beck with you?”

“Yeah…”

“Put him on the phone right now.”

Fuck my life.

I hand my cell over to Beckett. As soon as he holds it to his ear, he yanks it away, and I hear my brother screaming.

Beckett puts it on speaker.

“—trusted you. Do you have any fucking idea how mortifying it is to think about how I rambled on and on about Ira’s obsession with this random fucking guy, and you knew—you knew the entire goddamn time, Beck. The whole fucking fraternity knows. Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

Beckett hits mute. He’s not embarrassed or humiliated. His grin is the widest I’ve ever seen when I meet his eyes.

“How do we tell him we had no clue at the New Year’s Eve party?” he asks.

God, I don’t know.

Send help. I’m drowning.

“You were one of my best fucking friends at the frat.” Asher is still ranting. “I suggested Ira join because I thought you’d be a good influence. I thought you’d protect him from the weird college hazing rituals and shit. Dicking my baby brother down wasn’t an option, Beckett. Icing on the cake is that Mom is over the goddamn moon. She keeps—”

A mom with a stroller walks by us at lightspeed, her head ducked down and her face red. The kid inside the stroller’s too young to understand, and it waves its grubby, cheese-covered hand at me. I wave back.

“… Christmas party where you brought homemade red velvet…”

I keep my eyes on the ground as we walk, half-wondering when Asher’s voice is going to give out and he’ll have to explain to the judge, “Sorry, sir. I spent twenty minutes bitching out my brother’s boyfriend so I can’t perform law.”

That’s totally what lawyers say.

I think.

The mental image makes me smile, and I squeeze Becket’s arm through his Delta Tau hoodie. He kisses the top of my head, his shoulders vibrating like crazy. He’s laughing silently until I swear he’s fucking crying.

“… Who genuinely pulls this? You could have at least asked me. Or told me…”

One day, my brother will shut up.

My phone chirps a notification, and I lean closer to read the banner at the top of the screen. It’s another thread from Twitter about the latest Polaroid we posted: a picture of the one dude’s bottle of vodka, with a shred of my blue pants stuffed inside. Right before we lit it. Beckett’s black Sharpie is on the bottom, reading: 1 + 1 = ?

Before I can tap it open to look at the crazy comments, Beckett pulls my arm back so quickly I almost fall on my ass. I look up from the screen…