Chapter 4

BENNETT

"Thank you for forcing me to class today," I say, banging into the room.

Emmett is sitting by the window, tissues littering the ground around him as surprise pulls at his face. "You liked it?"

"I like the guy who hit on me."

He snort-laughs that quickly turns into a cough.

My good mood dips. "You okay, Emmy?"

"Fine. Just blocked up. Who hit on you?"

"A guy named Harrison. He's droolworthy. Hot as fuck."

Em shrugs. "Don't know anyone in our class called Harrison and definitely haven't seen anyone in our class who classifies as droolworthy." Emmett's eyes get unfocused. "Except maybe Professor Brooks."

Before I can groan out my disgust over Em having the hots for that train wreck, he continues.

"Tell me about this guy."

I dump my bag. "Not much to tell. He's hot, flirty, and we had a mini lunch date. I've invited him to a frat party this weekend." I don't want to give Em too many other details—like Harrison's red hair is a dead giveaway—because Em's always been great at sticking to our rule about not talking to people in class. I'm the one who struggled to keep my distance. And if he goes around looking out for Harrison in class, Harrison will definitely spot him and zone in.

Em perks up. "You're having a party?"

"We are now."

Whenever our house has a party, it's the one time we can get sloppy about being in the same place. With a full house and everyone too drunk to see straight, someone bumping into one of us in one room and then seeing the other in the next room is easy to pass off as alcohol. If they even remember it the next morning.

"Did you get out today?" I ask him.

Emmett shakes his head. "Felt too shitty."

"Well, once you're better, make sure you do. You can't just live in here all day, every day."

"Okay, West."

I grunt, hating when he acts like my being worried about him is the same as our eldest brother fathering us. "Fine. Live in here all day. Become a mole man for all I care."

"It's sweet when you don't care."

"You're so annoying. You're also killing my chances of hooking up. I can't bring guys back to my room and be all ‘don't worry about the other me in the corner, he's not watching,' can I?"

"I dunno. Some people like that. Twins."

We both pull an identical face. While I share literally everything with Em, neither of us wants to share a hookup, and because we've had the offer many, many, many times is yet another reason we wanted our own lives out here.

Emmett snatches up his painkillers and tosses them to me. "I can't remember what it says, and my head hurts. If I took some at two, can I have more yet?"

I read the bottle and toss it back. "Every four to six hours. So, if you took it at two … and it's five now …"

"Another hour."

"Damn."

"Wanna get me some water?"

"Can do. I'm going to let some of the guys know about the party, and I'll be back, okay?"

He manages a pitying smile. "You don't need to babysit me. I'm sick, not dying."

I don't even like him joking about that. My morbid sense of humor over my parents' deaths only stretches so far, and when I try to imagine life without Em, I go cold all over.

We've always talked about what life will be like when we're older. We'll graduate, get our own careers, our own partners, and live within walking distance of each other. We'd be happy to live in the same house, but that's not for everyone, and we can't expect our partners to feel the same.

I might joke about Emmett cramping my love life, but if he needs me, I wouldn't want it any other way. Most people might find living in a tiny bedroom with someone else stifling, but it makes no difference to us. I figure we were smooshed together so much in the womb we came out mentally resigned to be that way our whole lives.

I reach the kitchen to grab Emmett's water and find two of my frat brothers at the kitchen island.

"Sandman." I greet the guy who pledged with me and has had the stupid nickname ever since. For the pledge party he threw, he thought he'd make it Hawaiian themed, only instead of filling the backyard with sand, he covered the house in it instead.

I swear I still find grains randomly around the house.

"Hey, Dalton. Just talking about weekend plans."

"What plans? We're having a party."

"We are?" He nods. "Cool."

"Theme?" Big Wally asks.

"Nah, just the usual."

"I'll hit up the guys at the stoner house. They always have good weed."

"Cool." It doesn't make a difference to me. Most of my siblings are into hockey, and the two who aren't, one is a math genius with a sensible streak, and the other is way too into her appearance to take anything recreationally. Drugs weren't something on our radar growing up when it was practice, school, practice, homework, conditioning, conditioning, conditioning. When Em and I first got to Cali, we thought it would be cool to try it, but being under the influence and hiding a secret as big as ours doesn't mix.

Even drinking, we have to be more careful than we would if we were at a party solo.

With any luck, I can use this party to pull Harrison, hook up early, then kick him out of my room before Em wants to go to bed.

"Let's make it a free ladies' night and ten a head for dudes," Big Wally says.

I grunt. "You guys are so straight. Ever think about little ol' me? Why don't we ever have a free night for queer dudes?"

"Because then you're the only one who would hook up," Sandman points out.

"You're a fucking idiot if you think I'm the only queer dude in this house." I take a sip of Em's water. "Statistically, there's no way that's possible."

"I'm not saying I wouldn't suck a dick," Sandman continues, "only that I'd have to be really drunk and desperate."

I pat him on the shoulder. "Real stand-up man, you are. Truly selfless."

He smiles like I've complimented him.

The thing is, I love my frat brothers; they're always here for a good time, and none of them have ever cared that I'm gay. Their number one question in life is "Is it fun?" and if the answer is yes, they're game. But I've never gotten particularly close to any of them. That's partially my fault for having my brother to confide in and not needing anyone else, and partially theirs. They say a lot of dumb shit.

"Okay, I want to make this party really good. I've got a guy coming, so let's get it up on socials. Have O'Toole fill the place with beer. Ooh—who was that sophomore DJ we had last time? The girl with the cat ears—you know the one."

"Yeah, she was great."

Sandman snickers.

I sigh. "You hooked up with her, didn't you?"

"Nope." He points at Big Wally. "He tried. She shot him down. I like her."

"Finally, a chick who has some sense. I don't know how you two get laid so much."

"They don't call me Big Wally for nothing."

"It's literally your name, and you're about ten feet," I deadpan.

"Yeah, but … But … Wally. It's innuendo. For my dick. Willy. You know."

I love hearing him splutter through the explanation. "I've literally never heard anyone else say that but you."

"I fucking hate you all."

"It's love like this that really makes me glad I moved in here."

Sandman chuckles. "I remember you all but begging to become a DIK."

"Begging to suck a dick, there's a difference."

"Pfft." Sandman flips me off.

I wouldn't say begging, but he's right that I wanted in. Wanted to be a part of something outside of my siblings. Outside of hockey. I've only had one of my frat brothers ask if I'm related to Asher Dalton, and after telling him no, he dropped it. A Google search could possibly pull up some random local articles on the Dalton duo, but unless someone is interested enough to go looking, I'm safe here.

It's one of the things I love about Franklin U. We're a Division One hockey school, but people are way more interested in football and lacrosse. Here, I'm just a random face in a sea of thousands.

"You know what we haven't done in about a year?" Sandman asks. "Jell-O wrestling. I miss that."

"You just miss seeing the chicks wrestle."

"Always so cynical. Sure, that part is cool, but it's just … fun."

I can't disagree. Throwing each other around and having an excuse to play fight is a good time. Who knows, maybe I could get Harrison in on it? He'd probably kick my ass, considering he's bigger than me, but I wouldn't say no to feeling all that rubbing up against me.

There's a part of my brain that wishes I didn't bother with the whole frat party cover-up and had just asked to go to his house tonight to get it over with, but unlike some of my friends, I actually like the buildup. The anticipation makes good sex so much better, and if Harrison's confidence was anything to go by, I can trust the sex to be good. Maybe better than good. Though, when it comes to having my dick sucked, I'm not exactly picky on technique.

I drain Em's water and refill the glass, then raid the fridge for some fruit and the pantry for potato chips. I have no idea if he's eaten today, but if he hasn't left the room, there's a good chance that's a no.

I'm not much of a cook beyond pasta, so he'll have to deal with this until dinnertime.

"What time Saturday?" I check.

"Probably open up at nine," Big Wally suggests.

"Okay, laters." I nod their way before disappearing back to my room.

Em's face lights up when he spots what I'm carrying. I hold up the apple, and he barely catches it before it hits his face.

"Should have told me you didn't eat yet," I grumble.

"I wasn't hungry until I saw the food. Besides, I slept most of the day."

I dump the rest of the food on my bed and then grab my bag and pull out my desk chair. "Statistics sucks, by the way. I have no clue how you follow that class."

"And I have no clue how your whole dream revolves around writing for a living. Look at that, we are different."

I purse my lips, not wanting to bring up the future and next plans while he's sick. Technically, he already has a lot of course credits … maybe he could enroll at Franklin? Just because we're twins, it wouldn't mean they'd automatically assume we've been cheating this whole time. Hell, they probably wouldn't be able to prove it if we continued. Unless they figured out the scar thing.

Considering no one other than our family ever has, I'm confident.

"So …"

Emmett's grunt cuts me off. "No. No school talk. Sore head. Talk later."

Talk later. Sure. Those two words are his go-to these days.