Baewatch - Xavier Neal Page 0,21
human beings.
However, having them do all the heavy lifting while you pat yourself on the back for remembering one of your children likes all-natural goldfish and one doesn’t, yet you can’t recall which is which is pathetic.
And, it’s her daughter who doesn’t.
She likes the Pepperidge Farm shit, which is good since it’s the only kind Uncle Scott buys.
“You know what, you’re right, April,” I casually concede, putting my brother on immediate high alert.
“This isn’t going to go well…” he quietly mumbles to my dog.
“You’re absolutely right.”
“Bad,” my brother grumbles at the same volume. “This is going to get very very bad.”
“There has to be a more ‘adult way’ to express having a nightly romp in the sack with a member of your house staff – though to reiterate Brooklyn is not – but the phrasing isn’t coming to mind. Perhaps Harrison can help me out there?” My smile becomes devilish as I meet his alarmed and annoyed gaze. “Perhaps my older…wiser…well-versed brother can provide us with a word or clever expression for engaging in such unseemly behaviors.”
Harrison clears his throat to insist. “We really should get going.”
“Should you?” I lightly chortle and fold my arms across my chest. “Can’t spare another minute?”
“We can,” she swiftly insists.
“We shouldn’t.”
“We should,” April coos my brother’s direction. “Show him, baby. Break out the courtroom talk and show him what makes you the superior lawyer. Why your father is talking about making you a partner in the near future.”
“He didn’t say near future.”
Of course, he didn’t say near future.
Father isn’t that open or upfront.
The impeccable attorney in him refuses to allow it.
“Yeah, Harrison,” my added goading is accompanied by another small laugh. “Show me. Show my why you deserve to sit among the self-proclaimed Gods to feast on Mount Olympus instead of with us mere mortals here on earth.”
He sucks his teeth, glances down at his designer shoes, and slowly shakes his head, now the one who’s mood is clearly growing in irritation.
That’s because he can’t prove it.
Because he’s not.
I may spend less time in courtrooms, in high dollar suits, and kissing judges’ asses outside of them, but I will always be the far superior attorney.
Unfortunately, it comes naturally.
Almost like surfing.
Our eyes lock again, though this time, I can see tiny specs of humor hopping around his blue glare. “Glad to know you’re still alive, Scott, and that you didn’t by some divine miracle happen to get eaten by a shark-”
“You know that shit is highly unlikely. Cows kill more people than sharks do.”
“Or drown while surfing.”
“I’m an excellent swimmer. Remember, I was the one they wanted to go to those training camps where they prep you for the pre-Olympic teams.”
“Or perhaps simply slipped and fell and hit your head too hard on a coconut.”
“If memory serves me well, I believe falling coconuts are more likely to be fatal than tripping and falling on one.”
Harrison can barely resist the urge to smirk.
“You can chill,” I playfully say, demeanor finally relaxing. “You can reassure our father I’m still alive, still not in the mood to take that particular call, and still not leaving my beach house to you.” My chin kicks the direction of my four-legged roommate. “It along with all of my other worldly possessions goes to Houndrix when Poseidon comes to take me to my watery grave.”
Houndrix rolls over onto his back to get into a more comfortable sleeping position.
“He’s kidding, right?” April investigates, true concern caking her voice. “You get the house if he dies. You, not his housekeeper.”
“I don’t have a fucking housekeeper, April.”
The sharpness in my speech causes her to scowl.
“And also, just so you’re both fucking aware, Brooklyn isn’t beach trash. She’s smart and funny and fearless and sexy as fuck. She isn’t just some random hookup I was hoping to have. I…” the dreaminess that often occurs when I talk about her reappears in my voice, “…really like her. I think we actually have something.”
Harrison’s head cocks in curiosity. “You mean like you and-”
“More than that,” I swiftly reassure. “Not to mention this shit isn’t one-sided like that was.”
His expression to my surprise transposes into delight.
We aren’t always on the same wave. He does shit I don’t agree with. I live a lifestyle he thinks is a joke. We argue absentmindedly, we argue for a purpose, we argue simply for the sake of arguing, but at the end of it all, at the end of everything, he’s still my brother. He still gives a shit about me, and I