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Numb Ch. 3

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~*~

James fixed his collar and examined himself in the mirror. His white button down shirt was crisp, his stylish navy blue vest was tailor-made, his navy dress pants were pressed, his fancy shoes were shined. His hair was gelled and his face was freshly shaven. An expensive silk tie adorned his neck, tied clumsily for effect and stuffed under his vest. He looked important, rich, and sexy.

The doorbell downstairs rang and a minute later Zeb opened the door to James' bedroom. He side-stepped the dirty clothes on the floor and looked around.

"Damn," he said to the mess. "Did your closet throw up?"

Too tired to deal with him right now, James ignored Zeb. He tended to do that a lot. Unaffected by the rude gesture, Zeb eyed his outfit with confusion.

"I know I'm special and everything," he started with a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "But you didn't have to get all dressed up for a tutoring session."

"It's not for you," James mumbled venomously. "I'm going on a date."

"Aw," Zeb pouted. "Wouldn't rather learn about complex parabolas and annexes?"

"No. Move." He pushed Zeb out of his way and headed downstairs.

James didn't like how Zeb wasn't phased by his rudeness, anger, or desire to be mean all the time. It urked him how he wasn't intimidated by his muscular physique or demanding stature. He was basically telling James he was in charge. But that wasn't how James worked. He was in charge. No one was going to take that position of authority away from him. He was taller, sexier, and much scarier than shorter, scrawnier, always-happy Zeb Wahlstrom.

Zeb followed James into the living room like a puppy would its mother. He had a small smile on his face; he always did.

James turned around to stare him down. "What are you still doing here?"

Zeb shrugged. "I don't know."

Clenching his teeth together James cracked his neck, trying to hold down his temper. Just then Spencer walked out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in her hands.

"Oh, hey, Zeb," she greeted through a mouthful of food. "Nice suit, James. Very sophisticated."

James just shook his head and trudged to the door, shrugging his coat on.

"Are you doing anything tonight, Zeb?" she asked.

He crossed his arms and looked at James with narrowed eyes. "I was supposed to be tutoring your brother, but he's being a douche and ditching me."

She laughed, punching his arm. "It's okay. You can stay and watch some movies with me."

Zeb smiled apologetically. "I can't. My dad is making me take a shift later at his diner. But I guess I can stay just long enough to go through James' drawers."

"You will not," James snapped, irritated. "Spencer, do not let him go into my room. And make him leave soon." He stomped out the door and into his sleek black car.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant he was meeting his brother and the twin girls, he pulled out a flask of whiskey and practically chugged the entire thing down. He didn't even wince at the burning sensation at the back of his throat; he was that used to it.

He reluctantly slugged into the fancy galleria where a snobby looking host stood behind a podium. He sat James with his brother immediately, ignoring the complaints of the people who had been waiting for over an hour.