Page 77 of One Last Rainy Day
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Why?” He tilts his head. “There are perks to being a millionaire, and it’s time you see the upside, or in our case, the flipside.”
“You don’t think I’m ready for MIT,” I conclude.
He pauses before plucking a tightly rolled shirt from a row of them at the bottom of his suitcase. “I don’t want you feeling like you don’t belong.”
“Let me save you the suspense”—I widen my eyes—“I won’t blend well.”
“Dom, I’m not telling you to change, but things will bedifferent—the people, the norms, the culture. It’s a different environment.”
“I’m not a fucking idiot, hence the acceptance letter. I know how to pronounce big words, too. Don’t worry about me. Better yet, stop worrying about me.”
He scoffs. “You act like it’s a choice.”
“It is. I’m all grown up now, so you can brush the dust from your hands. You’re all done. I can take it from here.”
“So easy, huh, this game of life? I’m halfway through my twenties and still have no idea how to handle certain situations. Ever hear the saying ‘age is nothing but a number’?”
“Yeah, but I think you’re more on a ‘grass is greener’ trip right now.”
“It can be. Don’t be so damned prideful, little brother. I didn’t even know how to properly fasten a necktie until I was in prep school. The man who taught me saw potential in me and altered some of the instilled perceptions I had about myself on a night that changed my life. So, just put the fucking shirt on, and try to keep an open mind.”
“Fine.” I snatch the shirt from his hand.
“You should iron it,” he adds, shrugging on his suit jacket.
“That’s a fuck no,” I grumble.
He raises his palms in surrender as I fist off my shirt and slide the collared atrocity on.
Pinstripes.
Shoot me now.
We’re closer in build than we’ve ever been, so it fits well enough. Trying not to gag, I shed my jeans before pulling on a pair of his chinos. When my shirt is tucked in, Tobias’s expression resembles something akin to pride as he reads my discomfort and chuckles. “Okay, maybe we skip the bow Ihad picked out for your hair. Try not to look so miserable. We’re going to have fun.” His eyes dip. “Shoes too.”
He pulls some loafers from his bag, and I jerk my chin. “Not. Fucking. Happening.”
“Wear them,” he muses. “I promise none of your friends will see you.”
“Sean’s not coming?”
“No, Tyler either. You’ll be alone in college...at least at first,” he reminds me.
The weight of that truth doesn’t sit well, and he pounces on it. “That, that right there, is the whole point of tonight.”
“Thought it was a celebration?” I start to unbutton the shirt. “Not really interested in your little experiment.”
He swats my hands to keep me from undressing and sighs my name in frustration.
“Here’s an idea,” I mutter, “how about just allowing me to go through shit to figure it out for myself?”
With the snap of a cufflink, his patience follows. “Because you’ve gone through enough on your fucking own!” The light in his eyes dims as he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation.
“All right, big brother, no need to get emotional.” I flash him all my teeth, and he glares at me in return.
Three hours later, Tobias lays down a card for the three-thousand-dollar dinner bill—mostly due to his various wine selections. We’ve literally dined like our namesake. Our glasses never got close to empty—wine or water—as we were catered to like infants.
