When his bedroom door slammed back into the wall, it startled Brandon so badly he almost fell off his chair. Christ! He'd forgotten how annoying that was!
"Bran-baby!" Ethan hollered at top volume. The guy simply had no 'inside' voice. "How's it goin', man?"
"Don't call me that," Brandon said, the words as automatic as breathing—even after all this time. He sighed, closed the book, and reluctantly raised his eyes. His heart paused and then thumped, same as it always did when he looked at his older brother.
Ethan hadn't changed.
Sure, his hair was a bit longer. The ebony waves hung down past his shoulders now. It looked good on him. Then again, what didn't? And he had more tattoos. At least two that Brandon could see: one trailing up his throat to just behind his left ear, and the other a full arm sleeve down to his right wrist. His brother's black mesh tank top showed both off quite well. It also showcased the piercings in his nipples. Those were new. Big, fat, silver hoops that matched the pair in his ears.
Basically, though, he looked the same. He was sexy as hell in his trademark black leather pants that rode way low on his hips to show off the cut 'V' of his groin, and knee-high, shit-kicker boots.
Their mother must have been so thrilled by his brother's appearance. Brandon himself was... well, okay, thrilled by his brother's appearance, but there was no fucking way he'd let him know!
Ethan's coffee-dark eyes twinkled as Brandon looked him over. Those eyes were the only things that truly differentiated the pair, despite the three year difference in their ages. Brandon's were green. Other than that, they could have been twins: same high cheekbones, same pointed chin and razor straight nose. Wait. No. Brandon's nose wasn't straight anymore. It had a small but noticeable hump. 'Cause this asshole had broken it.