Hating Grayson ✓

11

I knocked on Grayson's bedroom door.

I could hear movement from behind it as I waited for it to open. The door knob twisted and the door swung open, revealing a shirtless Grayson with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His body was wet, which made sense, seeing as he had clearly just gotten out of the shower. But his body also looked as if it was sculpted in the fashion of a Greek god. Chiseled abs, visible v-line and his perfectly carved jawline.

"You shouldn't be here." He said to me as his forehead met mine.

I knew I shouldn't have been there. I should be at home, eating snacks while scrolling through TikTok.

"I know." I said to him, looking up into his eyes. Our lips were just an inch apart and our breaths mingled together as both of our eyes remained glued to each other.

"Don't tell your brother." He told me, his voice calm.

"I won't." I said back, pressing my lips to his.

"AHHHHHH!" I woke up the following morning, sweating and panting.

Thank god it was just a dream. Just a stupid, dumb dream about a stupid, dumb guy. Scratch that, it was a nightmare! It didn't mean anything. I'm sure millions of people have sex nightmares about their worst enemies. It's probably totally common.

"Jeez, dude. It sounded like you were getting murdered by Ghostface in here." Mitchell entered my bedroom with no warning.

"I wish I was." I mumbled, groaning.

"How did I get back home?" I asked him, having zero recollection of what had happened for the remainder of last night.

"You don't remember?" He asked me.

"If i remembered, why would I ask you?" I shook my head in disbelief. I'm sure I've mentioned it a million times before, but my older brother was not exactly the brightest bulb.

"Well, you were giving out lap dances so I had to take you home." Mitchell explained, causing my jaw to smack against the floor. Not literally, obviously.

"NOOOOOOOO!" I groaned, sinking back into my bed and smothering myself with my pillow.

"I was joking, ya moron." Mitchell laughed.

Thank god, I can't believe I fell for that. Then again, we've already established that my drunken alter ego cannot and shall not be trusted.

"I hate you!" I groaned as I threw my pillow at him.

"Dad says you have to mow the lawn." Mitchell says.

I groaned again in protest. "Noooooo, why? You're the oldest, shouldn't you have to do it." I complained.

"I have football practice this morning." He said with implied quotes.

"You're a filthy liar!"

"Hey, what mom and dad don't know won't kill 'em, just quit being a baby and do the lawn."

I officially hate my life. Not only am I so very clearly hungover, I now have to mow both the front lawn and the back lawn all on my own because my older brother is a lying piece of shit.

"No, I'm not doing the lawn. You can." I got up out of my bed and rubbed my eyes awake.

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. I have a headache, I'm extremely dehydrated and I still have to go to Fall Fest later on. So I'm pretty much all booked for the day." I made my way downstairs to relieve my headache by taking one or two aspirins, then I'll glug down an entire jug of water, or orange juice, depending on my mood by the time I made it downstairs.