Baked Love

Chapter 26

A/N: I think this is the worst chapter I’ve ever written, but a kind reader said otherwise. 

 

Chapter 26: This is for those who do not believe in love, or have given up on it.

[Xander]

Exiting the store, I began to make heavy footsteps to the bakery, wondering if anyone was awake at the moment, or to state bluntly—whether Chip was still crying.

Taking a gulp from the aluminum can, I felt the beer run down my burning throat.

There was a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. But I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was just the beer—or something else.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I took tentative steps up the stairs, trying my best to reduce the creaking.

Apparently I was too heavy.

Must be the muscles. Don’t forget the abs.

Great, I think I’m drunk.

Stumbling into the living room, I collapsed into the sofa—dragging an arm over my eyes to shield the veil of moonlight filtering through the window.

A sigh escaped.

How long I stayed like that—I wasn’t sure. I probably drifted in and out of sleep.

But what seemed like a minute later, there was a cough.

Lifting my arm seemed tougher than I thought, as I opened a suspicious eye to glance in the direction of the sound.

Oh, it’s Chip’s brother.

What was his name again…?

Luke?

“Hey Luke. What’s up?”

Luke sighed. “It’s Loki. And shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”  

I straightened up, rubbing my temples slightly. “Sorry Luke. Uh…yeah, I’m just thinking.”

“In the middle of the night? What—oi, did you drink? You smell of alcohol,” Luke frowned, turning to the wooden chair next to the sofa.

“Yeah…”

There was an awkward silence.

Not that I didn’t expect it—I mean, Luke and I rarely even see each other.

“Girl problem?”

Tell me about it.

Oh right. He doesn’t know about me and Chip yet.

Shit. I shouldn’t have drank.

I felt like I was on the verge of throwing up—not literally, but more like throwing up my feelings, and telling Chip’s brother about everything.

My gaze shifted, taking in Luke (Loki, whatever, I’m drunk). He looked like an older version of Chip. Just taller, and his hair was a darker blond.

“How old are you?” I asked out of the blue, turning to face Luke.

“…Twenty-two,” Luke stated, but I swear, I thought I saw him blush. 

“Why do you like to read newspapers so much? Even Giselle calls you an old man,” I laughed. “And what—are you really twenty-two? I mean, I’m taller than you and four years younger.”