Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Harry!" Thomas shouted gleefully. "There was a handsome man hiding under that ruffian all along!"

"I look like an idiot."

"You look trendy," Thomas corrected. They both surveyed the end result in a mirror Thomas had carried over to Harry's apartment in the oversized behemoth he jokingly called a car. For once, Harry's hair was wrestled into submission under Thomas's studied hand, looking almost like it was supposed to stand up in the back like that. He wore a flattering pair of black slacks that only made his legs seem longer—"I look like a baby giraffe," Harry had muttered darkly until Thomas shushed him—and a dark blue shirt with the first two buttons strategically left open. Thomas tilted his head. "Not as trendy and amazing as me, obviously, but as close as you'll ever get."

"You're a riot. So what's this guy like?" Harry asked, fiddling with the open buttons again. Thomas smacked his hand away.

"Stop it. You look like somebody's prom date when you button them all."

"Fine." Harry gazed at Thomas expectantly. Thomas feigned ignorance until Harry made a waving gesture with his hand. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What's this guy like?"

A White Court vampire never fidgeted. It demonstrated a lack of confidence, weakness that could be exploited by enemies or even friends. White Court vampires coolly surveyed their opponents, let a decorative sneer twist their lips and answered any question with an evasiveness that would make a politician proud.

Thomas fidgeted.

"Thomas," Harry growled in a warning tone. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Well, I haven't exactly met him," Thomas said, determinedly not meeting Harry's eye. "It was just on the fly—"

"I'm going on a blind gay date?" Harry's expression promised retribution sometime in the near future.

"I'm sure he's a wonderful, charming man," Thomas held his hands in front of him in what he hoped was an appeasing manner. And probably a dog, he added internally. Outwardly, he brightened. "Besides, he's undoubtedly filthy rich, if he's running in Mrs. Sheffield's circles."

Harry let out a sound that began as a mirthless laugh and ended up a low moan. "Great. I can be a kept man."

"That's the spirit!" Thomas pounded him on the back cheerfully. There was a knocking at the door. "That's probably him now."

They both stared at the door, Harry with horrified resignation written on his face and Thomas fighting to keep the smirk that threatened to appear at any moment. He choked back his laughter, knowing Harry would not appreciate the humor until later. Much, much later. Probably in a decade or so, Harry might even forgive him.

"You stay here," Harry ordered, pointing to the floor of his room. "The last thing I want to explain is why my ex is telling me how to dress."

"If you showed up at the door wearing what you normally do, you wouldn't have to explain," Thomas said dryly. Harry glared at him and Thomas made an impatient sound, rolling his eyes.

"I'll stay here," Thomas reassured him, shooing Harry into the living room when another knock sounded. "Go, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"There's nothing you wouldn't do," Harry shot back, walking into the living room. He squared his shoulders and opened the door with a bright, painfully fake smile on his face that melted into a comical look of shock. If he was a cartoon, he would be reaching down to pick up his jaw right now.

The man standing at the door almost made Thomas jealous. Almost. He was tall enough to look Harry in the eye and probably get himself recruited to several NBA leagues without even trying. His hair stayed perfectly in place, one lock artfully falling over his forehead just above two blue eyes. He smiled, revealing two rows of even, bleached teeth.

Thomas hated him immediately.

"You must be Harry," he said in a deep voice one step away from being a purr. He held out his hand. "I'm Nick."

"Yeah, I'm—uh, hi," Harry stumbled out. Thomas covered his eyes with one hand. He had done his part in helping the man dress so he looked less like a refugee from a homeless shelter, but neglected to teach him the finer points of flirting. No wonder he was helpless at getting dates—and he had the nerve to blame it on having to pretend he was gay.

Nick didn't seem to mind Harry's awkwardness though, judging by the way his smile widened, making his eyes crinkle attractively at the corners. "I heard how you got roped into this," he said sympathetically. "You know how meddling relatives get."

"Yes, I do know," Harry said, projecting his voice just a little too much to be meant for just Nick. Thomas's hands formed a rude gesture behind the wall where Harry couldn't see. He peeked his head around the corner to watch the introduction.

"I hope we can have a good time anyway," Nick continued smoothly. "Aunt Rebecca told me that you just went through a nasty break-up with your boyfriend, so if you don't even want to go, I'll completely understand. We could pretend that we went, say it was awful, and they'll never bother us again." He let his eyes trail over Harry's form, a glint in them that made Thomas's hackles rise. He added sotto voice, "Though it would be a shame."

Blushing, Harry shook his head. "No, I mean, I'd love to go."

"Great!" Nick extended an arm, the chivalrous bastard, and Harry hesitated a second before taking it. "I was thinking we could go to La Pierre's for dinner, get to know each other, then maybe catch a movie."

"Sounds great," Harry said sincerely. The door shut behind them, wards flashing briefly as they were reactivated.

Thomas stared at the closed door suspiciously. He recognized that glint in Nick's eyes from years of personal experience. If he thought he was going to trip his little brother into bed with a sinfully expensive dinner at the best restaurant in town, a smile that Colgate could use for advertising, and charm that would make Cary Grant look like a schlub in comparison--well, he probably could. That's what big brothers were for.

With a resolved nod, Thomas picked up the phone and began calling some numbers. He would need back-up for this one.