One or Two?
Paul peered over the edge of the bed he was sprawled on and asked, very seriously, “Blaine or Jason?”
“Blaine. Duh.” Morgan finished another sit up and lay back on the floor, crossing his arms behind his head.
“Carly or Svetlana?”
“Um…Svetlana.”
Paul wrinkled his nose. “Really? She’s all bony though.”
“It’s my opinion, not yours,” Morgan pointed out.
“Right. Okay, um, Michael Phelps or Aaron Piersol?”
“Piersol. It’s the curls.” Morgan grinned.
Paul rolled his eyes. “Last one. You or me?”
“Honestly? You. People dig the voice,” Morgan snickered.
“Fuck you.” Paul leaned over further and swatted at Morgan half heartedly. “I really bet it’s you. You have the whole sad left out puppy thing going on.”
“That doesn’t make me sexy,” Morgan objected.
“Does so.”
“Does not.” Morgan reached up and grabbed Paul by the arm. With a soft tug, Paul was tumbling off the bed and onto his brother. Paul laughed and looked up from where he was resting on Morgan’s chest.
“This is supposed to convince me?”
“Yes. I’m going to prove that you are the sexiest one.”
“Well, if you really want to…”