When I don’t answer, Joey tries another tactic. “That guy who answered the phone at your place?” he asks. He gives me a saucy wink, his grin kicking up a notch. “What’s his name?”
“Timothy.”
After a long moment, Joey sighs. “Well? Give me the scoop, Brian. What’s he like? What’s he do for a living? How long have you two been together?”
“Jesus.” I cross my arms and pull my legs up as if drawing into myself. “It’s not like we’re getting married, Joe.”
My brother persists. “But he’s your boyfriend, right?”
“He lives with me, yes,” I say. “He cooks and cleans and works swing shift as a mechanic at Wyeth. He’s just a free fuck, okay? Nothing to get all riled up about.”
“Mr. Romantic,” Joey teases. “How long have you known him?”