“What about you?” she asks.
“What about me?”
“You know, maybe this could be your chance to?—”
“No,” I cut her off.
“But you’ve liked him for so long and?—”
I grab her hand. “It doesn’t matter whether I liked him or not. I should never have thought about him in that way. He’s my stepbrother. He’syourhalf-brother. But most importantly,we’re a family now. This is a fresh start for us, for you. I don’t want to drag my past feelings into it.”
It’s the truth, isn’t it? Tempest had the same worry about me and I told her the same thing.
While it was never okay to think about him in that way when I was only dreaming about being a part of his family, now Iama part of his family. My sister is a part of his family. A family that has welcomed us with open arms, despite melyingand hiding things from them for so long. I can’t take advantage of their trust anymore. I can’t go behind their back, start lying again, sneaking around with one of their own.
Him and I, we already have a history, a connection—and hence a secret—I’m not willing to share with anyone, I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want to stress Snow out for any reason or make things harder for her than they need to be.
Not to mention, if something were to happen and then media found out about it, I can’t even imagine the headlines. He’s already in so much trouble for being on the news these past few months, this is only going to hurt him.
So no, this is not my chance. It was never my chance anyway because he never wanted anything more than a passing distraction from me. And it’s not now either because he doesn’t want anything to do with me.
Chapter Eighteen
It’s around10 o’clock at night—way after Snow’s bedtime—when I hear the front door open and I spring up in bed.
After our chat, Snow and I watched a movie together in her bedroom before we ate dinner. I gave Snow her medication, then tucked her in like she’s five and not seventeen and she let me because she knows I’m still freaked out about everything that’s happened. And then, I went downstairs to finish the last of my unpacking and setting up my room before getting ready for bed. Since then I’ve been trying to fall asleep, even though I know this is too early for me. Over a year of working late nights at the strip club has turned me into a night owl.
Not to mention, there’s this other reason I haven’t really been able to sleep these past few weeks. The fact that somehow I got used to—more like,addictedto—him sneaking into my room while I slept. As if keeping a watch over me. While alsowatchingme on his phone.
And now I know Idefinitelywon’t be able to sleep, because he’s here.
Before I can overthink this, I throw the covers off and jump out of bed. I open the nightstand drawer, retrieve what I need,put it in my pajama pocket and run out of the room. I know I should walk slowly and pace myself a little bit, but my feet don’t listen. They carry me as fast as they can until I reach the kitchen, where I know he is because I can hear him moving around. I also realize how he’s trying not to make any loud noises by quietly shutting the fridge and the cupboard doors.
But again, before I can dwell on that, the fact that he’s being considerate because he knows he’s not alone in this house anymore, I reach my destination and clap my eyes on him after two whole weeks. He’s standing at the sink, facing away from me, but it doesn’t matter. Because as soon as I see him, every thought in my head comes to a screeching halt, like my body.
Because he’s naked.
As in, his chest is naked. As in, he’s not wearing a shirt. Why is he not wearing a shirt? More importantly though, is this real? Themassivebreadth of his shoulders—that I of course knew about and also held on to several times, but somehow, didn’t realize the impact of until I saw him shirtless—and those wing-like muscles on his back that twitch from his movements. That flutter as he raises his arm and throws his head back to drink from the water bottle he’s got in his hands. Now I know why they’re called shoulder blades. Because of how sharp they are, how lethal they look standing out in stark relief.
Or at least, his do.
As he lowers the bottle, I move my eyes and go down his spine and the tapering line of it, and realize his waist is as sleek as his shoulders are broad. And again, I should know this because I’veseenhim before. But I’ve never seen him without his shirt on, so I didn’t realize exactly how sleek.
And oh my God, stopeverything. Are those two little dimples on his back? Just where the waistband of his gray sweatpants hangs low. They are, aren’t they? And well, no one can blame me for not breathing for a few seconds at the sight of those cutestlittle things, because I may have known about the broadness and the sleekness and whatnot, but I definitely did not know about his dimples. I definitely did not know that my throat would go dry as my mouth filled with saliva at the same time because I’d want to dip my tongue in them.
All of this before he at last turns around, and then I have to take a step back because now I’m bombarded with the sight of his chest. Which is, of course, as massive as his shoulders, and while his back had those wings, his chest has tight and arched planes with small, quarter-sized nipples. Which I can’t believe I’m thinking about licking like I wanted to lick his dimples, but I am.
And then I’m thinking about licking his six-pack abs.
Because he’s got it. A six-pack, I mean. Again, I knew about them, and I knew about them in more than a vague sort of way. Because every night for a little while back there, I felt them against my body while I danced in his lap. I felt them against my own soft belly. One night, I even came because he made me hump that muscled ladder of this stomach—God, don’t think about that—while I twisted my hips, but still, I didn’t know how… magnificent they actually are until I looked at them.
Or how I also want to dip my tongue in his tight belly button before going even lower than that. To that bulge in his gray sweatpants…
At which point I skitter my gaze up and finally look at his face. Which is beautiful, as always but is also tight and harsh as he stares back at me, his jaw clenched. His stance wide and his fingers clutched against the empty bottle. Probably angry, definitely annoyed.
“Hi,” I blurt out.
His jaw clenches harder, as if my voice, along with my presence, is also annoying to him.
