“Insufferable,” she mutters.
I grin.
I make sure my clothing is back in place while she fixes her hair and makeup, swiping away the bleeding dark streaks from her running mascara. I exit first, scanning the hallway. There’s a kitchen entrance at the far end, and I eye it when it swings open.
But Scarlett is already coming out behind me, sliding her coat on, and I lock eyes with the waiter who was getting a little too much of an eyeful earlier.
I spin and push Scarlett against the wall, one finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to me. I kiss her hard, my tongue exploring her mouth. We taste like each other’s arousal, and my dick wakes up again at the thought of her tasting herself on my lips.
“Shit, I thought you were siblings,” the waiter mutters as he sweeps past us.
Scarlett shoves my chest, her lips puffy and eyes narrowed. “Asshole.”
I throw my arm around her shoulders and grin. I can’t contain it. He deserved to know that she’s taken. “Guilty as charged,sis.”
[ 26 ]
SCARLETT
I can’t focus.
The library is quiet, my peers studying with their headphones on, scribbling in their notebooks or working out some complicated math equation on a piece of scrap paper, and yet I stare at the same paragraph discussing architectural theory and how it explores the ethical foundations of design.
I can’t stop thinking about Cross–my freaking stepbrother.
I can’t stop thinking about how I don’t care that heismy stepbrother.
This morning, I talked Sawyer into going to his lacrosse scrimmage, blaming it on the fact that I promised his mom that I’d take videos of him playing so I could send them to her.
It was a total lie. I wanted to go to his scrimmage so I could watch him play, like some little fan-girl.
Ugh.
He totally noticed me too, all the way from across the field in the brisk, cold morning fog. His brown eyes squinted as they snagged onto me leaning across the chain-link fence. His lip curved, and his cheeks, rosy from the cool air, hitched upward to show his amusement—or worse: his satisfaction.
I made sure to dodge him afterward, and I’ve been hiding out in the library most of the day, unsure of what I’ll do if I’m alone in the house with him.
I clearly can’t be trusted, and if fucking me while my father was on the phone has anything to say about it, Cross doesn’t really care.
I’m in the middle of reading the same sentence I’ve tried comprehending three times now when my phone buzzes on top of the table. I grab a hold of it quickly, the vibrating pulling a few eyes in my direction.
Cross: Where are you?
Energy surges to my fingertips, and my lip immediately sucks into my mouth, my teeth clamping hold of it so I don’t smile like a fool.
Me: Training with Jim.
I’m only trying to piss him off so maybe he’ll be the one to put distance between us, because, again, I can’t be trusted.
Cross: If that were true, he’d never walk again.
Cross: Try again. Where are you, Scar?
Scar.
I don’t know if he’s calling me that to gain the upper hand in our little argument or if he’s doing it to desensitize me. It should be concerning that I’m sort of okay with him calling me Scar, just like I should be concerned with the fact that I like him wanting to know where I am.
Does he want to know because he’s still cagey about the SUV following me around? Or does he want to know because he can’t stop thinking about me too?
