“They’re eyelash extensions. They make your eyes pop,” I tell him.
“Your eyes look pretty to me as they are,” he says.
“Well, that’s great and all, but I like them. So if you’ll excuse me,” I reply, walking away. He just uses his feet to roll on his bike alongside me, and I turn to glare at him. “Is there anything else you need?”
“I’ll just be beside you till you get to the house,” he answers smugly.
I halt immediately and cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him even harder. “I’m fully capable of walking to a house on my own. I don’t need a babysitter. Especially not one I barely know. You up and left, Tate. You’ve been gone a long time. Our parents might be bonded, but that doesn’t make us family, and it definitely doesn’t make me your responsibility.”
Wrong fucking thing to say.
He’s up off his bike quicker than I’ve ever seen anyone dismount before. He makes sure his Road King is stable and standing straight before he grabs my chin roughly. I’m tough, and I don’t back down as he stares into my eyes while the tips of his fingers dig into my chin. He isn’t hurting me, but I wouldn’t call it a gentle touch either. His fingers are warm, besides the cool press of his two rings against my face.
“As long as your pretty little ass lives here, on this fuckin’ compound, you’re my fuckin’ business. You understand?” He squeezes tighter with his last words. I don’t respond immediately, just continuing to stare at him.
“Well, lucky for you, that might not be for much longer.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, his hand softening against my face. His flesh is warm against mine, and I definitely shouldn’t be taking in a deep inhale of his rich, musky scent. He smells like leather, pine, and salt of the earth. I enjoy it far more than I should. He’s not only a soon-to-be club member I’m meant to avoid, but also my stepfather’s son.
“What does that mean?” he asks again softly, making me realize I’ve gotten completely swept up in his rich scent.
“Kurt, your dad, he um… set up a date for me tonight,” I stammer, far less sassy than I was only moments ago. It’s hard to have an attitude when you’re trying to wrap your head around being extremely attracted to your stepbrother’s scent.
“And that’s what you want?” he asks, his hand dropping away from my face. I miss his touch instantly.
I shake my head and turn to walk toward the sweet house. Of course, I’m not lucky enough for him to leave me alone. He catches up with me quickly, not touching me this time as he walks beside me.
“Kurt has a way of making everything about what he wants and not thinking about what other people may want or how the two might differ,” he states plainly.
I won’t deny that my curiosity is piqued when it comes to their relationship. I never truly understood why they didn’t get along, but just Tate saying that leads me to believe he was pushed to be someone he wasn’t. Or at least, Kurt tried to make him into someone he didn’t want to be.
“Well, I’m almost out of time… I’ll figure it out,” I brush his concern off without looking at him. He grabs my arm, spinning me around, and I have to do everything in my power to not sigh or swoon over the touch.
“Don’t go then. Don’t let him tell you what to do, how to live your life.”
“You wouldn’t understand, Tate. I’m an Omega. The world isn’t my oyster and time isn’t on my side. If I don’t find a pack soon, the…” I shake my head and stop talking. I don’t know why I’m even explaining myself to him right now. “I need to get to Shelby. I was supposed to meet her at ten.”
His hand drops from my arm, but his eyes continue to explore mine questioningly. I wonder what he sees in my expression because when I look at him, I can’t help but see an ally. Sure, he told Atlas to fuck off and keep his hands to himself. And yes, he probably wants me to leave the club like Kurt does, but I can also see that he wants me to have a choice and that Kurt shouldn’t be the one making all the plans for my future.
“How much is it?” he asks, nodding his head towards the sweet house.
“She gives me a discount, so one hundred.”
“And that’s the fuckin’ discount? For fuckin’ eyelashes?” he questions dumbfoundedly.
“Yes,” I reply sharply as I turn around and attempt to get as far away from this encounter as quickly as possible.
“Here,” he says, placing a crisp hundred-dollar bill over my shoulder.
I look over at the money before turning back around with a grin. “What about a tip?” I reply, and he shakes his head, smirking at me. I know that smirk is going to be replaying in my mind for the rest of the day.
“What time will you be done?”
“It will probably take an hour and a half, and then I’ll probably hang out with the girls for a bit.”
“They’re your friends?” he asks, his brows furrowed.
“Yes, they’re my friends, and I’m late. Thanks for paying, step-bro,” I say, seeing him repulsed by the title I threw his way.
