“I said shut up!” His hand slammed against the door beside my head, making me jump. But I didn’t back down.
“Make me.”
The words hung in the air between us, charged with something I couldn’t name. Kent’s chest was heaving, his face flushed with anger or exertion or something else entirely. His eyes dropped to my mouth, just for a second, but I caught it.
My stomach dropped. No. He was my stepbrother. Absolutely not.
“You’re unbelievable,” I said, my voice shaking now. “You can’t even have a conversation without trying to intimidate me. This is exactly why I?—”
“Why you what?” He leaned in closer, and I could smell the sweat on him, the faint hint of cologne he’d probably put on this morning. “Why you can’t wait to run downstairs and fuck some stranger? Is that it?”
The jealousy in his voice was unmistakable, raw and ugly and completely insane.
“What I do is none of your goddamn business,” I spat back. “You don’t get to have an opinion about my sex life, Kent. You don’t get to?—”
“I’m living here!” His other hand came up, caging me in completely now. “I have to listen to you come home at three in the morning when you sneak out, I have to—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching.
“You have to what?” I demanded. “Say it. Tell me what your problem really is.”
“My problem,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “is that you’re throwing yourself at anything that moves instead of?—”
“Instead of what?” My heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe. “Instead of staying here and doing what? Keeping you company? Making you dinner? Acting like your fucking housewife?”
“That’s not what I?—”
“Then what?” I shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “What do you want from me, Kent? Why are you such an insatiable fucking prick all the time?!”
He stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. I could see him struggling with something, fighting against words that wanted to come out. His gaze dropped to my mouth again, lingering this time, and that’s when I knew.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
“You’re jealous,” I breathed, the realization hitting me like ice water. “You’re actually jealous that I’m going to?—”
“Don’t,” he warned, but his voice had lost its edge.
“You are.” A laugh bubbled up in my throat, hysterical and disbelieving. “You’re jealous of some random guy I barely know because?—”
“I said don’t.” But he still hadn’t moved, still had me pinned against the door with his body, close enough that I could count his eyelashes.
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper now. “Why does it bother you so much?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer, maybe. But his breathing had changed, gone shallow and fast. I watched his throat work as he swallowed, watched his eyes dart between mine and my mouth like he was trying to solve an equation that didn’t make sense.
The air between us was suffocating, thick with years of unresolved tension and something newer, something neither of us wanted to acknowledge. My back was pressed against the door, my chest brushing his with every breath. If I moved even an inch, we’d be touching completely.
“Kent,” I said, and I hated how my voice shook. “Let me go.”
“I can’t.” The words came out strangled, desperate. “I can’t fucking think when you—” He stopped again, his hands curling into fists against the door.
“When I what?”
“When you’re like this.” His eyes finally met mine, and what I saw there made my breath catch. Want. Raw, undeniable want, mixed with confusion and self-loathing. “When you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” But I knew. God help me, I knew exactly what he meant because I could feel my own expression mirroring his.The anger had shifted into something else for my stepbrother, something dangerous that made my skin feel too tight.
“Like you want me to—” He cut himself off again, but this time I saw his control waver. Saw the moment he almost gave in to whatever was screaming inside his head.
We stood there, breathing hard, faces inches apart. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. The apartment felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for one of us to break.
