My phone buzzed in my pocket. The neighbor, probably wondering where I was.
The sound shattered the moment. Kent jerked back like he’d been burned, his hands dropping from the door. He stumbled backward, putting distance between us, his face twisted with something that looked like horror.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running both hands through his hair. “Fuck, I?—”
“Don’t,” I said, my own voice shaking. “Don’t say anything.”
He stared at me for another long moment, his chest still heaving, before turning and walking away. Not to the couch. Not to the kitchen. He grabbed his keys from the counter and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” The question came out before I could stop it.
“Out.” He wouldn’t look at me. “I need to… I just need to get out of here.”
The door slammed behind him, leaving me alone in the apartment, my heart still racing, my hands trembling. I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, my mind reeling.
What the hell just happened?
My phone buzzed again. Right. The neighbor.
I pulled it out with shaking hands and typed a response.
Me: Sorry, something came up. Rain check?
I couldn’t go down there now. Not after that. Not when I could still feel the heat of Kent’s body against mine, still see the look in his eyes.
This was bad. This was so incredibly bad.
Because the worst part wasn’t that Kent had almost—whatever he’d almost done. The worst part was that I’d wanted him to do it. I’d wanted my bully of a stepbrother to do something I was too afraid to say out loud.
Chapter 7
Kent
James hadn’t spoken to me since our fight, which was two nights ago now. We’d done everything we could to avoid one another. And I’d gone out of my way to not even catch his eye. After the way he’d looked at me… like he wasdaringme to follow through on my strange and unsettling thoughts, I wasn’t sure I could resist.
And the worst part? The thoughts hadn’t gone away. If anything, they’d gotten stronger.
I caught myself staring at the bathroom door while he showered, imagining what he looked like in there. The water running down his body, his hands sliding over that toned stomach and down to his cock, the one I’d gotten a full view of when he’d dropped his towel. I’d jerk myself back to reality, disgusted with myself, but ten minutes later I’d be doing it again, my own dick growing in my shorts.
Work had become my refuge. I stayed late, volunteered for extra inspections, anything to delay coming back to the apartment. But eventually I’d run out of excuses and have to face the drive back to Capitol Hill, back to that suffocating studio where James existed in the same space as me.
Tonight was no different. I sat in my truck outside the building for twenty minutes, engine idling, trying to work up the courage to go inside. The lights were on in the apartment. He was home. Of course he was home. Where else would he be at nine o’clock on a Thursday?
My phone buzzed. A text from my dad.
Dad: Your stepmother wants to know if you’re coming to dinner this Sunday. She’s worried about you.
Of course she was. Stacey had that annoying maternal instinct that kicked in whenever she sensed something was wrong. And something was definitely wrong, even if I couldn’t articulate what.
Me: I’ll be there.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and finally killed the engine. I couldn’t sit out here all night like some kind of stalker. I lived there. I had every right to go inside.
The stairs felt longer than usual. Each step brought me closer to James, closer to whatever this toxic thing was brewing between us. When I reached his apartment, I stood outside the door for a moment, listening. Music played softly from inside. That same pretentious piano shit he always listened to.
I unlocked the door as quietly as possible and slipped inside.
James was at his desk, hunched over his laptop, wearing headphones. He didn’t turn around when I entered, didn’t acknowledge my presence at all. The tension in his shoulders told me he knew I was there though.
