I moved before I could think, crossing the distance between us in two strides. My hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, spinning him around to face me.
“Don’t,” I growled.
“Don’t what?” He tried to pull away, but I held firm. “Don’t go out? Don’t have a life? Don’t do exactly what you do whenever you feel like it?”
“Don’t go to him.”
The words hung between us, raw and possessive. James’s eyes widened, and I saw understanding dawn across his features. Not surprise—he’d already known, hadn’t he? He’d been waiting for me to admit it.
“Why not?” he challenged, his voice steady even as his pulse hammered visibly in his throat. “Give me one good reason.”
I couldn’t. There was no good reason. Every reason I had was selfish and wrong and completely fucked up.
“That’s what I thought,” James said, tearing his hand away from me. “Have a good fucking night.”
The door slammed behind him, and I was left there, standing in the kitchen, torn between going after him and trying to protect this dark secret that had taken root inside of me. It was at least a minute before I moved. With no small amount of effort, Iforced myself back to the couch and sat down, my face buried in my hands.
I needed to get out. I needed air. I needed anything other than sitting here imagining James with that guy downstairs, doing things that made my blood boil and my cock hard at the same time.
I grabbed my jacket and keys, not bothering to check where I was going. I just walked, letting my feet carry me down the stairs and out into the cold Seattle night. The streets of Capitol Hill were alive with people—couples holding hands, groups of friends laughing outside bars, lives being lived while mine fell apart.
I ended up at a dive bar three blocks from James’s apartment. The kind of place with sticky floors and cheap beer and absolutely no pretense. I slid onto a barstool and ordered a whiskey, breaking my promise to Brittany and myself. Then another. Then a third.
The alcohol didn’t help. It never did. It just made the thoughts louder, more insistent.
James’s mouth. James’s body. James looking up at me with challenge in his eyes, daring me to do something about the electricity crackling between us.
My stepbrother, for a reason I couldn’t explain, was haunting me. And I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep it a secret.
Chapter 8
Kent
Isomehow managed to stumble my way home after the whiskey, more irritated than ever and now drunk on top of it all. My vision was blurry, it had begun to rain, and I kept stumbling over the fucking cracks in the sidewalk. Everyone else gave me a wide berth, their smiling faces faltering for a moment when they saw me.
Fuck ‘em.
I reached the building and fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to get the door open. The stairwell spun slightly as I climbed, and I had to grip the railing to keep myself steady. By the time I reached the third floor, sweat was beading on my forehead despite the cold.
The apartment was dark when I pushed through the door. For a moment, relief washed over me. James wasn’t back yet. I wouldn’t have to see him, wouldn’t have to see him freshly fucked by some other man.
I kicked off my boots and stumbled toward the couch, but my foot caught on something and I went down hard, my knee cracking against the floor.
“Fuck!” The pain shot up my leg, sharp and sobering. I looked down to see what I’d tripped over. It was James’s laptop charger, stretched across the walkway.
The anger that had been simmering all night boiled over. I grabbed the charger and yanked it, hearing something crack. Good. Maybe he’d finally learn to pick up his shit.
I pulled myself onto the couch, my knee throbbing. The whiskey was wearing off just enough to let reality creep back in, and with it came all the thoughts I’d been trying to drown.
James was out there right now. With that guy. Probably in his apartment, doing exactly what I’d been fantasizing about for days.
My hand drifted to my crotch without thinking, palming my cock through my jeans. I was half-hard already, had been since he’d walked out the door. The image of him on his knees filled my mind, those amber eyes looking up at me while he…
The door opened.
I jerked my hand away like I’d been burned, my heart leaping into my throat. James stood in the doorway, his cheeks flushed and his hair mussed. He looked at me for a long moment, taking in my sprawled position on the couch, my obvious intoxication.
“You’re drunk,” he said flatly.
