“So what?” The words came out slurred. “Not like you care.”
He closed the door behind him and moved into the apartment, shrugging off his hoodie. I watched him, hating how my eyes tracked every movement, how my body responded to his presence.
“How was your date?” I asked, the bitterness dripping from every word.
James turned to look at me, and something flickered across his face. “It was fine.”
“Fine.” I let out a harsh laugh. “That’s it? Just fine?”
“Why do you care, Kent?”
“I don’t.”
“Right.” He moved toward his bed, and I saw him wince slightly as he walked. My stomach dropped.
“Did he hurt you?” I was on my feet before I realized I’d moved, the room tilting dangerously. “Did that fucker?—”
“No.” James held up a hand. “Jesus, Kent. I’m just sore from sitting weird. Calm down.”
But I couldn’t calm down. The thought of someone touching him, hurting him, using him—it made something primal surge inside me.
“You shouldn’t be fucking random guys,” I said, taking a step toward him. “You don’t know what kind of?—”
“Stop.” His voice was sharp. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you have any say in my life.”
“I’m just trying to?—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, his face contorted in sudden fury. “I don’t want to hear anything from you!”
James stared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The air between us felt charged, dangerous. Like he was daring me to make a move. To lay all my cards on the table at last.
“You’re drunk,” he said again, but softer this time. “You should sleep it off.”
“I can’t sleep.” My voice came out petulant as I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Fine,” he shrugged. “Then fucking sit there and be pissy. I’m taking a shower.”
I sat there on the couch, my head spinning from the whiskey and the confrontation. The bathroom door closed with a sharp click, followed by the sound of the lock turning. Like he needed to lock me out. Like I was some kind of predator who couldn’t be trusted.
Maybe I was.
I heard the shower turn on, the water hitting the tiles in a steady rhythm. My imagination immediately conjured images I had no business thinking about. I could see James stripping off his clothes, stepping under the spray, and water running down that toned body I’d seen.
My cock twitched in my jeans, and I pressed the heel of my hand against it, trying to will it down. This was sick. This was wrong. He was my stepbrother, for fuck’s sake. And a guy. I wasn’t into guys.
Except I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop wanting him in ways that made my skin crawl with self-loathing.
I pulled out my phone, desperate for a distraction. Maybe I should text Brittany. Beg her to take me back. Anything to escape this nightmare I’d created for myself.
But when I opened my messages, I found myself scrolling to James’s contact instead. Looking at our sparse conversation history. The grocery list. The brief updates about work schedules. Nothing personal. Nothing real.
I dropped the phone on the coffee table and leaned back, closing my eyes. The room was still spinning slightly, but the alcohol was wearing off enough that I couldn’t hide behind it anymore. I was just drunk enough to be honest with myself but not drunk enough to pass out and forget.
Then I heard a buzz from behind me. Sitting up I glanced over at the bed and saw James’s phone screen lit up from the pouch of his hoodie. I looked at the bathroom door then back to the phone. He’d only been in there for a couple of minutes. I had time.
Springing up from the couch, I reached into the hoodie pouch and pulled out his phone. To my surprise, it opened right up when I swiped the screen. He didn’t have a lock on it.
A message notification popped up from an app I didn’t recognize. When I hit the preview, it pulled up the app that hadbeen running in the background. It was a response from a profile whose photo was nothing but abs.
