I haven’t actually been inside his place yet. Six months back in the city and we’ve barely crossed paths beyond the occasional family dinner. Years apart will do that… years of him deliberately keeping his life separate from mine while I stayed in a different state, both of us pretending the distance was mutual.
I step over the threshold and pause, pursing my lips in quiet appreciation. The apartment is open-plan and surprisingly spacious for a one-bedroom. A large U-shaped sectional dominates the living area, positioned perfectly to take in the floor-to-ceiling windows and the glittering city skyline beyond. A sleek media unit with a massive TV sits opposite it. The kitchen is raised by a single step, creating a subtle separation between spaces without closing anything off.
Plenty of room.So, what the hell is Rowan’s problem? Am I reallythatunbearable? I barely even talk.
I grin to myself and deliberately flop down onto the sectional. It’s comfortable, plush and deep, the kind of couch you could sink into and never leave. I stretch out, one arm draped along the back, legs spread lazily.
That’s when Rowan finally notices me. The look on his face goes way beyond unimpressed. It’s pure, concentrated irritation, edged with something sharper. He opens his mouth,a half-formed word escaping as he jabs a finger sharply in my direction. Then he snaps it shut, spins on his heel, and stalks down the hallway. One of the doors slams behind him with a decisive thud.
My grin widens. I push up from the couch. Those boxes aren’t going to move themselves inside.
…
Twenty minutes later, my boxes are lined neatly against the empty wall near the entrance. I didn’t need to bring half this shit here, mostly valuables I didn’t want sitting in storage and enough clothes to last a few weeks, but it’s done now.
I close the front door with a soft click and let out a slow exhale. Well… this is home for however long it takes.
The apartment is quiet,tooquiet. It’s just past eight; I wonder if Rowan stormed off to bed early just to avoid me.
I wander down the short hallway. The bathroom door stands open, so I pause, muttering a low “wow” under my breath. It’s nicer than I expected… a fuckingspa. The shower is massive, easily big enough for multiple people, with rainfall and body jets lining the walls. The so-called bathtub looks more like a small jacuzzi, deep and sleek. Everything is spotless, the air carrying a faint, clean scent of something expensive, eucalyptus and cedar, maybe.
The door opposite has to be Rowan’s bedroom. I hesitate for half a second, then press my ear against the wood. Nothing… no movement, no light, no sound. Slowly, I turn the handle and ease the door open just enough to look inside.
The room is dark except for a thin sliver of moonlight slipping through a gap in the blinds. It’s bigger than I thoughtit would be, high ceilings, clean lines, private luxury. I shouldn’t be surprised. Rowan has always known how to carve out his own space. Still, no guilt stirs in my chest. Only a quiet, curious hum. I wonder how this little arrangement is going to play out.
We’ve always been opposites. In nearly everything, including how we look. I smile faintly in the darkness at the memory of Rowan’s reluctant “tall, dark, and handsome” comment earlier tonight. He’d said it like it annoyed him. Meanwhile, Rowan is objectively good-looking in his own way… that dirty-blond hair with the stubborn curl that always falls into his face, the sharp cheekbones, the lean, defined build. That waitress had zeroed in on him instantly. It makes me wonder why he’s still single.
I fucked around plenty and tried the whole relationship thing once, hated it. She wanted more than I was willing to give… constant attention, future plans, and kids someday. That thought alone had made me end it fast.
A soft rustle breaks the silence. Rowan stirs in his sleep, rolling onto his stomach. The covers slip down his back, pooling around his hips. Moonlight traces the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, the smooth dip of his spine, the subtle shift of muscle beneath his skin. His ass rounds out the sheets, lifted slightly as he settles deeper into the mattress.
My eyes widen. I quietly pull the door shut before I can stare any longer.Nope. I went in to check if he was asleep… not to ogle my stepbrother; that’s fucked up. I shake my head sharply and clear my throat, trying to dislodge the unexpected heat crawling up my neck.
I kill the overhead lights in the living room, strip down to my boxers, and tug the large fluffy blanket off the back of thesectional. Then I flop down, stretching out. I grab the TV remote and flick on some low-volume background noise, the soft glow of the screen painting shifting colours across the ceiling. I hate sleeping in complete silence in a new place. The quiet always feels too loud.
But right now, I’m warm, comfortable, and, for the moment, that’s all I care about.
Chapter Three
Cade
I wake slowly, a deep yawn cracking my jaw as warm dawn light spills across my face. The floor-to-ceiling windows are wide open to the city skyline, and I realize too late that I never bothered closing the long automated blinds last night. Sunlight pours in unchecked, painting gold across the sectional and the blanket tangled around my waist.
Groggily, I sit up and drag both hands down my face, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My back protests from the couch, but it’s not uncomfortable enough to complain about. I push to my feet and pad barefoot down the hallway toward the bathroom, still half-asleep.
Inside, I use the toilet, then turn on the faucet to wash my hands and splash cold water over my face. It shocks the last of the fog away. I pat my skin dry with one of the thick, soft towels hanging nearby. A quick glance in the mirror confirms the usual look, sharp jaw shadowed, dark eyes still a little heavy.
I open the bathroom door and step back into the hallway. A low grunt stops me cold… it’s not the sound of someone getting out of bed. It’s deeper, rougher, unmistakably private… the kind of grunt that comes from Rowan jerking off.
My eyebrows snap up. I stand frozen, staring at the closed wooden door of his bedroom like it might suddenly explain itself. No way. I wait, ears straining, but the apartment has gone quiet again.
Unbelieving, I quickly walk back to the living room and drop onto the sectional, heart beating a little harder than it should. I don’t know why I’m sitting here so still, listening. I shouldn’t be, yet I do.
Ten minutes later, and I know it’s exactly ten because my eyes haven’t left the digital clock on the media unit shelf, another grunt filters down the hall. Lower this time, strained.
I frown. What the hell is he doing in there? When I jerk off, it’s usually over in four minutes, tops. Efficient and done. But he’s still going?
I lie back down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, the blanket pulled loosely over my hips. Maybe he thinks I’m still asleep. I’m not exactly loud in the mornings, and Rowan knows I can sleep like the dead. He probably assumes I’ve got an alarm set and hasn’t heard one go off yet, so he feels safe.
