“Alright,” I answer Jacob with a quiet exhale. “The hot water was a nice change.”
Steph glances over her shoulder as she wipes her hands on a towel. Her eyes travel down Octavia’s outfit with a small smile.
“That’s quite the look for a study session,” she says lightly.
Jacob immediately turns his attention in the same direction.
“Cheyenne picked it out,” Octavia mutters, her voice low. She keeps her eyes fixed on the counter instead of meeting either of their gazes.
Jacob chuckles under his breath. “I like that girl,” he says, though his expression shifts as he looks Octavia over. “But I sometimes wonder if she understands how much attention she draws.”
His gaze flicks briefly toward his daughter.
“And you,” he adds.
Steph swats his arm with the dish rag before he can keep going. A bowl of potatoes lands on the table with a quiet thud.
“Octavia can wear whatever she wants,” Steph snaps, her tone firm. “And so can Cheyenne. The day she went to college was the day you stopped having a say in that.”
Octavia’s mouth twitches faintly, like she’s fighting a smile. For a moment she glances in my direction.
I give her the same cold expression I’ve worn since walking through the door.
The smile disappears just as quickly as it appeared.
Was she expecting me to say something?
The last thing anyone in this room needs is me staring at her in front of her father.
I already made that mistake upstairs.
The image flashes through my mind anyway. The way the jeans fit her, the tank hugging curves she clearly isn’tcomfortable drawing attention to. Even now, standing quietly at the counter, the shape of her body pulls at my attention in ways I’d rather not acknowledge.
Upstairs had been worse.
My hand brushing across those scars.
The warmth of her skin under my thumb.
The tension that followed had taken far longer to settle than I care to admit. Had I stayed in that room another minute, she would have noticed my unwelcome strain. And explaining that reaction would have been impossible.
I don’t fully understand it myself.
Even now, with her standing a few feet away chopping herbs and pretending she isn’t aware of me, the urge to watch her creeps back in.
Her hair is tied up now, exposing the line of her neck as she leans slightly over the counter. The kitchen lights soften the edges of her features in a way that makes it harder than it should be to look anywhere else.
My jaw tightens as I drag my attention back to the table.
Get a grip, you fucking idiot.
Steph slides into the chair beside Jacob, smoothing her hands over the tablecloth as if settling everyone into a normal family dinner. The kitchen smells warm, heavy with food, herbs and roasted meat mixing in the air, but the calm of the moment feels forced.
“Have you had a chance to look over your classes yet?” she asks, her attention shifting toward me.
Octavia freezes.
She’s standing near me, lowering a pan of meat onto the center of the table. The moment the wordclassesregisters, she turns toward her mother slowly, confusion spreading across her face.
