15. Tobias
Chapter 15
Tobias
A fter a quick shower, I put on some black jeans and tug a white T-shirt over my head. My rings slide back onto my fingers before I add a quick spray of cologne.
When I step out of my room, the house feels quiet—except for the faint hum of music drifting from Amelia's door.
She's dancing.
I know I should turn around, keep walking, and pretend I didn't hear anything, but my feet betray me, pulling me closer. Each step feels heavier than the last, like some part of me knows exactly how bad an idea this is.
Her door is cracked open, and before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself standing there. My fingers reach for the edge of the little sliding door that leads to her makeshift dance room. I know I shouldn't—God, I really do know—but my hand moves anyway, sliding the door open just enough for me to peer inside like some kind of deranged voyeur who's clearly lost his fucking mind.
She's in this baby-blue crop top and matching shorts that are doing me no favors. They cling to every curve, every damn line tracing the dip of her waist and the soft swell of her hips. My imagination betrays me, racing off on its own twisted little adventure—her stripped bare, back arched against that barre, my body caging hers, her legs spread while I slide...
And now I'm hard. Again.
I need to get the hell out of here.
If she knew the thoughts racing through my head right now, she'd cut me off faster than I could blink—shut me out without a second thought. And I can't risk that. I can't lose her, not over some impulse I can barely control. She's too important, too woven into my life, and I'd rather suffer in silence than watch her walk away from me.
I head straight to the bar, cigarette already between my lips before I'm fully out the door. The lighter flicks to life, and I inhale that first drag like it's oxygen—not smoke, but survival.
Frank's is our spot.
Need to unwind? Frank's.
Need to drink and talk until the world starts to make sense—or until you're too drunk to care? Yeah, Frank's.
It's where we go when life's got us by the balls. Like when shit goes sideways with my dad and I need to forget the way his voice still makes me feel like a kid who can't measure up, or if Harry's fighting with Jen and needs someone to match his misery shot for shot.
I step inside, and my eyes go straight to the corner of the room. Sure enough, Harry's already here, sitting at our usual table with two drinks in front of him, like he knows exactly what kind of day I've had.
Frank's isn't some upscale bar, and that's exactly why we love it. The floors are scuffed to hell, and the booths have that worn-in look that makes you feel like you've been coming here forever.
I sit across from him, nod my thanks, and grab the beer. Half a second later, I've nearly drained it. Harry just watches, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, knowing I need this before I offload all the shit that's currently occupying my mind.
"That bad?" he asks, eyebrows lifting slightly like he's bracing himself for whatever I'm about to drop on him.
I shrug, letting out a sigh that feels heavier than it should.
"Bad enough," I say, barely skimming the surface because even though I know he's here to listen, I'm not sure where to start.
After finishing the last of my beer, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before running my fingers through my hair like I can rake the frustration out of my skull.
"I got a hard-on over Amelia."
Harry chokes on his drink, coughing into his fist as his eyes snap to mine, wide with disbelief. "Well, that's… not what I was expecting."
"Trust me, man, neither was I."
He raises an eyebrow, a grin creeping onto his face. "So… you're into your stepsister?" He's barely holding back a snicker, and every nerve in my body is on edge. He sees it—he knows he's poking the bear—and still, he can't help himself.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender, the grin still playing on his lips. "Alright, sorry—but come on, it's not that bad."
I drag a hand down my face, frustration twisting tight in my chest. "I need a shot, a smoke, or some pussy—anything to get her out of my head."
He laughs, but his face sobers as he takes in my expression.
"Look, don't tell Jen I said this, but… Amelia's hot. Likesmokinghot. And you're living with her. It's only natural you'd react to her."
I shake my head, letting out a bitter laugh. "I've lived with her for years before I moved here and never once had this problem."
"So it's a new thing?" He leans in, eyes narrowing as he tries to wrap his head around it.
"Yeah."
"Only happened the one time?"
I pause, feeling the heat creep up my neck. "No. Well, kind of."
"What does that even mean?"
"I've been having these… moments. She'll do something, just… be there, and it hits me out of nowhere."
He whistles low, nodding in understanding. "Hold up. Let me get another drink. Pretty sure you're gonna need it."
He heads to the bar, and I let my gaze drift around the room, taking in the art on the deep-green walls. I've seen it all a hundred times, but somehow, it still pulls me in—bold colors, rough lines, pieces that don't match but somehow belong here. A few minutes later, Harry returns, sliding into his seat with two fresh beers and a couple of shots.
"Okay, so this isn't a one-time thing, which means…" Harry pauses, watching me closely.
"Something's changing. I can feel it," I admit, the words heavy as they leave my mouth.
"For her too?" he asks.
"Definitely not. But there was a moment between us last night—this look in her eyes… I can't explain it, but the energy between us was different."
"Does it go deeper for you?"
"I don't do deep. I do fucking and fun. But even that hasn't been working out lately."
"Maybe you do deep with Amelia because she actually knows you. And you know it could never just be fucking and fun with her."
"Why am I not disgusted by that? I should be. She's my—"
"She's not your sister," he cuts in, voice firm. "You weren't raised together like that. You didn't grow up sharing a bathroom or have matching Halloween costumes."
"I don't want to want her, Harry."
"I know." I grab the shot of vodka he brought and throw it back, the burn doing little to numb what's raging inside me. "You know who you should talk to about this? Zane. He knows all about inappropriate feelings for women."
"It's not a bad idea," I say, laughing at the thought of getting advice from the guy who once looked ready to kick my ass. "He's coming tomorrow, isn't he?"
"Jen said he was."
"Dude's crazy to wanna hang out with all of us," I say, shaking my head.
We don't talk about Amelia again.
I got it out. I let it just exist between us for a moment. Allowed myself to feel the burn of it, and now I'm going to lock it down and bury it so deep even I won't be able to find it again.