28. Tobias
Chapter 28
Tobias
S haring a room with Amelia might be the dumbest fucking idea I've had in a long time. But after ten hours on the road and the promise of even more tomorrow, I need sleep. Badly. Besides, we share an apartment. This won't be any different, right? Just… without the luxury of separate doors and the illusion of boundaries. No big deal.
That's the lie I keep telling myself anyway.
I stand by the car, hands shoved into my pockets, watching her as she rifles through her bag. The darkness is settling in thick now, and there's no way in hell I'm letting her walk around here alone. The place isn't sketchy, but she's not leaving my sight. Not tonight.
"Got everything you need?"
"Yeah, I think so," she says calmly like this whole situation isn't a slow-motion train wreck waiting to happen.
I don't say anything else. I just gesture for her to head toward the room. My steps fall in line with hers, close enough to protect her, far enough to keep my hands to myself.
The problem is that everything about her, from the soft curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder to the way the lights catch the subtle gold in her hair, makes it impossible to forget what we're walking into.
One room.
One bed.
The truth is, the closed door of that motel room won't just shut out the world outside—it'll trap us inside together. No distractions. No escape. Just me, her, and all the things we've been pretending don't exist.
Once we reach the door, I unlock it, pushing it open just enough to reveal the room. I know we're thinking the same thing—the same dangerous, forbidden thoughts that neither of us is stupid enough to voice. Or maybe we're both cowards, afraid of what happens when we finally admit what this is.
Then Amelia moves.
The door swings open wider, and she brushes past me, her scent wrapping around me—a mix of coconut and something softer, something undeniably hers. It takes everything in me not to reach out and grab her, desperate to find out if she tastes as sweet as she smells.
I step in after her, scanning the room as if I haven't already guessed precisely what it'll look like. One bed, of course. A cheap nightstand that looks like it's been here longer than either of us has been alive, and a single chair crammed into the corner, too small to handle the weight of a man trying not to think about stripping his stepsister bare until she's wearing nothing but my hands on her skin and my name on her lips.
I glance at the bed again, my stomach tightening. I should say something. Suggest that we keep driving, find another motel, or, hell, I could just sleep in the car. But I don't. No matter how much I know that's the right thing to do, there's a darker part of me—a selfish, greedy part—that doesn't want to. That part of me wonders how close we can get to the edge before we fall.
The truth is, I'm exhausted. My body aches from the drive, and I can feel the pull of sleep somewhere in the back of my mind. But sleep isn't going to come easy tonight.
Not in this room.
Not with her this close.
Not with that damn bed staring at me like it knows exactly what I want.
"I hope you like the floor, Tobias," she says, perching on the edge of the bed like a queen on her throne.
"I hope you're fucking with me, Mills."
She doesn't flinch, doesn't falter. She just locks those dark, defiant eyes on mine like she knows she's got me exactly where she wants me. And maybe she does. I try my absolute hardest to hold her gaze, but it's impossible not to notice the way her chest rises and falls beneath that tight tank top, making me feel like a fucking pervert.
Congratulations, Tobias—you're officially part of the problem now.
"I'm not sleeping on the floor, and neither are you."
She tilts her head, her lips curving into the faintest smirk, showing just how far she's pushing me. Then, without a word, she leans back, stretching out on the bed like it's hers alone. Her body sinks into the mattress, her legs crossing at the ankles, and it takes everything in me not to let my knees give out right there.
If I dropped to the floor right now, I'd be at the perfect angle to uncross those ankles, part her legs, and taste her. To bury my face between her thighs and make her say my name in that breathless, needy way that's haunted my every thought since the first time I heard it leave her lips.
"You can have the side nearest the door."
"Yeah, I know. You've always put me between you and any potential axe murderers."
"It's because you're so strong and heroic,"she drawls, sarcasm dripping like honey.
"Get out of my ass,"I mutter, laughing as I head to the bathroom. I push the door open, glancing around. "Besides, you can't be tired anyway. You slept in the car, so you can keep watch."
"If you think I slept well, you're mistaken."
"The snoring suggested otherwise,"I call out, grinning as I check the faucet, pleasantly surprised to find that it's not dripping.
"You always say that, and I always call bullshit."
"Okay, fine,"I concede, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest. "You don't snore. But you do talk in your sleep. And whatever you were dreaming about? It sounded fun."
"It was,"she says without missing a beat. "It was about Kyle, the gas guy."
When I saw the way he looked at her earlier, something in me snapped. He didn’t know who I was to her, but he needed to understand that she wasn't there alone.
She wasn't available.
She isn't available.
"Speaking of sleazy fuckers, what did you mean when you fake-called Tate? When you said you'd finish what you started?"
It's a question I've been sitting on since the moment she dropped it, trying to play it off like it didn't matter, but it's been burning a hole in my chest since the second she said it.
Amelia sits up and faces me, her eyes wide. "Why are you even asking me that?"
"Call me curious,"I reply, shrugging it off like it's nothing.
"Well, you can stay curious,"she snaps, her tone sharp as she stands up and moves around the room, grabbing her things and tossing them onto her side of the bed.
I watch her, my jaw tightening as she puts distance between us, likethat'sgoing to end the conversation. Before I can talk myself out of it, I cross the room, my hand reaching out to catch her arm—not hard, just enough to stop her from running from this.
She freezes, her back straightening like she's bracing for a fight, and when she turns to face me, there's fire in her eyes.
"Since when have you been secretive about anything, Amelia?"
"Since you brought another girl home to our apartment,"she fires back, her words hitting like a slap. "And then had the audacity to think you could have any kind of say over who I date."
There it is. My fuck-up laid bare between us.
"I shouldn't have done that,"I say, my voice low, heavy with the kind of regret that sticks in your throat. "But it wasn't what you think it was."
"You weren't on a date?"She doesn't wait for me to respond, nor does she give me the chance to explain. "Doesn't matter. It's who you are,"she says as her gaze darts around the room like she needs something to focus on other than me.
"No, it's not."I step closer, invading her space. "And you know that."
Bitterness laces her laugh, cutting deeper than I want to admit. "You're free to date whoever you want, Tobias, but I wasn't expecting it. I…"
"You what, Firefly?"
Tell me, Mills. Tell me I'm not alone in this.
Her eyes catch mine, and for one vulnerable second, they soften. "I wouldn't have done it,"she whispers. "I wouldn't have brought Tate home."
I knew I fucked up the second I asked Chloe to grab a drink. I knew it even more when I brought her to the apartment because she needed the bathroom. Nothing happened—nothing ever would have—but it doesn't matter now. The damage is done, and there's no unfucking it.
"Are you dating him?"
"No, it was one drink because he wouldn't leave me alone."
"I really don't want you to go out with an asshole." Or anyone .
"It's a little late for you to be playing protective older brother, Tobias."
Oh, she fucking went there.
"Why?"I demand, stepping closer.
"Why what?"
"Why is it too late? It's what I am, isn't it?"
"What else would you be?"
"You tell me, Mills."
"What you are is a pain in the ass who seems to want to scare off any guy who shows me any attention, and I don't know why."
I step past her and toss my cigarettes, lighter, and phone onto the nightstand.
"You know exactly why."
"Tobias…"she whispers, and the fight slips from her tone for the first time tonight.
I pull my shirt over my head and fling it onto the chair before turning to face her.
"You wanna keep ignoring this?"I ask, pointing between us. "Then fine. But don't act like you don't feel it, too, because we both know something's going on here, and I'll ignore it to a point, but I'm done pretending it doesn't exist."I pull back the covers and slide into bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. "You getting in?"
"Yeah, I'll just be a minute,"she says, grabbing her things and disappearing into the bathroom.
I know her well enough to recognize when she needs a second to process. It's her thing—step away, take a breath, and pretend like she's not about to blow my whole world apart.
The water runs for a moment before shutting off, and a few minutes later, she strolls out wearing an oversized T-shirt that looks like it's been to hell and back. Faded Mickey Mouse stares back at me from her chest, the fabric stretched just enough to remind me of everything underneath it. And then there's the shorts—tiny, soft-looking, and riding high on her legs like they're tempting me to act on these urges.
The lights click off, and the room plunges into darkness. However, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminates her enough that I can still make out her silhouette—the curve of her legs, the line of her jaw, the way her hair tumbles over her shoulders—she's a goddamn dream.
She slides into bed with the ease of someone who has no idea what she's doing to me, and it's torture.
Sweet, agonizing torture.
"Tobias?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not going to pretend either." I turn onto my side, propping my head on my arm. "How long have we known each other now?"
"I don't know, Mills. Nearly ten years."
She lets out a soft hum, her fingers brushing over the edge of the blanket. "You know, in that time, you became my one constant. I know I haven't seen you much since you moved to Chicago, but you've always just been there, you know?"
"Yeah," I whisper. "I know."
Her eyes search mine, even in the shadows. "Can I ask you a question without you being an ass about it?"
"I'll try," I say, trying to lighten the mood, though the tone in her voice makes it impossible to joke.
"I'm serious," she insists, and I nod.
"Ask me what you want to know."
"Could you live a life without me in it?" The question slams into me and steals my breath. Of all the things she could have asked, I wasn't expecting that. "Because I think it might destroy me if I lost you, and I don't want to risk the one relationship I feel completely comfortable in for the sake of a physical attraction."
Losing Amelia isn't an option—it never has been.
"I'm sorry. You're right," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "But you think I'm hot?"
"You know you're hot."
Her laugh breaks some of the tension, and when I reach out, it's instinctive. My fingers brush her hair back, tucking the strands behind her ear. I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling away and rolling onto my back again, staring at the ceiling.
"I couldn't," I say quietly, my voice breaking the stillness.
"Couldn't what?"
"Live my life without you in it."
We don't say anything else to each other, and even though I'm lying here hard as a rock, desperate to touch her, desperate to do everything I shouldn't even consider doing to her, I remain silent.
The risk of losing Amelia should be enough to keep me in line. But it's not. Because no matter how hard I try, I want her. I want her hands on me. I want her skin against mine. I want to give in to the ache that's been building in me for far too long. But instead, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, pretending I'm fine.
I turn toward her, the mattress creaking slightly beneath me. My phone unlocks with a swipe, just bright enough to let me see her. She looks relaxed and peaceful, her long, dark lashes resting against her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, looking soft, inviting, and so fucking tempting while her hands rest beneath the pillow as if she's curling into herself.
My hand moves before I realize it, my thumb brushing against her cheek with the gentlest touch. I freeze, holding my breath, praying she doesn't wake. But the pull is stronger than any restraint I've ever known. My thumb drags lower, tracing the curve of her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, while my heart pounds in my chest.
If her eyes opened now, I'd be done for. Not just because she'd probably slap the shit out of me but because I'd see the betrayal in them. And I never want her to feel uncomfortable or unsafe with me.
But I stay there, my lips hovering just above hers, so close it feels like I've crossed a line even though I haven't touched her.
I won't kiss her. I'd never take that from her. Not like this. Not without her choosing me back. But this closeness is enough to obliterate any delusion I've had about what I feel for her.
This isn't just my dick reacting to her. This isn't lust. It's obsession. It's longing. It's everything I can't afford to feel for her, and it's ruining me. My body wants her, but so does every part of me that should know better.