38. Amelia
Chapter 38
Amelia
T he four of us are sitting together at the bar like one big, fake-as-hell, happy family for the first time since Christmas. The last of the guests are gone, and the house is finally quiet. Somehow, David and Tobias are playing nice, though the undercurrent of tension between father and son is palpable.
"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" my mom asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
"Actually," David says, his tone clipped and businesslike, "I've asked Tobias to stay an extra day. I know it's not usual to handle business on a Sunday, but I'm sure Larry won't mind adjusting his schedule."
"Are you happy to stay one more day?"Tobias asks me.
"I need to get back before Monday. But you should stay if David can switch your flight."
Tobias leans back slightly, his gaze narrowing and pinning me in place.
You know?
I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch, even as my heart pounds hard enough to bruise.
Yeah, I know.
"Missing another day won't kill you, sweetie. It's not like you're working real hours anyway."
Don't react. Don't correct her before kneeing her in her fake boob. Don't throw your drink all over her white dress. Just… don't.
"I'll come back and meet with you and Larry another time," Tobias says, turning his attention to his dad.
Oh, hell no. These two have finally stopped making everyone want to slam their heads against the nearest wall, and I'll be damned if I'm the one who screws it up.
"No, it's fine," I quickly cut in. "I'll stay an extra day. Or maybe we could leave tomorrow after you've met whoever it is you need to meet. We'll probably need to stay over again—"
Tobias shakes his head, just the faintest, subtlest movement. But it feels like a warning… like the absolute last thing he wants is to share a room with me again. The rejection burns in my throat, and a knot twists in my chest, tightening as I fight to make sense of it.
"Monday will be better. We'll get up early, leave first thing, and be back in Chicago by the evening."
"Fine. Whatever's easier."
"Maybe we could go for dinner tomorrow as a family, considering we never really see you both together," my mom asks, carrying that practiced mix of optimism and manipulation that only she can pull off.
I glance at David and Tobias, both of them hiding their mutual loathing of the idea behind bullshit smiles.
"Sounds great, Kayla." Tobias lies so smoothly that it's almost impressive before pushing back in his chair and pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "I'll be back in a minute."
I take that as my cue. Standing up, I mutter a quick "Goodnight" to my mom and David, keeping my voice polite, and make my way upstairs to my personal slice of hell.
Once inside, I remove my dress, the silky fabric slipping off my skin and pooling at my feet. I grab an old T-shirt from my bag and pull it on. It's enormous and practically swallowsme. The neckline slips lazily off one shoulder, and I dig out a pair of shorts, tugging them on underneath.
I collapse onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, willing myself not to think about Tobias standing outside, cigarette in hand, brooding under the stars.
Since he kissed me, this tiny spark has spread like wildfire through my veins, and I wasn't prepared for how fast it would burn away everything I thought I felt.
Minutes later, footsteps stop outside my door. My heart stutters, and my breath catches in my throat.
Open that door, Tobias. Show me you don't regret me. Show me that kiss meant something more than just some heat-of-the-moment mistake you'd rather forget.
After what feels like an eternity, I hear the faint creak of his footsteps moving again. The shadows vanish, and a moment later, I hear his door closing.
Tobias has been MIA all day, locked away in some business meeting with David, which makes absolutely zero sense. This is the same Tobias who's spent years telling anyone who would listen that he'd rather eat glass than have anything to do with Daddy's corporate empire, so what the hell changed?
I stand in front of my full-length mirror and shimmy my black lace panties up my thighs. The black dress I pull on next is simple but effective, hugging every curve and dipping low enough at the neckline to leave just enough to the imagination. I step into four-inch fuck-me heels, the kind that makes my legs look longer than they are, and even though my insides are pure chaos, they give me a little hit of confidence.
My fingers trace my lips for the hundredth time today, searching for the ghost of Tobias's kiss.
The not knowing is driving me insane—where his head's at, what he's thinking, whether he's been obsessing over last night like I have.
We kissed. God, we did so much more than kiss, and just the memory of it has my body burning.
But my insecurity sneaks in, and the overwhelming feeling that Tobias regrets everything crashes down on me.
I stand in the doorway to the foyer, freezing when I see him. And honestly? More than anything, I just want my friend back.
Friend? That word tastes like a lie now. It feels wrong on my tongue, like calling an inferno a flicker of a flame. Because friends don't memorize the way each other's moans sound. Friends don't wake up wet from dreams about rough hands and desperate, hungry kisses. And they definitely don't stand in doorways mentally undressing their stepbrother while their body screams for a repeat of the last time they touched them.
Sure, it's normal to look at your friend—your stepbrother—and want your fingers back in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.
Totally normal.
Tobias Sinclair is somehow doing absolutely nothing and still manages to pull the breath straight out of my lungs.
He's in black jeans that fit like they were painted on, scuffed boots, and a fitted black T-shirt that molds to his body.
"Thinking we should've had a conversation about our outfits," I say, arching a brow at Tobias. "This matchy-matchy bullshit is a little too much, don't you think?"
"You look good, Firefly," he says, his voice low enough to make my pulse trip.
His eyes drop to my neck, and I already know he’s thinking about the way his lips claimed that very spot last night. With my ponytail pulled back, my skin is left exposed, practically begging him to do it again.
"Thanks. You look like you always do."
"You're feisty tonight. Everything okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Wow," he says, barking out a laugh as he takes a deliberate step back like he's dodging a grenade. "When you say you're fine, it usually means I'm about to get my ass handed to me."
Before I can fire back, David's voice cuts through. "Ready to go? Alf's got the car waiting," he huffs, my mom already latched onto his arm like some sort of trophy wife accessory.
"After you," Tobias says, stepping aside to let me pass.
As I slide in, the car's leather seats feel cool against my bare legs. Tobias follows, settling beside me, close enough that our thighs almost touch.
I can smell him—that trace of smoke I pretend to hate but secretly love, mixed with something warm and spicy that's purely him. It lingers, filling the tiny space between us, and suddenly the inches separating our bodies feel like millimeters.
If this closeness is affecting him, he doesn't show it. He's calm and composed, the epitome of no fucks given, as he listens to our parents' conversation about a trip to Jamaica they took a few years ago.
We finally pull up to the restaurant, and before I can even think about stepping out of the car, Tobias is there. He leans down, holding his hand out for me, and I take it, his palm warm and firm against mine.
"Are you okay, Amelia? You've been a little quiet today."
David and Tobias both turn toward us at my mom's words, and I bite back the urge to roll my eyes so hard I see the back of my skull.
"I'm fine," I say quickly, forcing a tight smile and brushing off her concern. "I'm just hungry, and you know how I get."
We're at a cozy little Italian restaurant, the kind of place that smells like fresh bread, garlic, and red wine the moment you step inside. Sinatra plays softly in the background, while candles flicker on every table, casting light across the wooden beams.
The one good thing about coming here is that David somehow manages to turn off his raging-dick attitude. It's like crossing the threshold of this place flips some switch in his head. He always orders the priciest bottle of champagne on the menu, tosses Roman—the owner and head chef—the biggest tip, and actually acts like a decent human being.
David's not exactly the make friends and keep them type, and though he's been my stepdad for most of my life, I wouldn't call what we have a relationship. I don't think we've ever had a real conversation that didn't involve my mom standing between us.To him, I'm just another obligation, another box to check off on his list of appearances to maintain.
"This is nice," Mom says, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. Because honestly? It really isn't nice. It's forced.
"It is," David adds, casually draping his arm around the back of her chair like the perfect picture of a doting husband. "Thank you for joining us."
David's playing the role well tonight. Pleasant. Polite. And, shockingly, he and Tobias haven't ripped into each other yet.
"I can't wait for the day you come home, and we can do this more often." Mom's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes as she adds, "Obviously, minus you, Tobias, seeing as Chicago seems to be your home now."
Her lack of belief in me isn't exactly surprising anymore, so I let it roll off my back. But her blatant dismissal of Tobias? That's the one that always hits its mark. That's the one that has me grinding my teeth and hating her just a little more every time she pulls this crap. Because if there's one thing Tobias deserves, it's respect.
"Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves; it depends on how this year plays out."
"Yes, but if it doesn't work out, you'll come home, right?" Tobias's head snaps up so fast I swear I hear his neck crack.
I see it all—the fear, the want, the silent plea.
He doesn't want me to go.
"It's going to work out."
Tell me I can't do something, and I'll not only prove you wrong—I'll do it wearing fucking bells and dance across your low expectations while the whole world watches me succeed.
"Your mom told me you're working in a bar, Amelia. How are you finding it?" David asks.
"It's fine. I've made some friends, so I'm enjoying it."
"What's it like?" Mom leans forward, and I can practically see her mentally preparing to judge the hell out of my life choices.
If lying my ass off is the only way to shut down her relentless interrogation, then so be it.
"It's a cocktail bar with a very exclusive clientele." The tension in her shoulders eases instantly, and I can almost hear the wheels stop spinning in her brain.
Heaven forbid her daughter serves drinks to anyone who can't afford to wipe their ass with hundred-dollar bills.
Tobias snickers beside me, and I swear to god, I want to throat-punch him.
"High-end clientele? That's not exactly what I'd call your little friend, Tate." I dig my heel into his foot under the table, trying to shut him up, but the bastard clamps his hand on my thigh—a warning of his own, though it feels a hell of a lot more like foreplay.
"Who's Tate?" David asks, his brows furrowing as he looks between us.
"He's just a customer at the bar."
"Is he attractive? Does he have a good job?"
Tobias's hand vanishes from my thigh. He leans back, bringing his hands to his mouth, but I catch the tight clench of his jaw.
"Yeah, Mom. He is attractive. Not that you'd like him, though—he owns a bike, so if I brought him home, you'd probably have an aneurysm. However, he's not afraid to go after what he wants, and he's made it clear that what he wants is me. Now, if you'll excuse me a minute," I say, sliding out of my seat and tugging my dress down a little as I stand. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Before I can reach the door, Tobias calls my name, his footsteps echoing behind me. I pause, turning just as I see my purse dangling from his hand.
"What are you doing?"
"You forgot this."
The words are barely out of his mouth before his fingers circle my wrist, and suddenly, I'm being dragged into the shadows beside the restrooms. My back meets the wall, and then he's everywhere—his heat, his scent, the solid weight of him pressing against me, his thigh wedged between my legs.
"Tobias—"
When he kisses me, it's not sweet. It's not gentle—we're past gentle, past pretending this isn't exactly what we both need. He kisses like he's trying to mark me from the inside out, like he's trying to erase every man who came before and ruin me for anyone who might come after.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, the sting soothed instantly by the sweep of his tongue, and I gasp into his mouth.
He finally breaks the kiss, but he doesn't move away. His forehead rests against mine, his breath ragged, and his thumb brushes over my swollen lip like he's admiring his own handiwork.
"That clear enough for you, Mills?" His eyes are dark, hungry, and fixed on my mouth like he's already planning to kiss me again. "There's no you and Tate, so get that through your pretty little head right now."
Then he's gone, leaving me trembling against the wall with slick thighs and fighting against an ache he created.