47. Amelia
Chapter 47
Amelia
" Y ou know you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen behind a bar," Ray slurs, his words thick with cheap beer and whiskey. He's been planted on that barstool all night with his crew, trading war stories and putting away more drinks than I care to count.
"Thanks, Ray." I smile back, pouring just the right amount of sweetness into my tone to keep him cheerful without encouraging him too much. "You're the most charming guy who owns a Harley that I think I've ever served."
He lights up like I've just made his whole night, swaying against the bar like that last shot finally caught up with him.
"I call bullshit," Tate cuts in, his voice carrying just enough bite to make Ray frown.
"Ah, fuck off," Ray mumbles, throwing an unsteady arm around Tate's shoulders and nearly taking them both out in the process. "You're just pissed she didn'tstroke youregoinstead." His words start to run together, but his smile is pure mischief.
I love it here. It's so different from the plastic paradise I've been suffocating in these past few years. Here, everything's real and alive—the complete opposite of those "social gatherings" where fun meant sitting around with silicone-stuffed vultures who got off on tearing people apart with perfectly manicured claws.
It's ironic, really. My mom used to hate those kinds of women. She'd roll her eyes at their pretentious airs and fake kindness and swore she'd never become one of them. But money and power are straight poison for the soul, and somewhere between her first Botox appointment and joining the board of Rich Bitches Anonymous, it corrupted hers, gift wrapped it for Satan himself, and left her with nothing but ice in her veins and a stick so far up her ass she could probably taste wood.
But here? This is real life. The air hits differently. The people don't pretend to be anything but what they are—their laughs aren't practiced, and their conversations actually mean something. Sometimes they talk absolute shit, but at least it's honest shit. It's exactly the kind of place Kayla Sinclair would call trash—beneath her precious country club status and her weekly appointments with whatever poor bastard has to maintain her face. And maybe that's why it feels more like home than any million-dollar prison ever could.
"Who's the most charming person you've seen on a Harley if it isn't Ray?" I ask Tate, laughing as I bend down to grab another beer from the fridge.
"Let me answer that when I've seen you on mine."
I straighten up, rolling my eyes, and pop the cap off the bottle. "Never gonna happen."
"You ever ridden?" he asks, that smirk spreading wider as he lounges against the counter, radiating the kind of confidence that comes from getting his way too often.
"Nope. I need my legs for my career," I reply, sliding the beer across to him.
"You should get on the back of mine sometime," he pushes.
Before Tobias, I might've considered it. I still would've said no because no way am I risking my dream for five minutes wrapped around a hot guy. But since Tobias, there's no chance in hell I'm putting my hands on anyone else. We haven't defined whatever this thing is between us, but it's carved in stone all the same. There's no room for anyone else—not if we want to keep what we have from burning to the ground.
"No, thank you, but Harper might be interested if you ask her the next time she's here." The words leave my lips casually, but the reaction hits like a bomb.
Logan, who'sbeen quietly focused on paperwork beside me, suddenly stills. He turns slowly, his gaze locking on Tate. "Don't even think about it," he growls, his voice promising nothing but a world of pain if his cousin even considers it.
Tate grins, lifting his beer in mock surrender. "I'm not into girls who are already mentally married to someone else."
Tate drains his beer, throws me a wink, and swaggers off while Logan lets out a breath. "I like her," he mutters, almost too quiet to catch.
"Then tell her, dumbass," I snap. "Because, surprise, she's just as gone for you."
"Screw it,"he mutters, yanking his phone from his pocket and furiously typing.
"What did you say?"I ask, fighting back a grin.
"I told her to get down to the bar."
I clap my hands, giddy at whatever is about to unfold.
Twenty minutes later, Harper strolls in, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, looking effortlessly stunning. She stops at the bar, her gaze bouncing between me and Logan. "What's the emergency?"
Logan freezes like a deer caught in headlights. His balls? Gone. They've crawled right back up where they came from, so I give him a nudge, hoping to kickstart his courage.
"My shift's done in fifteen,"he blurts out, his voice shaking slightly. "You wanna hang out?"
"Sure,"Harper says, sliding onto a stool.
"Not hang out,"Logan stammers, clearly realizing his mistake. "That's not what I meant. I mean… do you want to get a drink?"
Harper arches a brow. "Dude, we're in a bar."
"Harper!"I laugh, wishing I could save this train wreck.
Logan explodes, his hands flying up. "Do you want to go somewhere and have a real drink with me? And not as friends. I mean, at a place where the night might end with me finally getting the balls to kiss you instead of watching you walk away like I'm some kind of idiot?"
Dead silence.
Harper looks at him as if he's just spoken in tongues, her face turning a deep shade of pink.
"Yeah,"Harper finally murmurs, her voice soft but sure. "We can do that."
The smile that spreads across Logan's face is pure sunshine, and I feel like a proud parent watching their kid score the winning goal.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking the moment.
TOBIAS
Your mom's here. Did you know she was coming?
AMELIA
WHAT?!
TOBIAS
Okay, you didn't know. She rocked up, knocked on the door, handed me a bag, and said she was visiting for a few days.
AMELIA
Why?
TOBIAS
No idea, Firefly. How are you gonna keep your hands to yourself?
I let out a groan that sounds like a dying animal. With a fuck ton of willpower , I think, before typing.
AMELIA
Maybe I should ask you the same, seeing as I can't walk around our apartment without you touching or kissing me.
"Amelia, are you okay? You look like you're about to throw up."Logan's voice snaps me out of my spiral.
"No, not really." I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose. "My mom's here."
His brows shoot up. "Where?"
"At my apartment. With Tobias."
Just as I'm about to launch into a rant about how the universe is trying to ruin my life, my phone buzzes again.
TOBIAS
Every time I kiss you, whether that's before I fuck you, while I'm buried inside you, or after I've made you come, it's to remind you that my mouth belongs to you. And whenever I put my hands on your body, I'm marking you as mine, Firefly.
I freeze, unprepared for the way his words hit me like a wrecking ball. My chest feels tight,andmy pulse hammersin my ears.
"You're smiling like you're in love over there."
Harper's voice cuts through my thoughts, and my head snaps toward her. A look passes between us—quick, silent, and loaded. Her eyes widen in realization, and I shake my head subtly.
Perfect.
How exactly do you explain you're fucking your stepbrother?
Yeah, that sounds really bad.
Actually, it sounds worse the more I think about it.
Fuck it. It is what it is.
"Ready to go, Harper?" Logan's voice draws her attention, and she stutters, torn between me and him, her finger pointing at me like she's accusing me of a crime.
She's got her dream guy waiting, but I can see the questions eating her alive.
"I'm calling you tomorrow," she says, making it sound like a threat.
"You better," I fire back, trying to shove her out the door before Logan picks up whatever scent she's caught. "Now go and have fun, you two," I add, plastering on a sweet smile.
"Thanks, Mom," she snarks, rolling her eyes as Logan grabs her hand and drags her toward the exit.
TOBIAS
She's already been on my ass because I'm not picking you up, so can you please tell her that I offer every single time? Because I'm pretty sure she doesn't believe me.
AMELIA
It's hilarious that my mom terrifies you. Be there soon.
Two hours later, I push through the apartment door, and the scene in the living room stops me completely.
Mom's perched on the couch like she's at a tea party, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping from that tiny-ass mug Tobias hates because it holds about two sips of coffee.
Next to her, Tobias is sprawled out, arm thrown over the back of the couch, looking like he's being slowly tortured.
On the TV, some botoxed housewives are screeching at each other, complete with dramatic finger-pointing and close-ups of mascara tears. Real Housewives of Who Gives a Shit —they're all the same anyway. But I'm dying because Tobias would rather be set on fire than watch this.
"Hey," I say, announcing myself.
"Thank God you're here.Are youokay?"My mom jumps up and rests her hands on my shoulders while Tobias gestures at the TV like it's physically causing him pain.
"No, I lost a toe on the way." I roll my eyes. "Of course I'mokay."
"Hmm. I still think Tobias should be picking you up when it's dark." I glance at him again, and he throws his hands up like, Save my ass here, since I'm the one who keeps telling him not to.
"Ido ask him, but he says he's got better things to do, like finding his next hookup,than being my driver." Mom whips around to face him, eyes flashingwith fury. "He also mentioned I'm a pain in his ass, and it might be better if someone just took me off his hands—"
"I swear—" He steps toward us, his voice dropping low.
"I'm kidding." I laugh, and Mom turns to face me. "He always offers. I'm the one who says no. And obviously, I made it home just fine."
His eyes narrow on mine, and I know that look intimately—it promises retribution later.
Worth it —my expression challenges back.
He smiles and runs his hand across his jaw when he deciphers the look on my face as easily as I did with him.
"Why are you here?" The question comes out sharper than I mean, but I don't bother softening it. My mom has a way of making herself comfortable in spaces that don't belong to her.
"David's on a business trip, but it's just a golf retreat where they pretend to work while drinking expensive scotch. I thought I'd check on you two and see how you're managing."
More like hovering because you don't trust me to handle my own life. The same way you didn't trust me to choose my own career path, pick my own clothes, or live my own life.
I can't even blame it on anything. She's just naturally this suffocating.
We settle back down, me next to her and Tobias across from us, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Some warning would've been nice," I say, crossing my arms. "How long are you staying?"
"It was spontaneous, darling. It'll only be for a couple of nights—you won't even notice me."
"We could've set up the couch if we'd known you were coming."The words slip out, and Tobias smirks while Mom looks at me like I've suggested she sleeponthe streets.
"I am not sleeping on the couch! I'll share with you."Tobias nearly chokes on his laughter, his hand flying to his mouth to hide it,while I gape at her like she's lost her mind.
"Mom, no, I'm too old for that. You take my room. I'll crash on the couch."
"No, I'll take the couch, and Amelia can have my room."
The day Tobias voluntarily sleeps on the couch is the day hell freezes over, and the devil takes up ice skating.
"Thank you, Tobias,"she says with a smile, turning to me with a raised brow. "I really don't understand your attitude, Amelia."
"I like my space."I stand, brushing off invisible lint from my clothes, anything to keep my hands busy because right now, they're itching to wrap around her neck. "Let me go and change the sheets."
"Sit, Mills. I'vegot it."Tobias disappears down the hall as he heads for my room.
"How's it going with the company?"she asks while I sit back down.
"I've got an audition next week that I've been working my ass off for."
"What are you auditioning for?"
"It's for a minorrolein their touring show next month."
"You're leaving Chicago?"
"If I get it—which is a big if —yeah, it'll be six months on the road."
"All over the country? Alone?"Her eyes widen like I just told her I'm running off to join a biker gang or start a cult.
"Not alone, Mom. There are dancers, directors, and production crew. My friends will be there too, so fingers crossed."
She leans back, her lips curving into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I have no doubt you'll do as well as you can."Her words come out sweet, but they're wrapped in thorns.
"If not, I'll try again next year,"I add, refusing to let her doubts settle in. "Most second-years who audition make it anyway, so whether it's now or later, I'll be doing it."
"Don't get your hopes up though, Amelia. I'd hate to see you disappointed."
There it is—the poison hidden in motherly concern, designed to chip away at my confidence.But I won't let her. Not this time.Because my dream isn't hers to dismantle.