5. Asher #3
This was why. My big stepbrother had to spread his wisdom everywhere all the time. If he could see anything from his moral high ground, he would notice a guy who had spent years hurting after him and hurting with guilt over his feelings. “Are you saying this is good, actually?”
Jordan shrugged. “It’s not all bad. We’re…not enemies.”
I barked out a laugh. “And that’s the best that can be said of us.” I finished my dinner, washed it down with the rest of the wine in my glass, and pushed the plate and glass away. “Never mind. Dinner’s over.” We were free of each other’s presence once again. “Thanks for cooking.”
“My pleasure,” Jordan said flatly while I collected the dishes and carried them back to the kitchen. I was rinsing them when Jordan approached the kitchen island. “I was gonna play some Neon Slam Dunk on PS. Do you want to join?”
And sit next to you where we had once sat through the entire lecture on my sexual health when all I had thought about was feeling you inside of me?
To feel your warmth on my skin while we pretend we’re friends?
I cleared my throat. “I’m pretty beat, actually.
Maybe tomorrow.” My murmurs faded with Jordan turning away from the island and walking toward the stairs.
Something akin to a missed opportunity unraveled in the pit of my stomach. Maybe I should have said something else. Maybe I should have sat through the pain and discomfort of being so close to him. Who knew what we would have ended up doing?
And maybe it wasn’t too late.
I finished loading the dishwasher and headed upstairs to tell him I’d changed my mind. Just as I reached the top landing, I heard him cursing under his breath.
My heart sank.
Jordan walked out of the bathroom with a pissed-off expression and eyes ablaze in annoyance. “Couldn’t you at least wipe the floor after dripping all over the place?”
“Jesus,” I snapped. “Give me a break, Ma. It’ll dry itself.”
“With this humidity? It’s a swamp in there.” He shook his head disappointedly. “This is why, Asher. This is why we can’t be normal.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” I demanded.
My testosterone levels spiked with adrenaline.
It was like a sudden injection, a surge of power, and a longing for conflict.
I walked up to him, unbothered by his size or the angry glare.
“It’s all my fault? That you’re a fucking know-it-all who has to use every chance to teach me a lesson? ”
“Do you think I want to teach you how to clean up after yourself, Asher? I’ve got better things to do than worry about the things you do in the bathroom that distract you from showing some basic courtesy.”
What the fuck was he suggesting? I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.
“Is this about the drills? Because I told you already, we don’t play the same way, dammit. Your style’s totally different, and when you copy me, it just goes wrong.” He crossed his arms on his chest calmly.
“It’s not about the goddamn drills, Jordan. It’s about your superiority complex.” I pushed myself to the tips of my toes, my sandals squeaking.
The calm air around Jordan remained in place as he slowly exhaled through his nose.
I felt the heat of his breath on my face.
We stood too close. I shouldn’t have had that wine.
My body was conflicted and confused. I was still running hot with anger, but I also wanted him to throw me against the wall and trap me under his muscles.
He blinked coolly. “If you don’t want to be treated like a child, then stop acting like one. Wipe up the goddamn floor.”
My mouth opened in shock and I snapped it shut immediately after.
I took an abrupt step back from him. No.
Of course, this wasn’t a prelude to some dirty hate-fucking.
He was simply an asshole. And I was wrong.
Not that I would tell him that, but I should have fucking mopped the floor.
“Use the other bathroom if it bothers you,” I hissed, then moved forward, bumping into his shoulder with mine.
When I shut the door of my room, I waited for Jordan’s footsteps to disappear into the living room downstairs before breathing again.
Every part of me felt like it had been touched by a hot iron rod.
My muscles were stiff, my breaths shallow, my chest tight.
My dick was hard again, which annoyed me more than it amused me.
He was so full of shit. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have lit those goddamn candles.
He shouldn’t have poured me that wine. He shouldn’t have talked about the things I did in the bathroom in my private time.
I hadn’t. But if I did, I would be well within my right.
And there would be nothing to feel guilty about.
It would vindicate me, in fact; keeping his contemptuous look firmly in front of my closed eyes, peeling off layer after layer of his clothes, using him for my sinful pleasures. What other good did I ever get from him anyway? This, at least, I was entitled to.
I held my breath as my left hand slid inside my tight briefs.