Chapter 3
Three
LAN
Jaxson’s warm hand around my arm sent electricity shooting through my body, making parts of me spring to attention that had no business doing so at the breakfast table.
Seriously? Even after my extended “self-love” session in the shower, where I’d definitely not been thinking about those same fingers sliding elsewhere, tracing patterns on my skin, pressing into me until I—
God, being twenty-one was like living with a hormone factory programmed to malfunction specifically around tall, gorgeous stepbrothers.
Especially ones who insisted on touching you with hands that felt like they were made of pure sin.
The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt, each individual finger a point of searing contact that I felt all the way to my core.
I jerked my arm away, my face burning hotter than the coffee Wei was perpetually brewing.
“Fine, fine. I’ll have breakfast,” I muttered, trying to sound annoyed rather than flustered.
The only way to handle Jaxson was to give him what he wanted—in this case, watching me eat like I was some rare bird that might forget how to peck at seeds.
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, making my skin prickle with uncomfortable awareness.
Taking a deliberate step back—because space was definitely what I needed right now, preferably enough to dilute the intoxicating scent of Jaxson’s that seemed to follow me like a sensual ghost—I lifted my gaze to meet his.
Big mistake. Those amber-hazel eyes could probably get state secrets out of trained spies, all golden flecks and intensity that made my stomach perform acrobatics worthy of Olympic gold.
“But you don’t have to drive me,” I insisted, proud that my voice didn’t shake despite the riot happening in my chest. “It’s not far, and biking doesn’t take long.”
Before he could deploy another one of those looks that made my knees forget their job description—the one where his eyes softened at the corners and his lips curved just so—I turned and dropped into the seat beside Nico.
I could feel Jaxson’s gaze following me like a physical touch as he took his place across the table, a warm caress that made the fine hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“My, my.” Wei’s amused voice cut through the tension, dripping with that knowing tone that made me want to crawl under the table and die.
“Isn’t it interesting how that old shirt of Jaxson’s seems to command everyone’s attention this morning?
” He took another sip of his ridiculously expensive coffee, dark eyes dancing with mischief over the rim of his mug.
The bastard was enjoying this far too much.
I glanced down at the shirt—one of Jaxson’s ancient hand-me-downs that practically swallowed me whole—and tugged self-consciously at the collar.
Which, naturally, only made it slip further off my shoulder, exposing more skin to the suddenly too-warm air of the kitchen.
Perfect. Just perfect. The fabric was worn soft from years of use, carrying faint traces of Jaxson’s scent despite countless washes.
Wearing it was like being wrapped in his embrace, a thought that sent another wave of heat crawling up my neck.
I lifted my gaze, only to catch Colt staring at me with an unusually dark expression, his eyes fixed on my exposed shoulder before trailing up to my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
His jaw was clenched tight, perfect posture even more rigid than usual, the muscle at his temple jumping visibly.
Great. My sloppy appearance must be offending his perfectionist sensibilities again.
The man probably ironed his underwear; of course my disheveled state would bother him.
“Your shirt is…” He trailed off, jaw tightening even further, his knuckles white around his fork.
“Falling off?” I supplied helpfully, trying to adjust it and failing miserably.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you inherit clothes from giants.
” The word “inherit” felt wrong on my tongue—too familial, too brotherly for the decidedly unbrotherly thoughts I’d been having about the shirt’s original owner.
Xander leaned over, his movement bringing a waft of his scent—something woodsy and expensive that contrasted sharply with the lingering scent of alcohol from the bar.
His fingers brushed my shoulder as he adjusted the collar, his touch lingering just a second too long, warm against my skin.
The contact sent an unexpected shiver down my spine, one I desperately hoped no one noticed.
“Looks good on you,” he murmured, closer than necessary, his breath warm against my ear.
“Aww, look at our little Lan swimming in big brother’s clothes,” Nico sang out, grinning wickedly around a mouthful of French toast. “If you’re trying to start a new fashion trend, I’d call it ‘Drowning in Denim.’ Or maybe ‘Help, My Shirt Ate Me’?”
“I’m not that small,” I protested, shrugging away from Xander’s helping hands, though the movement only made the collar slip again. My cheeks burned as Nico pretended to wipe away a tear, his expression comically mournful.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Colt muttered darkly from across the table, his eyes still fixed on me with that intense look that made me want to check if I had breakfast on my face or possibly a third eye sprouting from my forehead. His gaze felt like a physical weight, pressing against my skin.
“And at least I don’t look like a walking thrift store reject,” I shot back at Nico, trying to ignore Colt’s unsettling stare by focusing on the safer target.
“Ouch! He bites!” Nico clutched his chest dramatically, staggering back in his chair like I’d physically wounded him.
“But seriously, bro, we need to feed you more. I can practically hear those clothes plotting their escape.” He reached over to ruffle my hair, a gesture I tolerated from him in a way I wouldn’t from the others.
Nico’s touch was simple, brotherly, without the undercurrents that seemed to complicate every interaction in this house lately.
“Now, now,” Wei interrupted, his knowing smirk growing wider as his gaze flicked between Jaxson’s white-knuckled grip on his mug and Xander’s hovering hands.
“I think our little Shrine Maiden looks perfectly fine in oversized clothes. Wouldn’t you agree, Jaxson?
” The question seemed innocent enough, but the gleam in Wei’s eyes suggested otherwise.
He was poking the bear, and the bear in question was currently looking like he might snap his coffee mug in half.
The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees as Jaxson’s eyes narrowed at Xander’s hand, still suspiciously close to my shoulder.
The intensity of his gaze made me shiver despite the kitchen’s warmth, my body responding to his attention in ways that were entirely inappropriate for breakfast—or any meal, really, given our relationship.
Seriously, what was with everyone this morning?
Was there some full moon effect I didn’t know about that made all my brothers act weird?
Must be a caffeine thing. Or maybe they’d all collectively lost their minds.
Whatever it was, it was making the already cramped kitchen feel like it was shrinking by the second, the air thick with something I couldn’t quite name.
“Eat more,” Jaxson finally said, pushing his own plate toward me.
That familiar worry line appeared between his brows—the one that always made guilt twist in my stomach like a living thing.
“You’re too thin.” The words were simple, but the concern behind them was layered with history, with years of him taking care of me, watching over me, being more parent than brother.
The mother hen routine that had become Jaxson’s default setting whenever food was involved. I picked at the extra French toast he’d given me, trying not to sigh. I knew where this came from, of course. The memory rose unbidden, sharp and clear despite the years.
I blamed his overprotective streak on that incident from years ago.
The one where I’d collapsed at school and scared everyone half to death.
The doctors had thrown around words like ‘malnourished’ and ‘depression’ like confetti at a particularly grim party.
I mean, what did they expect? Our parents had just died, and I was sixteen—an age where everything felt like the end of the world even without actual tragedy involved.
Food had been the last thing on my mind back then, grief sitting heavy in my stomach, taking up all the space.
The incident had sent Jaxson into full-blown protective overdrive.
Social Services had descended like vultures in sensible shoes, poking their noses into every corner of our lives.
Poor Jaxson had been stretched thinner than our grocery budget back then, trying to convince them he could handle being guardian to two minors while building his real estate career and juggling more part-time jobs than a circus performer.
The dark circles under his eyes had become a permanent fixture, his smile growing rarer by the day.
Then came That Day—the one that still featured in my nightmares.
The social worker had arrived with her clipboard of doom, ready to drag me away.
I’d gone full octopus, clinging to Jaxson like my life depended on it.
Which, in my teenage mind, it absolutely did.
The stress had been too much, and I’d pulled my signature move—passing out right there on the doorstep.
Nothing says ‘I’m totally fine’ like face-planting into unconsciousness.