Chapter 17 #2
I forced myself to focus on my plate instead of that dangerous train of thought.
Breakfast should have been simple. Just eggs, toast, and coffee—not this minefield of loaded glances and unspoken tensions that made every bite feel like a tactical decision in some culinary version of chess.
But it was hard to ignore the weight of multiple stares pressing against my skin like physical touches.
Jaxson’s gaze felt like summer sunshine, warm and constant, but with an undertow that threatened to pull me under if I wasn’t careful.
Every time our eyes met, I could feel the ghost of his kiss, the memory of his tongue against mine making me forget how to breathe.
That strange warmth between us seemed to pulse, growing stronger whenever our eyes met.
Colt’s glare could’ve given Antarctica competition in the cold department—if Antarctica had homicidal tendencies and was secretly plotting world domination via perfectly organized spreadsheets. And yet, despite the intensity of his stare, there was something else there—something almost hungry.
And Xander… Xander kept dissecting me with those eyes like I was a particularly fascinating puzzle he couldn’t wait to take apart, piece by delicious piece. His usual easy smile had an edge to it this morning, like a predator trying to appear harmless.
The weight of their attention made every breath feel like a performance, every movement an audition I hadn’t prepared for.
Then it hit me like a bucket of ice water—Colt’s offer yesterday. He must be regretting it now, probably cursing his momentary lapse of judgment with his airheaded stepbrother. Why else would he be looking at me like I’d personally offended his entire collection of color-coded binders?
“Um, Colt?” I ventured, my voice barely louder than the scrape of fork against plate. “About taking me shopping for pajamas today… you don’t have to—”
The kitchen erupted into a symphony of whiplash-inducing head turns. Even Nico paused mid-chew, fork suspended between plate and mouth like a particularly confused statue. Colt’s expression morphed from arctic to absolutely murderous, like I’d just revealed a state secret he’d kill to keep.
“I mean,” I stumbled on, words tumbling out like drunk butterflies at a hurricane party, “with your job at that fancy gaming company… I don’t want to impose—”
“Impose?” Colt’s voice could’ve sliced diamonds. His knife and fork met the table with the precision of a surgeon and the barely contained violence of an assassin. “Since when is dressing you properly an imposition?”
Xander’s fork clattered against his plate with deliberate force, like he was punctuating a sentence no one had spoken.
“Pajama shopping?” His eyes sparked with something dangerous, something that made my insides twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
“How… thoughtful of you, Colt. And when exactly did this little plan come about?”
“Last night,” Colt bit out, each word precise as a blade. “Someone needs to ensure he has proper clothes that actually fit. He can’t keep walking around in these oversized hand-me-downs like some lost waif.”
I felt his glare like ice on my skin, but when I dared to look up, his dark eyes had shifted to where Jaxson’s thin cotton shirt had slipped off my shoulder, then to where the morning light made the fabric almost translucent against my chest. Something in his gaze made me want to squirm, though I couldn’t understand why.
Shouldn’t he be looking at me with disgust if my appearance bothered him so much?
“His current wardrobe seems perfectly functional.” Jaxson’s voice carried the kind of warmth that could burn. “I wasn’t aware it bothered you so much.”
“He’s a college student.” Colt’s fork stabbed his omelet with enough force to make me worry for the plate’s structural integrity. “Not some child playing dress-up in his brothers’ clothes. He needs to start dressing like a proper adult.”
The way he said ‘proper’ made me feel suddenly self-conscious, like I was failing some test I didn’t know I was taking.
I reached up to fix the slipping shirt, but the worn cotton only slid further, the collar trailing down my arm in what felt like slow motion, exposing my other shoulder in a betrayal of fabric that would make fashion designers weep. Great job, Lan.
Everyone’s attention zeroed in on me like a spotlight, making me want to slide under the table and possibly all the way to China.
Jaxson’s gaze lingered on the exposed strip of skin at my shoulder with an intensity that made my heart stumble over itself like a drunk trying to pass a sobriety test. That strange honey-sweet scent seemed to grow stronger, pulsing between us like a living thing.
Xander seemed fascinated by the way the borrowed shirt draped over my frame, as if he were mentally calculating fabric-to-skin ratios.
Colt’s grip on his utensils turned white-knuckled, his dark eyes fixed on where the collar dipped precariously low, like he was witnessing a crime against fashion that personally offended him.
Even Nico paused his breakfast assault, fork suspended between plate and mouth, looking bewildered by the sudden crackling tension in the air.
“Oh! Shopping?” Nico perked up, tugging at his ratty tank top like an eager puppy who’d just heard the word “walk,” completely missing the war brewing over the breakfast table. “Count me in! I mean, look at this”—he gestured to his own questionable ensemble—“I could use some new stuff too!”
“Your wardrobe crisis can wait,” Colt cut in with the finality of someone closing a particularly satisfying spreadsheet. “This isn’t a group activity.”