Chapter 19
Nineteen
LAN
If I thought the car ride was a test of my sanity, entering the mall with my unfairly attractive stepbrothers was like volunteering for psychological torture with a side of public humiliation.
The moment we stepped through the automatic doors, every head in a fifty-foot radius swiveled toward us like we were celebrities—or more accurately, like my brothers were celebrities and I was their weird pet gremlin they’d decided to take shopping.
“Is it just me, or is everyone staring?” I muttered, fighting the childish urge to hide behind Jaxson’s broad back like I used to when I was eleven and terrified of strangers.
“Not at you,” Colt replied with his signature blend of brutal honesty and casual cruelty. “Though that shirt situation isn’t helping your case.”
He wasn’t wrong, which only made me want to elbow him in the ribs.
Every female within eyesight—and quite a few males—were eyeballing my brothers like they were the last chocolate desserts at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
A cluster of teenage girls weren’t even pretending to be subtle, giggling and taking stealth photos that were about as “stealth” as a marching band in a library.
One particularly thirsty twenty-something was openly gawking at Jaxson, her lips pursed in what I assume she thought was seductive but made her look like she’d just sucked on a lemon.
I felt a weird cocktail of annoyance and pride swirling in my stomach.
Annoyance because—seriously? Could they be any more obvious?
And pride because… okay, fine, my stepbrothers were ridiculously hot, and on some bizarre level, that reflected well on me.
By association. Or something. Like having a designer handbag, except they were people.
Very attractive people who happened to share my living space and bathroom.
God, that was a terrible analogy. My brain needed coffee.
“Ooh, the new Monster Hunter expansion is out!” Nico’s attention span proved once again to have the durability of wet tissue paper.
He was already bouncing on his heels, eyes fixed on the gaming store across the atrium like it was giving away free consoles.
“I’m gonna check it out. Meet you guys at the food court for lunch? ”
“Don’t spend all your—” Jaxson started, but Nico was already halfway across the mall, weaving through shoppers with the practiced agility of someone who’s spent thousands of hours navigating digital obstacle courses while avoiding actual human interaction.
“And then there were four,” Xander remarked, his hand landing on my shoulder with casual possessiveness that sent a tingle down my spine. His fingers squeezed slightly, like he was testing the firmness of a peach at the supermarket. “I know just the place to start our little makeover project.”
“Makeover project?” I repeated, alarm bells clanging in my head like we were under nuclear attack. “I thought we were just getting pajamas. You know, those things normal people sleep in? That don’t cost a fortune?”
Xander’s laugh vibrated through his chest, the sound rich and warm and way too close to my ear. “Lan, if you think we’re letting you continue your fashion crimes against humanity without intervention, you haven’t been paying attention to how this family operates.”
“My fashion isn’t criminal,” I protested, even as I looked down at Jaxson’s oversized shirt hanging off me like a deflated parachute. “It’s… economical.”
“It’s tragic,” Colt corrected, falling into step beside us. “And that’s coming from someone who color-codes his sock drawer.”
The strange warmth I’d felt in the car flickered to life again as Colt moved closer, like electricity crackling just beneath my skin.
“You color-code your sock drawer because you’re a control freak with spreadsheets for your spreadsheets,” I shot back. “Not because you have fashion sense.”
“I have both,” Colt replied with such absolute conviction that arguing seemed as pointless as trying to teach calculus to a goldfish. “And you have neither.”
“Children, play nice.” Jaxson’s voice carried that amused authority that always made my stomach do a little flip, like I’d just missed a step on the stairs.
He placed his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through a group of shoppers.
The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of his borrowed shirt, sending tingles racing up my spine and short-circuiting what was left of my brain cells.
That strange golden connection between us pulsed stronger, like an invisible thread pulling taut. “Let’s focus on the task at hand.”
The “task at hand” apparently meant dragging me into H&M, which wasn’t as bad as I’d feared but still way fancier than my usual thrift store haunts. At least here the price tags didn’t make me want to curl up in a fetal position and cry about my student loans.
“This place has decent basics that won’t fall apart after two washes,” Colt explained, already scanning the displays with the tactical precision of a general planning a military campaign. “And they won’t bankrupt us.”
“Since when are you so concerned about my wardrobe?” I asked, trailing behind him as he made a beeline for a display of jeans. “Last I checked, you were more interested in critiquing my dishwashing technique than my fashion choices.”
“Since you started looking like you’re auditioning for the role of ‘orphaned street urchin’ in a community theater production,” he shot back, holding up a pair of jeans that actually looked like they might fit me.
His eyes swept over my body with clinical assessment, lingering a beat too long on my legs.
I could feel that electric warmth pulse between us, different from what I felt with Jaxson—sharper, more aggressive. “These should work.”
“I don’t look like an orphan,” I muttered, though even I had to admit my current outfit was hardly winning any fashion awards. “I look… comfortable.”
“You look like you’re drowning in fabric,” Xander chimed in, appearing at my side with an armful of t-shirts in various colors. He held one up against my chest, his body way too close behind me, his breath warm against my neck. “Which is a crime, considering what’s underneath.”
I felt my face heat at his comment, unsure if he was complimenting me or just stating a fact or—oh God, was he flirting? No, that was ridiculous. This was Xander, my stepbrother who once held my head over the toilet when I had food poisoning. He wasn’t flirting. He was just being… Xander.
Before I could come up with a suitably snarky response, Jaxson joined our little group, adding a few button-downs to the growing pile. His eyes met mine over the clothing, and something in his gaze made my mouth go dry.
“These would look good for classes,” he said, his voice deeper than usual. “Better than those oversized hoodies you always hide in.”
“My hoodies are comfortable,” I defended, though it was a weak argument at best. “And they keep me warm and they hide my… you know.” I gestured vaguely at my body, which had always been on the slender side, lacking the impressive muscle definition my brothers all seemed to have acquired from the Sinclair gene pool.
“Hide what, exactly?” Colt asked, his eyebrow arching with dangerous precision. His gaze intensified, dark eyes tracking over me with an almost predatory focus that made my skin prickle with awareness.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, suddenly finding the floor tiles absolutely fascinating. “Can we just get this over with?”
“Not until you try everything on,” Xander insisted, adding another shirt to the pile. “We need to make sure it all fits properly.”
“I thought we were here for pajamas,” I reminded them, eyeing the growing mountain of fabric with the suspicion usually reserved for suspicious packages at airports. “Not an entire wardrobe transplant.”
“We’re being efficient,” Jaxson explained, his smile making my heart do that stupid flutter thing it always did around him—like a drunk butterfly trying to navigate a hurricane. “Besides, you need more than just pajamas.”
“I need to be able to pay rent more than I need new jeans,” I pointed out.
“Consider it an early birthday present,” Jaxson said, his tone making it clear this wasn’t up for debate. His hand brushed mine as he added another item to the pile, the brief contact sending an electric current up my arm.
“My birthday is months away!”
“Very early,” he amended, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Consider us exceptionally prepared this year.”
I was about to argue further when Jaxson’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to one of professional concern.
“I need to take this,” he said, already stepping away. “It’s the office.” He fixed Xander and Colt with a look that could have frozen lava. “Behave. I’ll be right back.”
As Jaxson walked toward the store entrance for better reception, I felt oddly abandoned, which was ridiculous.
He was just taking a phone call, not emigrating to New Zealand.
Still, without his mediating presence, the air between Colt and Xander seemed to crackle with a tension I didn’t fully understand.
“Let’s see how these look,” Xander suggested, his hand settling on my lower back as he guided me toward the changing rooms. His palm was warm through the thin fabric, fingers splayed wider than strictly necessary, thumb brushing against the spot where my spine dipped.
Before we could get there, however, a high-pitched squeal cut through the store’s generic pop music with the ear-piercing quality of a smoke alarm.
“Xander! Oh my God, it is you!”
A group of college-aged girls descended upon us like a flock of designer-clad vultures, all glossy hair and excessive enthusiasm.
The leader, a tall blonde in a crop top that defied the laws of physics (seriously, how was that thing staying up?), immediately latched on to Xander’s arm like she was afraid he might escape.