Chapter 21
Twenty-One
LAN
If I thought the changing room incident was the pinnacle of my public humiliation for the day, the food court was here to remind me that the universe wasn’t done using me as its personal comedy punching bag.
We’d claimed a corner booth that was approximately the size of a postage stamp for four adult men and one perpetually undersized me, which meant I was basically being absorbed into the collective Sinclair brother mass while our shopping bags created a small mountain range at our feet.
I was wedged between Jaxson and Xander like the world’s most uncomfortable human sandwich filling.
And by “uncomfortable,” I mean “hyperaware of every single point where our bodies touched to the point of near combustion.” Xander’s thigh pressed against mine with what had to be deliberate casualness (because nobody’s leg needs to be that close), while Jaxson’s arm had somehow migrated to rest along the back of the booth behind me, his fingers occasionally—accidentally?
—brushing my shoulder in a way that sent little electric shocks zapping through my nervous system like I’d stuck my finger in a socket.
The memory of Colt’s hands on me in that changing room was still burned into my brain with the permanence of a bad tattoo, making it physically impossible to look at him across the table without my face doing its best impression of a four-alarm fire.
I kept my eyes firmly on my sad mall noodles, which were rapidly cooling to the exact temperature of my dignity.
“So,” Wei’s voice sliced through my internal crisis as he approached our table with a tray loaded with enough food to feed a small nation.
“I see the shopping expedition was successful.” His knowing eyes swept over our collection of bags, lingering on the ones from the men’s store where The Incident had occurred.
My half brother had impeccable timing as always, showing up just as we’d settled in with our food like some kind of chaos-sensing radar had alerted him to prime entertainment opportunities.
He slid into the booth next to Colt, setting down his tray with the smug grace of someone who knew exactly what kind of tension he was interrupting.
“Lan got some clothes that actually fit,” Colt said, his precise movements as he arranged his food suggesting he was still irritated about something. Probably me. Almost definitely me. “Though it was like pulling teeth.”
“I have clothes,” I muttered, stabbing at my noodles like they’d personally insulted my ancestors. “Just because they don’t look painted on like yours doesn’t mean they don’t fit.”
“Those weren’t clothes, they were fabric tents,” Xander chimed in, his shoulder bumping mine as he reached for his drink.
The contact lingered a beat too long to be accidental, unless Xander had suddenly developed some kind of reaching-for-drinks paralysis that I wasn’t aware of.
Each touch from him carried that strange warmth, different from both Jaxson’s and Colt’s—smoother, more subtle, but equally disturbing to my peace of mind.
“Though I have to say, you clean up nice in the right size.”
“Our little Shrine Maiden is growing up,” Wei added with that infuriating smirk that made me want to dump his fancy coffee over his head and possibly follow it up with the entire food court trash can. “Soon he’ll be breaking hearts all over New York.”
“He’s not breaking anything,” Jaxson’s voice carried an edge that made me glance up at him in surprise.
His expression was casual, but there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
His arm shifted behind me, pulling me subtly closer to his side and away from Xander.
That familiar warmth flowed between us at the contact, comforting yet thrilling in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Except maybe his bank account with all these new clothes.”
I opened my mouth to protest—I wasn’t some helpless child who needed financial supervision, thank you very much—but before I could unleash my righteous indignation, a burst of high-pitched giggles erupted from the table next to ours.
A group of college-aged girls had strategically positioned themselves with a clear view of our booth, not even pretending they weren’t staring.
One of them, a blonde with more makeup than clothing (seriously, was that a shirt or a handkerchief with delusions of grandeur?), was practically devouring Xander with her eyes.
“Looks like you’ve got an audience,” I said to Xander, ignoring the weird twist in my stomach at the way the girls were eyeing him.
It wasn’t jealousy. Definitely not. Why would I be jealous of random girls ogling my stepbrother?
That would be ridiculous. And inappropriate.
And absolutely not what I was feeling. (Except it totally was, and what the actual hell, brain?) “Your fan club followed us from the store.”
Xander glanced over, his expression shifting into that easy charm that seemed to work on everyone with a pulse.
“Occupational hazard,” he said with a shrug that somehow managed to make his shoulders look even broader.
(How is that physically possible? Does he have expanding shoulder technology I don’t know about?) “They’re regulars at the bar. ”
“They’re vultures,” Colt muttered, his dark eyes tracking the girls with distaste.
Something in his expression seemed almost territorial, his gaze shifting between the girls and me with a possessiveness that should have annoyed me but instead sent a confusing shiver down my spine.
“And they’re being obvious enough to be embarrassing. ”
The blonde must have taken Xander’s acknowledgment as an invitation because suddenly she was standing at our table, twirling a strand of hair around her finger like she was auditioning for the role of “Girl Who Definitely Wants Your Number” in a bad teen movie.
“Xander! I thought that was you,” she cooed, her voice hitting a pitch that probably made dogs in the next county sit up and take notice. “We never see you on campus anymore. Are you working tonight?”
“Ladies.” Xander’s smile was professional but warm, the kind that probably doubled his tips at the bar. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. Family day.”
The girl pouted in a way she probably thought was cute but made her look like she’d just bitten into a lemon.
Her eyes swept over the rest of us, lingering on Jaxson with obvious appreciation (because of course—even random mall girls aren’t immune to the Sinclair charm offensive) before landing on me.
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose slightly.
“Oh, you must be the little brother Xander’s always talking about,” she said, her tone suggesting she’d expected something more impressive than my five-foot-six frame drowning in shopping bags. “You’re… cute.”
I felt my face heat at the condescending assessment.
Cute. Always cute. Never hot or handsome or any of the adjectives that got attached to my brothers like they came free with their DNA.
Just once I’d like someone to look at me and think “there goes a sexy beast” instead of “aww, look at that adorable puppy trying to be a person.”
“And you are?” I asked with a sweetness that could have given a diabetic a crisis.
Before she could answer, three more girls materialized beside her, surrounding our table like fashionably dressed vultures circling a particularly attractive carcass.
The redhead among them actually squealed when she spotted Nico, who had been quietly demolishing his third burger while playing his handheld game.
“Oh my God, you must be Nico! Xander’s shown us your photos! You’re the gamer, right?” The redhead leaned over the table, giving Nico a view that made any normal guy’s heart rate spike. “I’m totally into RPGs too!”
Nico glanced up from his game, his eyes immediately dropping to her chest before widening slightly.
“Uh, your top’s kinda… falling down,” he said with the blunt honesty of someone who had never learned the concept of social filters.
“Like, seriously, one deep breath and you’re giving the entire food court a free show. ”
The redhead gasped, looking down and hurriedly adjusting her top while her face turned the same shade as her hair. “I wasn’t—I mean—”
“No judgment.” Nico shrugged, already back to tapping at his game. “Just thought you’d want to know before mall security got involved. Last week they kicked out a guy for wearing a shirt with a swear word, so like, actual boobs would probably cause a riot or something.”
“Oh my God,” the girl muttered, mortification radiating from her in waves.
“So anyway,” Nico continued, completely oblivious to the social catastrophe he’d just created, “you said you play RPGs? Which ones? ’Cause if you say Candy Crush, I’m gonna have to revoke your gamer card. That’s like saying you’re a chef because you can make toast.”
The redhead’s smile faltered. “Well, I mean, I haven’t played that many specific—”
“She means she’s played Candy Crush once and thinks that makes her a gamer,” Colt cut in, his precision with words as surgical as ever. “Fascinating as this conversation is, we’re trying to eat.”
Holy crap, Colt. Who needs a knife when you’ve got a tongue that sharp? I almost felt sorry for the girl. Almost. But not quite, because the secondhand embarrassment was making me want to slide under the table and possibly continue sliding until I reached the earth’s molten core.
“Colt,” Xander warned, though I caught the flash of amusement in his eyes. “Be nice.”
“That was nice,” Colt replied, taking a methodical bite of his perfectly sectioned salad. “I didn’t mention her obvious attempt to impress Nico with fabricated common interests.”
“And that’s why you’re single,” Wei commented, sipping his coffee with infuriating smugness. “Your charm is… selective.”
“I’m single by choice,” Colt shot back. “Some of us have standards beyond ‘has a pulse and looks good in yoga pants.’”