Chapter 24
SCARLETT
It’s torture looking at him.
Every time our eyes graze past one another, my cheeks fill with heat, and my body tingles in all the wrong places.
Or the right places, depending on who you ask.
It’s been almost twenty-four hours since he was buried inside of me, and I still can’t stop thinking about it…or him.
Now, we’re stuck at an awkward dinner with our parents, pretending that we’re one big happy family. I’ve contemplated taking the fork and stabbing myself in the eye, just to get out of it, but alas.
“So, lacrosse?” my dad questions, looking directly at my nemesis. “How is that going?”
Cross, in a crisp button-down, shifts in his seat. His lips press together tightly as he reaches for his glass of water. “It’s good. Season hasn’t started just yet. We’re practicing every day, though. With a few scrimmages in between.”
My dad turns toward me. “Have you been to any of the scrimmages?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Cross beats me to it. “She’s been to one.”
My dad chuckles. “Yeah, sports aren’t really her thing.”
“I don’t know…” Cross leans back in his seat, his legs spreading wide underneath the table to graze the side of my thigh. “She likes to run. Maybe track is your thing?”
I clench my teeth together and give Cross my attention.
My tight-lipped smile is laced with venom, but fuck my heart for beating right out of my chest when our eyes collide.
He keeps his face unmoving, stoic almost, but there’s a wild challenge in his gaze that fuels me like nothing ever has before.
“I’d rather be in the library than anywhere else on campus,” I say, sliding my attention to our parents with a soft smile.
Cross snorts and tries to cover it up with a cough.
My hackles rise, and I snap my head over to him. “Do you know what a library is? The place where you study? I know you’re not too keen on the idea…given your grades.”
Cross narrows his gaze, but the way his mouth twitches tells me he likes our little sparring game. Knowing him, it’s probably a turn-on.
Sofia laughs quietly, my dad chuckling beside her.
Cross and I break our stare-off, and I see my dad reach for Sofia’s hand. They’re smiling at one another and then at us.
“What?” I ask, looking at my father.
“You two are like true siblings,” he muses. He turns and looks at Cross’s mom. “Aren’t they?”
“Arguing like cats and dogs.” She shakes her head, another soft laugh leaving her.
Siblings?
Last night, he had his dick inside of me.
We are not siblings.
My spine straightens with the faint skim of Cross’s jeans rubbing against my bare leg again. My attention flies beneath the table, where he inches a little closer, unbeknownst to everyone around us.
What is he doing?
“Stepsiblings,” Cross corrects, as if the word step is going to excuse what we did the previous night.
“Right.” My dad nods to the waiter, a young college student, if I had to guess, as he comes by with a pitcher of water.
He tops off my father’s and then moves to Sofia's. His eyes dip past Sofia’s face to her cleavage, and I roll my eyes. Just when I think I’m the only one who notices, Cross’s leg presses tightly against mine, his entire body stiffening.
I shift my eyes from his clenched jaw to my father, who is seemingly glaring at the waiter as he makes his way to me.
I glance upward with a polite smile after he pours water into my cup. “Thank you.”
He grins at me, his lip lifting on the side, and then just like he did with Sofia, his lazy gaze moves downward to get an eyeful of my breasts.
My father clears his throat.
Cross growls quietly.
My stomach twists, the slightest tinge of apprehension hitting the back of my throat. Before, when a guy would make a pass at me or let his gaze wander below my chin, I’d take it as a compliment.
But after Nick, I’ve come to fear it.
I don’t exhale again until Cross’s palm lands on my thigh. I instantly settle, my shoulders relaxing, my lungs loosening.
“That’s enough,” Cross bites out.
“I agree,” my father says.
An awkward silence fills the table as the waiter scurries away. Cross doesn’t let up on my thigh, but his attention is halfway across the restaurant, glaring in the direction of the kitchen where the waiter disappeared to.
The tension is rising. His shoulders are squared, the sound of his teeth moving back and forth along one another loud enough for our parents to hear. So I do what I shouldn’t and send him a lifeline. I gradually slip my hand into his, and he eagerly laces our fingers together.
He’s showing all his cards, and if he’s not careful, someone will start to read them.
I squeeze his hand gently, silently pleading with him to chill.
Breathe, Cross.
To my surprise, he follows my lead. A slow breath leaves his mouth, and he squeezes my hand back. Not once, but twice.
My dad’s faint chuckle brings me back to the present. I pull on my hand, but Cross doesn’t let up. He keeps his fingers clamped onto mine.
“Your mom was right,” my dad says.
Cross appears cool, calm, and collected now. “About?”
“She said that Scarlett would be safe with you. That’s why, when I heard about the housing situation, I was more than eager for you to move in with her.”
The slightest bit of annoyance slips in at the idea of anyone thinking I can’t fend for myself, but the truth is…I can’t.
Not yet, anyway.
“Of course.” Cross’s lip hitches into a half-smile, but it’s more arrogant than anything. “My little sis is most definitely safe with me.”
I try to jerk my hand away without moving too hastily beneath the table, but naturally, he holds on tighter.
“Little sis?” I repeat with disgust.
A different waiter, much older than our previous, comes by to lay the check down, but it does nothing to break the rising friction between Cross and me.
“Would you prefer rugrat instead?” he asks, tipping his chin toward me with a hitched eyebrow.
I glare at him, and he continues listing names.
“Pest? Brat? Gremlin?”
“Escuincle,” his mother warns from across the table.
Cross smiles wider. “Good one, Mamá.”
“I was referring to you,” she retorts.
Cross shrugs, and I take the opportunity to pull away again, but it doesn’t work. Cross laughs under his breath, my dad too busy with the check and his mom boxing her meal to pay any attention.
“Let go of my hand,” I seethingly whisper.
“Make me,” Cross says lowly.
I dig my nails into the top of his hand, and his mouth twitches with amusement. Annoyance shoots up from my palm all the way to my shoulder, so I bite down on my cheek and decide to go another route.
I turn slightly, my long hair shielding the side of my face so our parents can’t hear my whisper. “You asked for it.”
Cross’s eyebrows dip for a split second before he smooths his face and engages in another conversation with my father about lacrosse.
Apparently, Cross is the son he never got, considering I didn’t play a single sport growing up. Instead, I was too busy building with blocks and sketching designs for tall, extravagant buildings in my spare time.
With Cross distracted by giving an in-depth explanation of lacrosse and his position, I extract my fingernails from his skin and rub the pad of my finger faintly over the tiny indents.
I do this a few more times, all while pressing my thigh a little closer to his, opening my legs just enough for him to feel the warmth from in between.
I allow a quiet, lustful sigh to fall from my lips—something I know only he’ll notice—and gradually guide our pressed hands to his lap instead of mine. Cross glances at me briefly, his eyes curious and wondering before slipping back into the conversation with our parents.
The new waiter comes by to take my father’s credit card, and I pick up the pace, knowing we’ll be leaving soon. Gradually, but with force, I steer Cross’s palm up his leg until it’s close to his zipper.
I scoot forward in my seat to hide my movement of pressing down onto his cock, and I rub it just enough to get his attention. He coughs, his fingers clamping on mine even tighter to stop me.
I told you that you asked for it.
As if it’s magic, a bulge forms behind his zipper, and I smile to myself.
Last night, he fucked me while I was on the phone with my father, and today, he insults me in front of them at dinner. There’s no way he’s getting away with either one of those things.
I’m only half-listening to the conversation at the table, and I barely notice the waiter as he comes back with my father’s card. I’m more focused on the way Cross’s dick grows beneath our combined hands and how his breathing picks up the pace as the seconds pass.
Just when I think he’s going to let go of my fingers, like I asked him to several minutes ago, he joins in on my torture and angles the heel of his palm so it’s pressing down even harder.
Somehow, my little payback stunt turned into me squirming in my seat too.
How did that happen?
“I think we’re good to go,” Sofia announces, smiling at both Cross and me.
“Great!” I say, a little too eagerly.
Cross reluctantly releases my fingers, but our eyes snag in the midst of scooting our chairs backward. His gaze, wild and hungry, narrows briefly. With a quick roll of my eyes, I round the table to lead both my dad and his mom to the exit so he can figure out how to hide his hardened dick.
It doesn’t take long for him to join us at the entrance, and now that the cool night air surrounds us, I’m back on even ground with rational thinking.
What am I doing?
What are we doing?
If I thought last night was crossing the line, what would I call tonight? I just purposefully teased him and made him all hot and bothered right in front of our parents, as if we aren’t actually stepsiblings.
I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.
Yet, as soon as our parents leave with the promise to come back in a few weeks for another family dinner, I find myself locking eyes with Cross and bubbling over with anticipation from the hazy, lust-filled look in his eye.
His hand wraps around my wrist, and even though I know I should put up a fight, I let him tug me through the restaurant until we end up at the bathrooms.