Chapter 4 ~ Minho #2
I swear the universe is out to get me. Because when he ducks beneath the doorway out of some weird habit, even though he isn’t nearly tall enough to knock his head, it should have made him look stupid.
Instead, it looks unfairly hot. Then again, everything about Bellamy is unfairly attractive, not that I pay attention; I am just being the bigger person to notice he isn’t the ugliest duck in town with his rarely seen dimples that only appear when he truly smiles, the lightest blue eyes I have ever seen and his broad shoulders beneath his forest green Eden U hockey hoodie.
His freshly dyed, short, damp blond hair was the colour of snow.
I still think he did that to copy me.
But whatever.
He must have come in from practice because Bellamy’s got his hockey bag slung over one shoulder, the bruises on his knuckles look fresh, and he’s not dressed for the weather with his massive thighs on display thanks to his shorts.
Jesus Christ.
I’m starting to sound like every other idiot in Edenwood Cove. I need a vacation. Preferably somewhere tropical with coconuts.
And did I mention he’s taller than me... by an inch? Not that I care. It’s just an unfortunate fact I am reminded of whenever I see him.
Nyla notices my immediate slouch into my chair and grins like a possessed woman who just made a deal with the devil, and maybe she did; the jury’s still out on that one.
“Oh, look what the cat dragged in,” she says all too brightly for my liking. “It’s your favourite two-size, too-big vibrator, Minho.”
“I hate you.”
Nyla’s stupid grin only grows into a full-on Cheshire cat smile, and I want to dig myself a six-foot-deep hole to curl up and die in.
Why did she say my name?
Why?
Bellamy’s glacial eyes land on me.
Not the idiot who said my name, not the cute, bubbly girl working the register who is now foaming at the mouth when her sights land on the town's star hockey player while I am on break.
Me.
Which, might I add, shouldn’t be doing weird things to the organ inside my chest and yet it does, like every time before this.
His mouth curves upwards.
“Seong-Walker.”
I sit up straighter in my seat at the sound of my last name, take the last sip of my coffee and hold my head high as I keep eye contact with him.
“Maddox.” I match his tone, unwilling to let him see how annoyed I am to see him here in my safe space because this isn’t neutral ground; this is my territory, and yeah, it’s a bookstore, and everyone comes here, but not him.
“Did you get lost on your way to the gym? The hockey rink is three blocks east.”
He chuckles. “Cute.”
Bellamy drops his duffel bag on the floor and takes a few steps closer to the counter, giving me a better view of his face and God, the bruises. Purple shadows bloom across his jawline, and one cheekbone looks freshly split.
My stomach tightens before I can stop it, making me shift a little on the stool, and Nyla notices that too.
Traitor.
She’s enjoying this.
“What happened to your face?” I ask before common sense can intervene. “Looks like you purposely ran into a wall.”
Bellamy leans one elbow against the counter a little too casually for my liking, so I try my best to ignore him and focus on my laptop.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he says. “Seeing me act like the idiot you think I am by slamming into a concrete wall.”
I glance at him. “Matter of fact, yes, I would.”
He ignores that and gives me his best pout that I try hard not to notice, but I do. “Missed me, little brother?”
What kind of question—
“Not even a little, and we are step-brothers, so do not ever say that to me again.”
This gets Bellamy to laugh, and I roll my eyes when he bats his eyes and bites his lower lip before meeting my glare. “I’ve missed you.”
“I find that hard to believe, and even if it were true, I’d think your personality disorder got in the way of rational thought, making you in need of a psychiatric hospital.”
He makes a pained gesture, placing his hand over his heart and making a faux wincing sound. “You wound me, brother.”
I do my best to ignore the “brother” comment.
“Shocking.”
Bellamy fully leans against the counter now, and I hate how I notice all the tiny cuts and bruises, even the ones that are fading. But what I hate more is that he notices me noticing all these things.
He grins. “Checking me out, are we?”
I scoff. “Checking for any sign of brain activity.”
“Can’t find any?”
“Nope.”
“Tragic.”
“Get any more concussions from hockey lately? I ask.
He smirks. “Watching my games, Minho?”
“Do pigs fly?”
So what if I caught a few games? The guy I dated for a week at Briarston is a big fan of Bellamy’s and had no idea he was dating his idol's step-brother.
“That doesn’t answer the question,” he points out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise brainless brutes cared for answers.”
I hate this. How familiar and fun this is, how it makes him smile and boils my blood. I hate him for what happened last year. I hate him for essentially winning whatever game this is, and me leaving town like some wounded animal escaping a hunt to the safety of his dorm room.
I hate that I miss messing with him, riling him up, and getting a reaction that not many others get to see.
I hate him, and the way he always seems ready for whatever insult I throw at him, and I hate that I don't want to stop.
It should be exhausting.
Nyla sighs dramatically before slipping off the counter. “The tension here is making me miss my vibrator, Jesus.”
I shoot her a glare. “Leave.”
“No.”
Bellamy looks amused now, which makes me more annoyed because his genuine smile feels rare enough to qualify as a historical event.
“Is Maxine upstairs?” He asks Nyla.
She shakes her head. “She and Ryan took Matteo baby clothes shopping like an hour or so ago, and then they have a movie date, so I don’t think I will be seeing them until later. Why do you ask?”
“Horrifying sentence.” Bellamy looks a little shocked by what Nyla says when he blinks as if she grew two heads. “I was hoping to ask her if she is looking for new hires.
“Right? Me...an aunt at twenty-two, who would have thought.” Nyla laughs.
“And no, we aren’t looking for any hires,” she tells him with her best apologetic smile, then glances in my direction with a wink because that is a blatant lie.
Max has been looking for someone to replace the girl working the register.
“But I hear Imogen is always looking for more hands.”
No.
Not there.
I go to the cafe every morning; what is she thinking—
Bellamy looks at me, smiles and glances back at Nyla. “Perfect, I will go there later.”
“Now, who wants to see the ultrasound photos of my future niece or nephew?” Nyla asks, cutting off my train of thought.
The baby still feels vaguely fake to me, like a dream I will wake up from and find out no mini Bennett is coming.
And this isn’t because Maxine being pregnant is unrealistic, more so because Ryan and Matteo becoming fathers after years of one being an emotionally repressed soccer player and the other a Playboy soccer god continues to feel cosmically absurd.
“I should get back to work, but you two try not to kill one another until after Minho’s shift, okay? ”
“Aye, captain,” Bellamy salutes her as she departs for the office.
I roll my eyes so hard I am sure I look possessed. “You’re an idiot.”
“God, I forgot how much I hate you.”
There he is. Fucking two-face cunt.
I smirk. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”
Bellamy reaches across the counter before I can react and steals my book. “What do we have here?” he asks, wiggling his brows.
“Bellamy,” I warn.
But it's too late. His giant hand is already wrapped around my annotated copy of Our Dark Deceptions by Darcy Rivers, a dark romance author I am currently obsessed with, but that isn’t the point, because I don't need Bellamy knowing what I like to read might give certain people a stroke.
“Oh, my God.”
Horror floods my bloodstream, and everything goes cold as Bellamy flips through a few pages casually, then pauses with a devilish grin on his smug face because I know he lands on a page covered in notes with highlighted passages and my little emotional breakdowns written in the margins.
“You truly are odd,” he chuckles. “You annotate in four colours?” He slowly asks.
I reach for the book, but he pulls away. “Give it back.”
“Why did you draw stars beside the part where the killer fucks the babysitter into the ground?”
“Bellamy, I swear to God.”
I hear giggling coming from behind me and look to see Nyla peeking through the crack in the door. “This is incredible,” she says.
I set my laptop on the counter and reach across the counter to snatch the book back again when Bellamy looks partially distracted by Nyla’s surprise presence. Still, he lifts it higher effortlessly because, of course, he is built like a fucking Norse god specifically to ruin my life.
“Maddox.”
“Minho.”
“You can’t just steal my book,” I argue.
He leans in close until our faces are inches apart. “It isn’t stealing if I haven't left with it yet.”
I grind my teeth together. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would dare.”
Nyla clears her throat, gaining both our attention. “Should I call the cops, or are you two going to keep flirting?”
“We’re not flirting,” I say.
At the same time, Bellamy says, “Definitely flirting.”
I turn to glare at him, but he is already looking at me, that same amused tilt to his mouth. I hate how hot that looks, but I'm never saying that out loud.
I’d rather burn in hell.
Bellamy tucks the book under his arm, picks up his duffel bag from off the floor, and his eyes land on me again. “Why didn't you tell your dad you were back in town?”
“It's none of his or your business.”
Especially after what happened a year ago. He chose Bellamy over me, and Yeseo chose our step-brother over me.
They betrayed me.
So I left.
Dad's parents were more than willing to help me leave, and I didn’t look back until I became homesick.