Chapter 7 Damian
DAMIAN
How can one kiss outside a crummy cinema change so much? And I wasn’t even the one being kissed!
When I watched Will devour my best friend, I’d pinned my rage on my usual brand of possessiveness. I’ve never done well with sharing.
But now, after that stupid dream flipped my entire world upside down, that dream that rewired my brain and lifted the blinkers from my eyes, I realise I was wrong.
That feral, rumbling fury wasn’t greed, it was jealousy, a feeling so strange and new that I didn’t recognise it at first… maybe haven’t for a while.
I wanted to be the one to kiss Kit. It should have been my arms around him, my tongue pressing against his, not Will the Wanker’s.
Now that I think about it, once my mind explored the possibility that I might want to kiss a guy, it makes complete sense that I’d choose Kit. I mean, who else would it be?
The only downfall with my newfound discovery is that Kit doesn’t feel the same way. I mean, why would he when he could have anyone he wanted? Someone sophisticated and artistic, not some clumsy oaf who couldn’t even work out that he might be bisexual without a public demonstration.
To Kit, I’m his stepbrother, loved dearly, not desperately. And that’s probably for the best. While my family would be more than happy with my potential new persuasion, they’d draw the line at my crush on one of our own. Dad would throw a fit.
So, I’m pushing it down. Deep, deep down. Which is easier said than done when Kit is trying to kill me.
Ever since last weekend, he’s all I can see, from the way his perfectly mussed, white-blond hair catches the light, to the way his lean legs wrap around our kitchen barstools. And then, there’s what he’s wearing.
Or, more to the point this morning at breakfast, what he’s not wearing.
Pants. Kit’s not wearing pants. How could he, in leather fucking trousers?
Never, not once, has Kit deviated from jeans. Maybe little shorts when he’s stretching or going to a dance class, but not leather. And has he always lined his eyes?
“Are… are you going somewhere today?” I ask when I stumble upon the vision in the kitchen.
“Hmm?” Kit replies, his darkened eyes on his phone as he munches on a bowl of oaty cereal.
“Are you meeting up with someone or something?” It’s the only thing I can think of to explain his new attire. Perhaps he’s trying to get over Will by seeing someone else. Maybe he’s finally caved and downloaded one of those hookup apps his friends are always badgering him about.
My stomach churns.
“Actually, I was going to ask if you’re free today. Your dad gave me a new credit card last week, so I thought we could go into London and try our best to max it out.”
I choke on my own tongue. “You mean to say that Dad bought you those trousers?”
“Yeah, I asked him if I could update my wardrobe. Some of my things have been getting a little tight since I started taking more classes. I think I’m finally gaining some muscle,” he laughs.
“Besides, Samuel says we should use college to work on our personal brand. I’m trying out a dark and mysterious vibe right now.
” He slips off his breakfast stool and twists his body, the movement pulling the black leather taut across his perfectly peached ass. “What do you think?”
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to feel those globes beneath my palms, to dip my fingers into the crease until Kit’s writhing, mindless beneath me. I gulp. “They’re… um… they’re tight.”
Kit rolls his eyes. “Well observed.”
Great, now he thinks I’m an idiot. Fucking hell, how I long for the simplicity of last week, when the only time I thought about Kit’s ass was when planning how to keep other lecherous twats away from it.
Emphasis on the other, because my eyes haven’t strayed above Kit’s waist this entire conversation.
“So, what do you think about shopping?”
“Sorry, what?” I croak, wrenching my eyes upwards.
“Shop-ping,” he enunciates. “Are you in, or do I have to carry my own bags all afternoon?”
Usually, I’d laugh at his exaggerated pout, but today, all I want to do is take that plump lip into my mouth and bite. Hard.
For a brief moment, I consider playing sick and staying home, well away from temptation and Kit’s glorious behind. That is, until I see his face fall and that old insecurity surface in his eyes. “Unless you don’t want to,” he adds quickly.
“No, of course I do. I just haven’t properly woken up yet. Can we grab coffee on the way?”
Kit’s smile lights up the entire kitchen. “Hell yes! And you’re driving,” he says bossily, climbing back onto his stool and shovelling a spoonful of granola into his mouth. “I fell down a YouTube rabbit hole last night, so I wanna take a nap while you chauffeur me about.”
“Okay, I’ll be down in ten,” I agree, grabbing a protein bar to keep me going until the drive-thru. “Where do you want to go? Anything in particular you want to find?”
Please, no more leather, I pray to any deity that will care.
“There’s a dance shop in Camden. They’ve got specialist wear for pole.”
My heart stops. “For what?”
“Pole. Like pole fitness. I asked your dad if I could have one installed in my room, and he said it was fine. Apparently, his PA has been taking classes to get into shape for years. It’s an insane core workout, and I want to see if I can add some of the moves into my choreo.”
“Isn’t Dad’s PA, like, one hundred years old?” I ask, horrified.
“Barb’s only just turned sixty,” Kit snorts. “We were at her birthday party last month, remember?”
“That still doesn’t seem safe—”
“Anyway,” Kit interrupts. “Lucien ordered me a pole, and it’s arriving next week. I won’t even need to leave the house to practice. Can you believe it?”
No, no, I fucking can’t.
I’m dead. I’m absolutely dead.
I wonder if Dad still speaks to that solicitor friend we used to go on holiday with when I was a kid? What the hell was his name? Derek? Dan? He used to tell me all these stories about the shady guys he’d kept out of prison over the years.
Derek or Dan, whatever he’s called, I think I’m going to need his services sometime soon.
“Can I bring you any more drinks? Perhaps the dessert menu?”
“No, thank you,” I tell the handsome waiter through clenched teeth. The guy isn’t even looking at me. His beady eyes are stuck on Kit. “Just the bill, please.”
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in another cocktail?” call-me-Josh asks my tipsy stepbrother. He’s already downed two Long Islands… on the house.
“Just the bill,” I repeat, a little more loudly. Everyone ignores me.
“I think we’re going to head out,” Kit hiccups. Damn it! “Could we settle up?”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Josh whines petulantly. It’s much cuter when Kit pouts like that, much less want-to-punch-you-in-the-face-y. Still, the waiter scoops up Kit’s empty glass, completely ignoring mine, and turns to print our bill.
I’m not surprised when, on his return, there’s a folded note slipped candidly to Kit. All I get for my custom is the card machine thrust unceremoniously in my face.
By the time we make it back to my Jeep, I’m feeling more than a little murdery. And honestly, it’s no wonder after juggling seven bags of scandalous workout gear and one slightly inebriated Kit across the car park.
“Do you think I should call him?” he asks, accidentally slamming the passenger door hard enough to rattle the framework.
“What, the guy from the burger bar?” I scoff, purposely closing my own door harder than necessary. You know, for balance.
“Um-hm. You’re a good judge of character. You figured out that Will was a dick before I did. What do you think about Josh? Should I text him?”
He could volunteer with injured puppies every weekend for all I care, but he’s not getting his hands on my Kit.
I don’t feel even the slightest bit of remorse when I say, “To be honest, I didn’t get a good vibe from him.
I’m pretty sure I saw him hitting on that redhead in the corner booth when we were leaving. ”
Kit’s chest visibly deflates. “Oh.”
Okay, so maybe I do feel a little guilty about my white lie, but it’s a justifiable mercy. This is better for Kit than getting his heartbroken by another jackass so soon after Will. Or that’s what I’m telling myself, at any rate.
I drive us out of the car park and head for home, the steady whir of the city’s traffic the only sound intruding on our sombre silence.
“What’s wrong with me, Damian?” Kit finally asks, slumped back in his seat.
“Nothing, you’re perfect,” I reply truthfully.
“It doesn’t feel that way,” Kit sighs, looking crestfallen. “It’s like I have a sign on my forehead that says passing fancy only. And that’s if I’m even noticed to begin with.”
Damn, does Kit really think that? Doesn’t he realise he’s the one person in the world I never fail to see, the brightest point of any room? I obviously need to do a better job of showing him that.
“The person you choose to love will be the luckiest man ever to live.”
Kit smiles at me, his sad eyes shining beneath the passing streetlights. “Thanks, Damian. At least I can always count on you.”
Once, I would have preened at that, proud to be the one he knows will catch him when he falls. Now, my chest tightens bitterly at the sentiment.
At least.
At fucking least.
I want to wrench out my heart and throw it at his feet.
It’s yours, Kit. Just take it, take it!
But I can’t do that, so I keep quiet.
Why couldn’t everything have stayed how it was?
I was perfectly happy before I realised I had a crush on my stepbrother.
Sure, it always felt like something was missing in my past relationships, but at least that emptiness didn’t hurt like this.
I’m not even an option for Kit, just the friendly backup for when the Joshes and Wills of the world cast him aside.
After a few more miles, Kit falls asleep, and I’m honestly not surprised. He’s not a big drinker, and those cocktails looked lethal.
Stupid fucking Josh. “It’s on the house.” What a tosser.
I guide us home as smoothly as possible, taking the corners at glacial speed so as not to wake Kit. I’m quite successful until I merge onto the dual carriageway and have to swerve out of the path of an indecisive lorry.
Kit groans in his sleep, low and throaty as he rolls towards me, his leather trousers straining in protest. He looks like a fallen angel, peaceful and sinful in equal measure.
Not for the first time, I ask myself how the hell I’m going to survive this, how I’m going to survive the force that is Kit Gretel.
And I wish I had an answer.