Chapter 4 #2
“Are you serious right now?” I couldn’t believe him. “I’m trying to have a conversation about how you’re completely disrespecting my space and you’re commenting on my body?”
“I’m not—” He ran a hand through his hair, and I noticed his face had gone slightly red. “Fuck, James, can you just put some clothes on? This is weird.”
“What’s weird is that you can’t seem to have a single conversation without deflecting.” In a fit of fury, I reached down and grabbed the towel, whipping it off and throwing it onto the bed. “There? You’ve seen my cock now. Get the fuck over it.”
“Jesus Christ, James!” he barked. But he didn’t back away and he didn’t stop staring. He swallowed hard. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You are such a child,” I snapped. “You’ll do anything it takes not to talk to someone, won’t you?”
That time he actually flinched. But he didn’t stop staring, and he didn’t seem capable of speaking.
“Fine. Whatever. But when I come back out here, we’re finishing this discussion.”
I turned and headed back toward the bathroom, painfully aware of his eyes following me. My skin prickled with something I couldn’t quite place. There was anger, yes, but something else underneath it. I couldn’t remember that last time someone had stared at me like that.
Nope. He was my stepbrother. Off limits.
I dried off quickly and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt, taking a moment to steady myself before going back out. Through the door, I could hear Kent moving around, the clink of dishes. Was he actually cleaning up?
When I emerged, he was at the sink, washing the pan from this morning. His shoulders were tense, his movements sharp and aggressive as he scrubbed.
“You don’t have to do that right now,” I said, though part of me was satisfied to see him finally following through.
“You wanted it done.” His voice was rough. He didn’t turn around. “So I’m doing it.”
I stood there, not sure what to say. This wasn’t how our fights usually went. Usually, he’d laugh it off or make some dismissive comment and that would be the end of it. But there was something different in his posture now, something almost like shame.
“Look,” I started, then stopped. “I just need you to understand that this isn’t a hotel. I’m doing you a favor, and the least you can do is try to be considerate.”
“I know.” The words came out quiet, almost lost under the running water.
“Do you? Because it doesn’t feel like it.”
He shut off the faucet and finally turned to face me, his hands dripping soap suds onto my floor. “I said I know, alright? I fucked up. I’ll try to be better about the noise when you’re working.”
It wasn’t an apology, not really. But it was closer than I’d ever gotten from Kent before. I could barely believe what I was hearing.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it.
We stood there in awkward silence, him by the sink, me hovering near the bathroom door. The basketball game played on in the background, forgotten.
“There’s… There’s something you need to know,” he said at last, breaking the tension. “I lied to you about the lease.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Brittany… she kicked me out.” He hung his head, staring at the floor. “It’s over.”
I waited for the rest, for him to explain why this was my problem. Because with Kent, there was always an angle.
“So how long are you really planning to stay?” I asked.
He shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. “I don’t know. A month? Maybe more? I’ve got some money saved, but not enough for first and last month’s rent anywhere decent. And Brittany... she’s got most of my shit. Won’t let me back in to get it.”
A month. Maybe more. The words settled over me like a weight. I’d known the two weeks was bullshit, but hearing the truth was somehow worse.
“You could’ve just told me that from the start,” I said.
“Yeah, well.” He finally looked up, and there was something raw in his expression that I wasn’t used to seeing. “Would you have said yes if I did?”
Probably not. Almost definitely not. But standing here now, looking at him, this strange version of Kent who actually seemed capable of shame, I wasn’t sure anymore.
“I need you to be honest with me from now on,” I said. “About everything. No more lies about cleaning up or being quiet or how long you’re staying. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it for real.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”
“And you need to contribute. I can’t afford to feed both of us on my budget, especially if I just lost that brewery job.”
“How much do you need?”
I did the math quickly in my head. “Three hundred a month should cover groceries and utilities. And you clean up after yourself. No exceptions.”
“Deal.” He stuck out his hand, and I stared at it for a moment before shaking it. His grip was firm, his palm rough with calluses. When our skin touched, something electric shot up my arm, and I pulled away faster than I meant to.
Kent’s eyes flickered with something I couldn’t read before he turned back to the sink, finishing the dishes in silence. I retreated to my desk, opening my laptop even though I had no desire to look at the failed brewery design again.
But I couldn’t focus. My mind kept circling back to the moment I’d dropped my towel, to the way Kent had stared at me like he’d never seen another person’s body before.
The look in his eyes hadn’t been disgust, not entirely.
It had been something else. Something hungry and confused and quickly masked.
I’d seen that look before. On other men. Men in bars, men on dating apps, men in darkened apartments who wanted me but couldn’t quite admit it to themselves.
No. I was reading too much into it. Kent was straight. Aggressively, performatively straight. The kind of guy who made gay jokes to prove how not-gay he was. Whatever I’d seen in his expression was probably just shock at having his stepbrother flash him.
Still, I couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes tracking down my body, lingering on my abs, my thighs, before settling somewhere I definitely didn’t imagine.
My phone buzzed, pulling me from my thoughts. It was a welcome distraction.