Chapter 6
James
I’d been staring at my computer screen for nearly three hours. And so far, I’d come up with damn near nothing. I promised my new client some sketches by the end of the week, and I had only half an idea so far. Tossing my pen down, I leaned back in my chair, grinding my palms against my eyes.
Ever since Kent arrived, I’d felt considerably less creative.
Maybe it was just the fact that I didn’t have a private space anymore or maybe it was his perpetually bad attitude that seemed to fill the room every time he came home.
But no matter how much I tried to work, there was always something to distract me and it was beginning to drive me insane.
If I didn’t get work done, I wouldn’t be able to pay rent. That was not an option.
My phone buzzed against the desk and I welcomed the distraction. I swiped the screen open and saw another message from the downstairs neighbor I’d hooked up with a few days before.
Him: Got a free night. Want to hang out again?
The idea was tempting and I couldn’t deny the twitch in my sweatpants.
My cock had been pretty much neglected since Kent moved in.
Jerking off with him so close felt… strange, I guess?
As teenagers we had separate rooms. But now we were sharing a studio apartment that meant he was within earshot at all times.
He was gone during the day, but I’d been too stressed about work to break out my dildo under the bed.
But the neighbor had a decent cock, and he wasn’t a bad fuck. He didn’t do anything that blew my mind, but that was fine. I didn’t need perfection, just a way to take the edge off.
Me: Sure. That sounds fun.
Him: Cool. I got condoms, so we’re good.
Me: I’ll be down in twenty minutes.
So romantic. I rolled my eyes, dropping my phone back to the desk.
Hookups were fine when I needed them, but having a boyfriend sounded better.
Coming home to someone that smiled when they saw me, asked me how my day was, or actually gave a shit about my life and happiness would be nice.
But who had time for dating when the rent kept going up every six months?
I glanced up at the clock. Kent was due home any minute.
But he had a spare key now, so it’s not like I had to wait around for him.
Not to mention, there was trash laying on the floor by the couch and dishes in the sink that belonged to him.
He’d been getting a bit lazy about that recently.
But it at least gave him something to do while I was out.
But he’d probably ask questions. He’d been a bit nosy since my meeting with my new client.
Not that I owed him an explanation for where I went or what I did, but the thought of him asking questions made my skin crawl.
After the amount of bullying I’d been through because of his distaste for my sexuality, I really didn’t want to invite more harassment.
I stood from my desk and stretched, my spine popping in three places. My body was stiff from sitting hunched over my laptop all afternoon. Maybe sex with the neighbor would help loosen me up, get my creative juices flowing again. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
I changed into jeans and a clean shirt, checked my hair in the bathroom mirror, and grabbed my keys. As I reached for the door handle, I hesitated. Should I text Kent? Let him know I’d be out?
No. That was ridiculous. I didn’t need his permission to leave my own apartment.
But before I could grab the handle, it turned and the door pushed open. Kent startled, surprised to see me standing right there in the doorway.
“Hi,” he grunted. “Can I help you?”
“Nope,” I replied, stepping out of his way. “I was just heading out for a bit.”
“Out?” He stepped inside, his work boots tracking dirt onto my clean floor. “Where?”
“Just out.” I moved past him toward the hallway, but he shifted, blocking my path without seeming to realize it.
“It’s almost seven.” His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning my outfit. “You got a date or something?”
The question hit me wrong, too pointed, too interested. I felt my defenses slam up immediately.
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t.” But his jaw was tight, and he wasn’t moving out of my way. “I was just asking.”
“Well, don’t.” I stepped around him, but his hand shot out, gripping the doorframe and effectively caging me in. My heart kicked against my ribs, though whether from anger or something else, I couldn’t tell.
“James.” His voice had dropped lower, rougher. “Are you going to see someone?”
“That’s none of your business, Kent.” I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. There was something wild in them, something I’d never seen before. “Now move.”
He didn’t. We stood there in the doorway, close enough that I could smell the sweat and sawdust on him from work. Close enough to see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
“You barely know the people in this building,” he said. “It’s not safe.”
“I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m just—” He ran his free hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him in waves. “Fuck, I’m trying to look out for you.”
“Since when?” The words came out sharper than I intended. “Since when do you give a shit about what happens to me?”
That landed. I saw it in the way he flinched, the way his grip on the doorframe tightened until his knuckles went white.
“Fine,” he said, dropping his arm. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”
He turned away, stomping toward the kitchen. I should have left. Should have walked out the door and gone downstairs to the neighbor who was waiting. But something kept me rooted there, watching Kent’s broad shoulders as he yanked open the refrigerator.
“The dishes need to be done,” I said, hating how petty it sounded. “And pick up your trash.”
I’d never seen him move so fast. In a flash Kent was beside me again, his hand throwing the door closed, cutting off my exit. “What the fuck did you say to me?”
I stared at him, absolutely furious. And this time, I wasn’t backing down.
“You heard me,” I barked. “You agreed to clean up your shit, to share responsibility around here. But the sink is full of dishes again and you’re throwing trash on my floor because you’re too fucking lazy to get up from the couch. ”
“Don’t talk to me like that, you little shit!”
“Yeah?” I said, taking a step forward. “What the fuck are you gonna do about it? Beat me up like when we were kids? Shove me in the snow and call me a faggot in front of your friends?!” He flinched, but I kept going. “I’m not scared of you anymore, Kent.”
His voice came out rough, almost a growl. “You should be scared of me.”
But even as he said it, I could see something else flickering behind his eyes. Not anger. Not violence. Something darker and more complicated that made my pulse quicken for entirely different reasons. It was that hungry look again, the one I’d seen on other men at the bar.
“Then do it,” I challenged, my voice steadier than I felt. “Prove you’re still the same asshole you’ve always been. Hit me. Shove me. Do whatever it is you think will make you feel like a man. Is that why Brittany kicked you out? You beating her up too?”
“I never fucking touched her!” He took a step closer, closing the already minimal distance between us. We were inches apart now, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Just shut the fuck up, James.”
“Why? Does the truth hurt?” I was pushing him, I knew I was pushing him, but years of swallowed anger were bubbling up and I couldn’t stop. “You’ve spent your whole life making me feel like shit for being who I am, and now you show up here needing my help and you can’t even do the fucking dishes?”
“I said shut up!” His hand slammed against the door beside my head, making me jump. But I didn’t back down.
“Make me.”
The words hung in the air between us, charged with something I couldn’t name. Kent’s chest was heaving, his face flushed with anger or exertion or something else entirely. His eyes dropped to my mouth, just for a second, but I caught it.
My stomach dropped. No. He was my stepbrother. Absolutely not.
“You’re unbelievable,” I said, my voice shaking now. “You can’t even have a conversation without trying to intimidate me. This is exactly why I—”
“Why you what?” He leaned in closer, and I could smell the sweat on him, the faint hint of cologne he’d probably put on this morning. “Why you can’t wait to run downstairs and fuck some stranger? Is that it?”
The jealousy in his voice was unmistakable, raw and ugly and completely insane.
“What I do is none of your goddamn business,” I spat back. “You don’t get to have an opinion about my sex life, Kent. You don’t get to—”
“I’m living here!” His other hand came up, caging me in completely now. “I have to listen to you come home at three in the morning when you sneak out, I have to—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching.
“You have to what?” I demanded. “Say it. Tell me what your problem really is.”
“My problem,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “is that you’re throwing yourself at anything that moves instead of—”
“Instead of what?” My heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe. “Instead of staying here and doing what? Keeping you company? Making you dinner? Acting like your fucking housewife?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Then what?” I shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “What do you want from me, Kent? Why are you such an insatiable fucking prick all the time?!”
He stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. I could see him struggling with something, fighting against words that wanted to come out. His gaze dropped to my mouth again, lingering this time, and that’s when I knew.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
“You’re jealous,” I breathed, the realization hitting me like ice water. “You’re actually jealous that I’m going to—”
“Don’t,” he warned, but his voice had lost its edge.
“You are.” A laugh bubbled up in my throat, hysterical and disbelieving. “You’re jealous of some random guy I barely know because—”
“I said don’t.” But he still hadn’t moved, still had me pinned against the door with his body, close enough that I could count his eyelashes.
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper now. “Why does it bother you so much?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer, maybe. But his breathing had changed, gone shallow and fast. I watched his throat work as he swallowed, watched his eyes dart between mine and my mouth like he was trying to solve an equation that didn’t make sense.
The air between us was suffocating, thick with years of unresolved tension and something newer, something neither of us wanted to acknowledge. My back was pressed against the door, my chest brushing his with every breath. If I moved even an inch, we’d be touching completely.
“Kent,” I said, and I hated how my voice shook. “Let me go.”
“I can’t.” The words came out strangled, desperate. “I can’t fucking think when you—” He stopped again, his hands curling into fists against the door.
“When I what?”
“When you’re like this.” His eyes finally met mine, and what I saw there made my breath catch. Want. Raw, undeniable want, mixed with confusion and self-loathing. “When you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” But I knew. God help me, I knew exactly what he meant because I could feel my own expression mirroring his. The anger had shifted into something else for my stepbrother, something dangerous that made my skin feel too tight.
“Like you want me to—” He cut himself off again, but this time I saw his control waver. Saw the moment he almost gave in to whatever was screaming inside his head.
We stood there, breathing hard, faces inches apart. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. The apartment felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for one of us to break.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. The neighbor, probably wondering where I was.
The sound shattered the moment. Kent jerked back like he’d been burned, his hands dropping from the door. He stumbled backward, putting distance between us, his face twisted with something that looked like horror.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running both hands through his hair. “Fuck, I—”
“Don’t,” I said, my own voice shaking. “Don’t say anything.”
He stared at me for another long moment, his chest still heaving, before turning and walking away. Not to the couch. Not to the kitchen. He grabbed his keys from the counter and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” The question came out before I could stop it.
“Out.” He wouldn’t look at me. “I need to… I just need to get out of here.”
The door slammed behind him, leaving me alone in the apartment, my heart still racing, my hands trembling. I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, my mind reeling.
What the hell just happened?
My phone buzzed again. Right. The neighbor.
I pulled it out with shaking hands and typed a response.
Me: Sorry, something came up. Rain check?
I couldn’t go down there now. Not after that. Not when I could still feel the heat of Kent’s body against mine, still see the look in his eyes.
This was bad. This was so incredibly bad.
Because the worst part wasn’t that Kent had almost—whatever he’d almost done. The worst part was that I’d wanted him to do it. I’d wanted my bully of a stepbrother to do something I was too afraid to say out loud.