7. Asher
Chapter Seven
ASHER
It was as bumpy as any truce could begin. Even though he had waved it off, I was acutely aware of the unspoken knowledge. Just seeing Jordan in passing made me think of it. And then it made me think of all the things that could be going through his head.
If he didn’t almost trip and stumble every time we passed one another, I might have found a way to convince myself he wasn’t actively thinking about it.
But his behavior was enough of a clue. Jordan couldn’t look at me without thinking about last night.
Without remembering that he had caught me in the act.
The old Jordan I had known for years would have probably found a way to give me a lecture about it. This guy, however, kept his mouth shut. He was awkward as fuck, but then again, he had obviously caught me in the middle of the dirty act.
The thundering panic that had filled my chest had mixed with the height of pleasure that I had strived for and the bitter disappointment at being interrupted hadn’t made for the best moment to have a heart-to-heart.
It was lucky that Jordan was still in a good mood this morning, offering a few moments of peace.
I wanted it down to my marrow. I wanted him to look at me with something like approval in his eyes, with a touch of a smile on his lips.
But because all I was getting were folded lips and avoided glances, I decided to spend my morning swimming in the lake. Jordan must have been thinking the same thing, but he stayed behind.
I wore my yellow swim shorts. They were a size too small for my ass this year.
I hadn’t realized how much I had worked out, but it should have been obvious.
Every time my big stepbro had annoyed me, I had taken the anger out on our campus gym equipment.
I had worked my glutes hard for my first season of college hockey and I hadn’t thought to check if my shorts still fit.
My muscles burned after some time. I didn’t know how long I swam for.
I plowed through the water, losing myself in the distance, then returning to shallower water.
Back and forth, back and forth, I swam until I was exhausted.
Last night, after the most awkward encounter of my life — only rivaled by my mom’s idea that an STI presentation was a fun activity for a family night — I had been in no mood to give it another go.
Jordan’s hurried exit wasn’t an aphrodisiac, all things considered, so I had tried sleeping.
I hadn’t had much luck with that, either.
My eyelids were heavy and my eyes grainy.
I swam to the pier and climbed out of the water, then lay on my outstretched towel to dry slowly in the sunshine.
The golden rays kissed my bare skin, lulling me with their warmth.
I didn’t know how it happened, but I woke up with a start and peeled my eyes open to see my big stepbrother towering over me.
“I hope you remembered your sunscreen,” he said softly.
“Of course I did,” I muttered, my voice groggy from sleep. Even so, I could feel the heat radiate from my body. If I woke up red as a crab tomorrow, I would never hear the end of it.
Jordan shut his mouth. I realized he wasn’t being a smartass. It was a genuine concern. Still, I had only just woken up, so I appreciated that he cut me some slack for my tone.
“I didn’t hear you approach,” I said, softening my voice to a friendlier degree.
“I was just about to wake you up.” His gaze skidded across my torso, then returned to my eyes. “I only just got here.”
“Got food?” I asked. It took effort, but I cracked a smile.
Jordan’s eyes widened for a brief moment. He licked his lips, then sadly shook his head. “I didn’t think to bring any. But there are sandwiches in the fridge.”
My stomach rumbled at the mention of sandwiches. Knowing him, they were probably low fat and with whole grain bread, but they had to be delicious. “Mind if I head back? I’m starving.”
“No, of course not. Do what you want.” Jordan leaned against the railing along the side of the pier. He gazed out in the distance, then looked back at me as I got up. His eyes landed on my tiny shorts, then dragged to my face.
I had been mistaken about these things before, but if I didn’t know better, I would have assumed he was checking me out.
Hardly, though. A guy who freaked out as much as Jordan over discovering that I was sexually active in the privacy of my own room wasn’t likely to take an interest in me the next day.
Especially not when we’d had years of missed opportunities.
Even so, I paused after a couple of steps because Jordan snatched the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. His muscles bunched and remained tense. He hung his shirt over the railing and then looked at me. “Would you mind leaving your towel? I forgot mine.”
“Sure thing,” I said, moving closer to him to hand him the towel.
It was almost impossible not to look at the trimmed happy trail under his belly button or the light sweat over his chest. He was gorgeous from all angles.
And when he undressed, even like this, it only made me think how much I wanted him to smother me under his muscles.
Damn my dirty mind. It was fun living with it as much as it was trouble.
When I had no more reason to stick around, I turned away from him and marched off the pier.
I followed the trail and walked through the forest, then got out on the other side to follow a more visible trail to the house.
When I was finally there, my hunger and my lust battled for my attention.
But a survival instinct led me to the fridge first, and by the time I ate and washed the dishes, tiredness set in my muscles.
I only managed to wash off the lake water before I crashed into my bed and fell asleep.
That intimate moment on the pier played itself in front of my eyes time and time again. I slept, but I dreamed, too. I dreamed of our fingers brushing. I dreamed of him tugging the towel closer and me not letting go. I dreamed of getting closer to him and letting our torsos touch.
When I woke up, it was much darker in the room than I had hoped. It was evening and I’d missed most of the day. My dick was awake before me, but the clinking of cutlery from downstairs was almost as tempting. Especially when I remembered who the guy setting the plates was.
You do better tonight, I told myself. Be nice even if it kills you. He deserved at least that much effort. Not that I would admit a great deal of wrongdoing. I had tried complimenting his cooking. Maybe there was some room for improvement, though.
I dressed a lot more casually than last night.
When I joined Jordan downstairs, the lights in the room were dim, and music was coming softly from a portable speaker.
He had lit the lamps that hadn’t been in the dining room yesterday.
Awkwardly, he turned around from setting the plates and looked at me.
“I was wondering what would drag you out of your room.”
“It smells nice,” I said, taking a deep breath. “That’s a good start.”
He cracked a stiff smile.
I examined the dining table with a quick look.
No candles, but there was the same bottle of wine as last night.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to down a couple of glasses to take the edge off or stay away from the wine in case I descended into discussing last night’s events while intoxicated.
“You made the same dish,” I pointed out with a smile.
“Tsk. I don’t eat the same thing two days in a row,” he said. “But it’s similar. See if you like it.”
My plate was full of pasta, mushrooms, and prosciutto, but the color wasn’t the same.
And it smelled a little different but just as good.
I sat down and let Jordan pour us each a glass of wine.
I wanted to ask what I’d done to deserve this pampering, but I feared he would take it the wrong way.
Years of misunderstandings left us on shaky ground.
Upon agreeing not to fire at each other, there was little I knew how to do with him.
The only other thing I had ever done was look at him with poorly concealed attraction.
If the mask of anger was removed, would my devious lust for him be laid out in the open?
I hoped we wouldn’t find out tonight. But I had my wine despite the elevated risks. “This is nice,” I said carefully.
“Can you imagine?” Jordan forced out a laugh. “Us having dinner with no stab wounds to show for it.”
I snorted into my wine glass, splashing dark crimson liquid over my nose and upper lip. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We still have time for it.” I fingered the knife and lifted one eyebrow at my stepbrother while wiping my lips with a napkin.
A twinkle flashed in his eyes. “Can you believe it, though? Seven years since I met you.” He stabbed a few pieces of pasta and popped them into his mouth.
I took a bite, too, sliding the fork out of my mouth slowly and savoring the explosion of flavors in my mouth.
It was a lot more sour and lemony, but also spicier than last night’s dish.
The same components were all there, but the flavors were different.
“Shit. This is incredible,” I huffed. “Huh? Seven years? Are you sure?” It only took me a second to do the math.
I’d been thirteen when Mom had taken me to Disneyland.
She had imagined that a weekend at the happiest place on the planet would help us bond.
It hadn’t. Jordan had gone on all the rides I was afraid of.
The one that I had tried had left me dizzy and nauseous, so I’d only watched Jordan excitedly run toward the massive rollercoaster I was too scared and too sick to try.
Was I still holding a grudge after seven years? That couldn’t be right. I stuffed my mouth with pasta to let myself process my annoyance.
It equally felt like seven years was far too long to be true and that I had known Jordan my whole life. It was hard to remember who I had been before his arrival.