Chapter 10
Ten
LAN
“Jaxson jerked me off last night.”
The words escaped in a whisper, like saying them any louder might summon him to my room like some inappropriately hot demon. My heart was doing its best impression of a drum solo performed by a caffeinated octopus.
His hands had been so warm, so sure, so… No. Stop that train of thought right now. Back up the mental locomotive and send it in a different direction.
“Shit!” I buried my face in my pillow, which didn’t help because my treacherous brain just kept replaying everything in HD with surround sound and possibly some special effects: Jaxson’s breath against my neck, warm and minty; his chest pressed against my back, solid and safe; his hand wrapped around my—
Nope. Not going there. That’s restricted territory. No entry without a hazmat suit and signed permission slip.
I sat up straight, glaring accusingly at my lower half beneath the duvet.
Don’t you dare get excited again. But of course, my body had about as much self-control as Nico at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Or Colt when someone touched his protein powder.
Or Xander when—okay, maybe all my brothers had self-control issues. Family trait.
What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to face him at breakfast? ‘Hey, thanks for the hand job, pass the cereal’? ‘Could you butter my toast like you buttered my—’ No. Bad Lan.
I needed a drink. A cold one. Preferably served with a side of amnesia and maybe a one-way ticket to Antarctica where I could live among the penguins who wouldn’t judge my life choices.
Right. New plan: Get out of bed. Get water. Pretend last night never happened. Simple. I could do this. I was practically a master of denial—I’d been hiding my crush on Jaxson for years, after all. This was just… advanced denial. Denial: The Pro Edition.
I flung off the duvet like it was contaminated with my shame and headed for the door. The hallway would be empty this early, and I could sneak to the kitchen without any awkward—
Oh God.
There he was. Jaxson. Standing in the hallway like some Greek god who’d decided to go jogging instead of, you know, smiting mortals or whatever Greek gods do.
Sweat made his shirt cling to places I definitely wasn’t looking at, and his hair was messed up in that infuriatingly perfect way that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a shampoo commercial.
Or a very specific kind of video that I definitely did not watch when everyone was asleep.
Our eyes met, and I suddenly became hyperaware that I was wearing his old shirt—the one I’d stolen from the laundry months ago because it smelled like him.
The collar hung loose, exposing one shoulder, and the hem hit mid-thigh because of our height difference.
Of all the mornings to run into him wearing this…
I might as well have tattooed “I’M OBSESSED WITH YOU” across my forehead.
I watched in horror as his eyes tracked down from my face to that exposed shoulder, then lower, and… My face cycled through what felt like every shade of red in existence. Tomatoes were filing a copyright infringement lawsuit as we spoke.
What made it worse was the way his pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring slightly as if he was catching a scent.
Something in his gaze darkened, turned hungry and possessive in a way that made my stomach flip and my knees go weak.
It wasn’t just attraction—it was something deeper, more primal, like he was seeing something that belonged to him.
My brain short-circuited like someone had poured coffee on the motherboard.
I did the only logical thing: I slammed the door and dove back under my covers like a five-year-old hiding from monsters.
Or in this case, hiding from my incredibly gorgeous stepbrother who had given me the most earth-shattering orgasm of my life less than twelve hours ago.
Smooth, Lan. Real smooth. Very mature. Nobel Prize for Emotional Maturity coming your way any minute now.
I huddled under my duvet fortress of solitude, cursing my complete lack of cool. Great job. Very adult. Because hiding in your room forever is totally a solution. Maybe you could have a pizza delivery guy slip food under the door for the next decade or so.
A knock at the door half an hour later nearly made me jump out of my skin. I froze, holding my breath like the door might burst open and release a flood of embarrassment that would drown me.
“Lan?”
I exhaled in relief at Wei’s voice. Not Jaxson. Thank every deity in existence, from Zeus to whatever god oversaw awkward sexual encounters between stepbrothers. Probably some minor deity with a sick sense of humor.
“Come in,” I managed, trying to look like I wasn’t just having an existential crisis that would make Nietzsche proud.
Wei leaned against the doorframe, wearing that irritating smirk that said he knew exactly what was going on.
The one that made me want to throw something at his face, preferably something heavy and painful.
“Time to get up, Family Saint. Or are you planning to achieve enlightenment under that duvet? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not how Buddhism works. ”
“I’m not a Saint! And if I was, I’d curse you first. Turn all your fancy coffee beans into dirt.
” I emerged from my blanket cocoon, trying to look dignified.
Difficult when your hair probably resembled a bird’s nest after a hurricane and your dignity had left the building sometime around when Jaxson’s hand had wrapped around your—No. Stop that.
“But you’re so pure and innocent,” he drawled, his eyes dancing with unholy amusement. “Like fresh snow. Untouched. Pristine—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll show you how ‘pure’ my right hook is,” I threatened, though we both knew I couldn’t take Wei in a fight. The man was built like a brick wall with better fashion sense.
“Hurry up and get ready,” he continued, unfazed by my empty threat. “You’re going shopping with me today.”
My stomach did a nervous flip that would impress Olympic gymnasts. “For the party?”
He nodded, and I just had to ask, “Is anyone else coming?”
Please don’t say Jaxson. Please don’t say Jaxson. Please don’t—
“Everyone’s busy.” Wei shrugged those annoyingly broad shoulders. “Xander has a study group, Colt’s doing whatever Colt does when he’s not terrorizing spreadsheets, and Nico is… well, being Nico. You’re the only one free. You are free, right?”
Well, unless you counted hiding from my stepbrother and questioning all my life choices as plans… “Yeah, I’m free.” Free as a bird with anxiety issues.
“Good boy.” The way he said it made me suspect he knew exactly what he was doing.
Wei had this irritating habit of orchestrating situations like some kind of relationship puppet master.
If life were a chess game, he’d be fifteen moves ahead while the rest of us were still trying to remember how the horsey piece moved.
After he left, I dragged myself out of bed, gathering clothes like I was preparing for battle. Operation: Avoid Jaxson was officially underway. I’d need camouflage, stealth, and possibly an invisibility cloak.
I performed a tactical sweep of the hallway before making my ninja dash to the bathroom. Mission successful. Target avoided. Agent Disaster is proceeding to Phase Two.
The hot shower helped clear my head, even if every brush of my own hands made me think of…
No. We’re not going there. That’s off-limits territory.
Restricted access. I focused on washing my hair with militant determination.
Think about anything else. The weather. School.
That time Nico tried to microwave a spoon and nearly burned down the apartment.
The way Colt had lectured him for two hours straight while Xander quietly photographed the melted microwave for posterity.
When I finally emerged into the kitchen, most of my brothers had cleared out, thank God.
Only Wei remained, doing dishes with his usual efficiency.
He moved around the kitchen like he owned it, which, technically, he partially did.
We all did. Family trust and all that. Though sometimes I wondered if Wei secretly considered himself the only adult in a house full of children—not an entirely inaccurate assessment, to be fair.
“Where’s everyone?” I asked casually, trying to sound like I was just making conversation and not conducting reconnaissance. Translation: Where’s Jaxson? Is the coast clear? Can I breathe without hyperventilating?
“Out,” Wei replied, and I could hear the amusement in his voice. He always did enjoy watching us all squirm. Sadist.
I attacked the leftover breakfast with more focus than scrambled eggs probably deserved, stabbing them like they’d personally offended me.
The food was barely warm, but I’d rather eat cold eggs than face Jaxson’s…
everything. His smile. His eyes. His hands that knew exactly how to— Nope. Food. Focus on food.
“Done?” Wei asked as I put away the last plate, trying to be helpful enough that maybe he’d forget about dragging me shopping. Maybe if I cleaned the entire kitchen, reorganized the pantry, and possibly remodeled the bathroom, he’d let me off the hook.
No such luck.
“Let’s go,” he announced, and I followed him down to the entrance like a man walking to his execution.
I briefly considered making a break for it—just sprinting down the street in a dramatic bid for freedom.
But knowing Wei, he’d catch me before I made it half a block, throw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carry me to the car while explaining in excruciating detail why running away from your problems is immature.
And there it was. The universe’s cosmic joke in the form of Jaxson’s car, pulling up smooth as silk, with its stupidly handsome driver looking like he’d just stepped out of a commercial for How to Drive Your Stepbrother Crazy: The Cologne.
“Get in,” Wei said, giving me a nudge that felt more like a shove toward destiny.