Chapter 13
Thirteen
LAN
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” I accused, closing my bedroom door with enough drama to make a soap opera director proud. My heart was performing an entire gymnastics routine in my chest—backflips, somersaults, and possibly a few moves that hadn’t been invented yet.
Bree turned around, pajamas in hand, looking about as innocent as Nico claiming he didn’t steal the last cookie. The gleam in her eyes practically screamed “matchmaker on a mission.”
“Oh shit!” Her eyes went wide with practiced concern that wouldn’t fool a toddler.
“I’ve upset you, haven’t I? I’m so sorry, Lan.
I honestly didn’t mean to—” She paused at my raised eyebrow, which was currently attempting to merge with my hairline.
“Okay, maybe I meant to a little bit. But I can take a taxi home!”
I collapsed onto my bed with a sigh that would’ve made Colt proud, the mattress groaning in sympathy with my existential crisis. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” I buried my face in my hands, hoping they might somehow absorb the panic radiating from every pore. “I have to share a bed with Jaxson.”
The name alone sent electric currents racing down my spine. Jaxson. The stepbrother I’d been in love with since I was old enough to understand what butterflies in your stomach meant. The same Jaxson who, less than twenty-four hours ago, had his hand wrapped around my—
Stop that train of thought RIGHT NOW before it derails and crashes into Inappropriate Station.
“I can always sleep on the floor?” Bree offered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Take the bed. Just don’t complain about the smell.”
She chuckled, relief washing over her face like she’d just dodged a bullet. “Please. You’re probably the only college student in existence who actually follows the recommended shower schedule. Speaking of which…” She gathered her pajamas and toiletries, the picture of nonchalance. “Bathroom free?”
I nodded, and she bounced out, leaving me alone with my increasingly hysterical thoughts.
Holy shit. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. I was going to share a bed with Jaxson.
My heart wasn’t just racing—it was breaking land speed records and applying for NASCAR certification.
My palms were sweating enough to solve a small country’s drought problems. And my brain?
My brain was alternating between euphoric fantasy sequences and full-blown panic attacks at approximately the speed of light.
This was Jaxson we were talking about. The same Jaxson who starred in every one of my dreams, featured in all my fantasies. The same Jaxson who, less than twenty-four hours ago, had given me the most mind-blowing hand job of my life—okay, my only hand job, but that was beside the point.
Now I had to somehow act normal while sharing a bed with him, like last night hadn’t turned my world upside down and my brain into horny pudding. Like I wasn’t simultaneously terrified and thrilled at the prospect of being that close to him again.
Act normal, I told myself, pacing a path into my carpet.
Just pretend this is totally natural. Like sharing a bed with the man you’ve been in love with for years is something people do every day.
Like your heart isn’t trying to punch its way out of your chest. Like you’re not five seconds away from spontaneously combusting.
When Bree returned, now in pink pajamas covered in what looked suspiciously like chibi versions of my brothers—and where did she even find those?—she asked, “Are you absolutely sure about this?”
I nodded, grabbing my own sleepwear with hands that shook slightly. “It’s fine.” I’m totally screwed, but it’s fine. I’m about to have a cardiac event at twenty-one, but it’s FINE.
“Good night, Lan,” she called as I reached the door, and I could hear the grin in her voice. “Have a splendid time sharing a bed with your beloved Jaxson.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound tinged with hysteria.
Trust Bree to treat my sexual crisis like the plot of one of her romance novels.
In her world, this would be the pivotal chapter where the main characters finally confess their feelings after two hundred pages of pining.
In my world? This was the chapter where I’d probably die of embarrassment before sunrise.
The hallway was like a scene from one of those reality TV shows about chaotic families—if those families happened to include four ridiculously attractive stepbrothers who could moonlight as models.
Wei was seeing Kyle and Luke off at the front door, his voice carrying that slightly smug tone he got after an evening of showing off his superior taste in…
well, everything. From the dining room came Xander’s voice, mixed with Tyler and Justin’s laughter, something about a professor who’d fallen asleep during his own lecture.
And from Nico’s gaming cave—formerly known as his bedroom—I could hear what sounded like a United Nations summit on sleeping arrangements, with far too many mentions of “dibs” and “no fair.”
Once safely locked in the bathroom, I began Operation Don’t Embarrass Yourself in Front of Jaxson.
Step one: brush teeth until they could blind someone in a power outage.
Step two: shower until I sparkled like one of those vampires in those movies Bree keeps making me watch.
Step three: try not to hyperventilate while contemplating the fact that in less than thirty minutes, I’d be sharing a bed with the star of every wet dream I’d had.
Not that I’m trying too hard or anything.
The hot water did nothing to calm my nerves, which were currently performing their own version of one of Nico’s video game boss battles.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jaxson—his hands on me, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name, his voice dropping to that register that made my insides turn to liquid.
After achieving a level of cleanliness that would make a surgical ward jealous, I pulled on Jaxson’s old shirt that I’d claimed as sleepwear.
The neckline immediately slid off one shoulder, and the hem hit mid-thigh in a way that made me look like I was auditioning for a “morning after” scene in one of Bree’s romance novels.
Not that I was complaining—it smelled like him, even after countless washes, and wearing it was the closest I’d get to being wrapped in his arms.
Or so I thought.
I’d barely opened the bathroom door when I nearly collided with Colt—six foot two of brooding intensity in gray sweatpants. My heart performed a somersault, then plummeted to my toes. Of all the brothers to run into while dressed like a walking confession of unrequited love, it had to be Colt.
His eyes darkened as they tracked the exposed line of my shoulder, following a water droplet as it slid down my collarbone with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
His nostrils flared slightly, pupils dilating as if catching a scent that triggered something primal within him.
The hallway suddenly felt ten degrees warmer and about half its actual size.
“That’s Jaxson’s shirt.” Not a question. His voice had dropped to that dangerous register that always made me feel like prey being sized up by a particularly irritable predator. The muscle in his jaw twitched, a warning sign I’d learned to recognize over years of living with him.
I tugged uselessly at the collar, knowing it would slide right back down the moment I released it. “Um, yeah…”
“I have shirts too.” The words came out sharp enough to draw blood, slicing through my explanation like it wasn’t worth his time.
His eyes never left that exposed shoulder, something possessive and furious flickering in their depths.
A strange energy radiated from him, almost like heat waves shimmering in the air between us. “You don’t have to wear his.”
Was he… jealous? But that was ridiculous. Colt didn’t get jealous. He got annoyed, exasperated, and occasionally murderous when Nico touched his stuff, but not jealous. Not over me. Not like this.
“I mean, this one’s comfortable and—”
“Whatever.” He cut me off, then shocked me by reaching out and yanking the collar back onto my shoulder.
His fingers lingered against my damp skin, the touch burning like a brand—not the warm honey feeling that Jaxson’s touch produced, but something sharper, more electric.
His eyes locked with mine, something dark and hungry in them that made my breath catch. “Just… get some proper pajamas.”
“Right, I’ll add that to my list of things to buy with my nonexistent money,” I muttered, attempting to sound snarky rather than flustered.
Something flickered in his eyes—a crack in his perpetually controlled facade—before his usual stern expression slammed back into place like a vault door. “We’re going shopping after breakfast tomorrow.”
“Colt, I can’t afford—”
“I’m paying,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.
The kind of voice that made marketing departments tremble and Nico suddenly remember his chores.
“Ten o’clock, when the mall opens. You need proper clothes, not…
” His eyes lingered on the exposed shoulder again, something almost predatory in his gaze. “…hand-me-downs.”
The way he said ‘hand-me-downs’ made it sound like a personal insult to Jaxson, like he was declaring war using my wardrobe as the battlefield. His fingers trailed down my arm as he pulled away, the touch so light I might have imagined it if not for the goosebumps erupting in their wake.
“Go to bed,” he added, already stalking away, though not before I caught him glaring in the direction of Jaxson’s room like it had personally offended him, stolen his protein powder, and deleted all his meticulously organized spreadsheets.
I stood frozen, heart pounding like I’d just narrowly escaped being devoured. What the hell was that? Colt had always been intense, but this was different. This was… territorial. Like he was staking a claim.