Chapter 20
Twenty
LAN
Ireluctantly raised my arms, feeling like I was surrendering more than just control of my wardrobe.
Colt tugged the shirt off in one smooth motion, his hands skimming along my sides in a way that couldn’t possibly be accidental.
The t-shirt joined Jaxson’s shirt on the bench, leaving my upper body completely bare and my dignity somewhere in the stratosphere.
Colt’s eyes darkened as they traveled over my exposed skin, lingering on my chest, my stomach, the dip of my hip bones above my shorts with an intensity that made me feel like I was being devoured.
I fought the urge to cross my arms over myself or possibly just phase through the floor and escape to another dimension.
“You’ve lost weight,” he said, his brows drawing together in that familiar expression of disapproval that I usually only saw when I left dishes in the sink.
His hand splayed across my ribs, warm and rough and way too intimate, his palm practically spanning my entire rib cage. “You’re not eating enough.”
I tried to ignore the strange buzz under my skin where he touched me, like static electricity but warmer, more alive. It was similar to what I’d felt with Jaxson last night, but different—sharper, more aggressive.
“I eat plenty,” I protested, trying to ignore how small I felt under his touch, how his single hand could practically wrap around my entire torso. “Some of us just aren’t built like walking mountains with shoulders that need their own zip code.”
Colt’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and before I could process what was happening, he sat down on the small bench in the corner of the changing room and yanked me forward by my wrist. I stumbled—because apparently my coordination takes a vacation whenever Colt’s around—and fell against him, my hands landing on his shoulders to keep from face-planting into his chest. Our faces were suddenly inches apart, his breath warm against my lips, and my brain short-circuited like someone had poured coffee on its motherboard.
Something strange happened when my hands touched his shoulders—a jolt of… something… passed between us, like we’d completed a circuit. I couldn’t explain it, but it felt like recognition, like my body knew something my mind didn’t.
“Put this on,” he ordered, grabbing a black t-shirt from the pile without looking away from my face. “Before I decide you need a lecture on proper nutrition that will make my spice rack organization speech seem brief.”
“Your lectures are worse than my nutrition,” I muttered, trying to take the shirt from him, but he held it out of reach like we were playing some twisted game of keep-away. “I’d rather eat cardboard than listen to another PowerPoint presentation on the importance of balanced meals.”
“Arms up,” he commanded, like I was five years old again and needed help getting dressed for kindergarten.
“Are you serious? I’m not a child, Colt.” Though standing half-naked between his thighs while he manhandled me wasn’t exactly helping my case for being treated like an adult.
“Arms. Up.” Each word was clipped and precise, his eyes daring me to defy him. And God help me, something about that look made my stomach flip like it was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil.
With a frustrated huff that hopefully disguised the weird flutter in my chest, I raised my arms, feeling ridiculous and vulnerable and weirdly exposed.
Colt’s expression didn’t change as he bunched up the shirt and slid it over my head with surprising gentleness that contradicted his drill sergeant tone.
As he pulled it down, his fingers traced a deliberate path along my sides, mapping my ribs, my waist, the curve of my back like he was memorizing every inch.
The touch was possessive, almost claiming, and it sent shivers racing across my skin that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
Every place his fingers touched felt strangely sensitized, like my skin was more awake, more alive under his hands. It was confusing and a little alarming.
“See? That fits,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that did strange things to my insides, like my organs were rearranging themselves into some kind of Colt-induced chaos. “No more drowning in fabric.”
I glanced in the mirror, surprised to find he was right. The shirt actually fit properly, hugging my frame without being tight, showing that I had a shape under there after all. Not that I’d ever admit it to him, even under torture.
“It’s just a t-shirt,” I mumbled, tugging at the hem like it might magically grow into my usual tentlike proportions. “Nothing special.”
“It’s the right size,” he corrected, his hands still on my waist, thumbs tracing small circles just above my hip bones in a way that made it hard to remember how breathing worked. “That alone is an improvement.”
I tried to step back, but the changing room was roughly the size of a postage stamp, and Colt’s legs were on either side of mine, effectively trapping me between his thighs like some kind of human cage.
The position was intimate in a way that made my brain short-circuit, especially when his hands tightened slightly on my waist.
“Try this next,” he said, reaching for a blue button-down without releasing me, like he was afraid I might bolt if he let go. Which, fair. I absolutely would. “Arms.”
“I’m not a puppet,” I protested, but raised my arms anyway, if only to get this over with before I spontaneously combusted from whatever the hell was happening to my circulatory system.
Colt pulled the t-shirt back off with the same deliberate slowness, his knuckles dragging against my skin like he was conducting electricity.
I shivered despite the stuffy warmth of the small space, goosebumps rising wherever he touched, my body betraying me in ways that would require years of therapy to process.
“Cold again?” he asked, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like satisfaction, the smug bastard.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I accused, my voice embarrassingly shaky, like I’d just run a marathon.
“Doing what?” His eyes locked with mine, challenging, daring me to name whatever the hell was happening between us in this too-small changing room that suddenly felt like it was shrinking by the second.
I couldn’t. I didn’t even understand it myself.
All I knew was that my heart was racing like it was trying to win a NASCAR championship, my skin felt too tight for my body, and Colt’s hands on me were sending my thoughts in directions they had no business going.
Directions that involved less clothing and more…
everything else. And beneath it all was this strange sense of recognition, like my body was responding to something ancient and familiar, something my conscious mind couldn’t grasp.
He slid the button-down onto my arms, his fingers lingering at my wrists as he adjusted the cuffs like we had all the time in the world.
Standing this close, I could smell his cologne—something woody and expensive that suited him perfectly.
It reminded me of when we were younger, how he used to help me get dressed when I was sick with one of my frequent fevers.
“Remember when I got that terrible flu?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the strange tension in the small space that was making it hard to breathe. “You and Jaxson took turns staying home from school to take care of me.”
Colt’s hands stilled momentarily at my wrist, his thumb pressing against my pulse point like he was checking if I was still alive. Given how my heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest, it was a valid concern.
“You were burning up for days,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, like he’d swallowed gravel. “Scared the hell out of us.”
“You used to help me change into dry clothes when I’d sweat through everything,” I continued, the memory bittersweet. “You were so patient back then. Not all drill sergeant-y and bossy and ‘Lan, that’s not where the forks go’ every five minutes.”
His fingers worked the small buttons with surprising dexterity, each one bringing his knuckles in contact with my chest, my stomach. Each touch lingered a beat too long to be accidental, sending little sparks of awareness through my skin that pooled low in my belly.
“You were smaller,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl that vibrated through me like I was a tuning fork. “Easier to manage.”
“And now I’m just a pain in your ass, right?” I meant it as a joke, but it came out more vulnerable than intended, like I’d accidentally ripped off a bandage I didn’t know was there. “The annoying little brother who can’t even dress himself properly.”
Colt’s eyes met mine in the mirror, dark and unreadable, like staring into the depths of a stormy ocean. Something flickered in their depths—something hungry and possessive that made me shiver despite the warmth of the small space. “You’ve… grown.”
The way he said it, like it pained him somehow, made me frown. “Well, yeah. That’s what happens. People grow up. I can’t be the baby of the family forever, Colt.”
Was that it? Was he upset that I wasn’t the little kid who used to follow him around anymore?
It would explain why he was always so harsh with me, always picking at my flaws and pointing out my mistakes.
Maybe he just missed when I was younger and more dependent on him, when I thought he hung the moon and stars instead of just being an annoying control freak with a sock drawer more organized than my entire life.
“Sometimes I miss how you were back then,” I admitted quietly, watching his expression in the mirror. “You were nicer to me.”
“I was never nice,” he muttered, but his hands were gentle as they moved to my shoulders, adjusting the fabric with unnecessary care. His fingers trailed down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake like a trail of tiny fireworks under my skin. “You remember things wrong.”