Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Charles
Doing something because I want to is so foreign and exhilarating that the feeling carries me through the day.
Zeke and I grabbed breakfast together before heading to classes, and now I’m on my way to our final meeting about this bake-off idea.
Even the thought of stepping foot into Sigma house doesn’t fill me with the type of dread it normally does.
Instead, I’m … excited? Holy shit.
I chuckle to myself as I strip out of my shirt and pull a clean one on. I hesitate over grabbing Zeke’s hoodie like I usually do, and even though I know I have to give it back, I want to wear it one more time. So I leave it where it’s thrown over the end of my bed and collect Sam on the way out.
He and Larken have actually done a better job at this than I expected. Sam, I had no concern about, but Larken isn’t the most focused person I’ve ever met.
“I hate to say it,” Sam says as we walk down the street, “but this was actually a good idea.”
I chuckle. “We might have been at the tail end of their pranks for all these years, but you have to admit, those Sigma guys are never short on creativity.”
His face screws up. “Is this … no.”
“No, what?”
“It almost feels like I have—don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?”
“Respect.” Sam gags. “Wow. No. Definitely not. Let’s pretend that odd moment didn’t happen.”
“Too late.” I laugh as I jog up the porch stairs. “You like them.”
“No fucking way.”
“They’re turning you. Are you going to defect and pledge their house? Be a prank king twatwaffle? Pull a Bailey and run off with one of them?”
Sam looks like he might legitimately be sick. “Okay, I said maybe, possibly, respect. I’m not ready for hair braiding or dick touching with any of them. They’re an embarrassment to the row.”
“And yet you like them.”
“Take it back.”
“Make me.”
“Charles, I swear—”
I start making kissy noises.
“Mature.”
I keep going.
“Want me to start calling you Chuck too?”
“Oooh, now you do sound like a Sigma.”
“What about Charlie?”
The second the name is out of his mouth, the door opens and Zeke’s expression goes from passive to pissed off. His intense gaze bores into Sam before blinking over to me.
“Could you idiots be any louder?” he snaps before turning and storming off down the hall. He only makes it two steps before he yells back, “And his name is Charles.”
“What the hell is his problem?” Sam asks.
For once, I actually don’t know. Some of my good mood ebbs. “Do Sigmas need a reason to hate us?” I point out, slowly stepping into the house.
I wasn’t worried about coming here because I knew there’s no way Zeke would let any of his brothers pull shit on me, but now … I don’t know where that sudden mood came from.
We make our way to the war room, where Bailey and Chad Doomsen are already waiting.
Zeke throws himself into a chair, arms crossed high on his chest, and it takes about a second for Chad to pick up that something’s wrong.
“You okay?”
Zeke’s gaze is trained on me. “Fine.”
“O-okay …” I stutter, still completely thrown. “Do … do we …”
“Can we get started?” Sam asks.
“Larken isn’t here yet,” Zeke answers, making no secret of watching me. “We wait.”
So then the five of us get to sit in awkward silence for who knows how long.
I don’t understand what’s going on. When I left Zeke this morning, things were fine between us—better, actually.
He was all smiles and soft looks. Now, I feel like he’s trying to drill a hole in my head through eyesight alone.
It doesn’t work like that, meathead, I want to snap. But I keep it to myself, avoiding his eyes, and wait out the very, very, long silence.
“Chuck. A moment?” He stands before I can answer and leaves the room.
Bailey lifts his eyebrows in my direction, and I get the feeling he’s about a second away from laughing. We can’t have that. I scurry after Zeke.
He isn’t in the hall, so I search through a few rooms before I find him. He’s in a small storage room at the back of the house, pacing in the cramped space.
I cross my arms and lean against the doorjamb. “What’s your problem?
“Did you tell Sam?”
My jaw drops as I take in his pinched expression. “Excuse me?”
“Did you tell him about us? Was he messing with me?”
“Okay, so somehow you pole vaulted to that conclusion because we … what? Were talking when you opened the door? I think you’re going to the Olympics for the wrong sport.”
“Does it look like the time for jokes?”
I’m not sure what it looks like. It’s very, very rare that Zeke gets angry, and this …
I remember how guarded he was when he was talking about being careful with who knew about him.
So while I want to snap at him for thinking I’m an idiot, I swallow back my pride and take the softer route. “I didn’t tell him.”
“So you slept with him, then?”
And there goes my softness. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“He called you Charlie.”
Zeke’s answer rings in my ears, and the annoyance simmers away to … amusement. “Are you jealous?”
“Fucking duh,” he says like it’s the most normal and not unexpected answer in the history of answers.
“W-what?”
His hands flex into fists before he mirrors me and crosses his arms. “I’m the only one allowed to call you Charlie.”
“Is this some kind of—”
“The only one.”
His deep, steady tone makes me all shivery inside, and while I know I should protest his words or call him out or something, this base-instinct guilty-pleasure need for him makes everything else irrelevant.
I study him for a moment, taking in his tightly coiled tension, his intense stare, and where I’d normally be losing my composure with the way he’s eyeing me, I step forward and throw myself into his orbit.
“Fine. Only you. But if you get that, then I want something too.”
He drops his arms. “Okay, what?”
What? That’s a good question that even I’m blanking on the answer to. There are so many things I could ask for. So many demands I could make, and some might push too far, but this jealousy is making me goddamn giddy.
A nickname? Actual exclusivity? A relationship? As much as I might want those things, they’d be a waste because I know what the reality is here, even if I do have feelings for him.
“A kiss.” The words come out too fast for me to catch them, and when I pull my eyes up to his, I’m met with total confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to kiss me.”
“I’ve kissed you a hundred times before.”
Of course he’s arguing back instead of doing it without making things awkward. “Not … p-properly.” Look at that, my awkwardness is back. It takes next to no effort on his behalf to gain the upper hand.
“What are you talking about?”
“On the mouth. Kissing on the mouth. With lips and tongue and …” I suck in a sharp breath. “Can you just do it already? Why are you making this weird?”
He leans in, and a soft laugh hits my cheek as his fingers lightly run down the other side of my face. “We haven’t kissed before?”
“Never.”
“I’m sure we—”
“Ever. Why would I lie about that?”
“Not lie but maybe forgot.”
“I didn’t. We haven’t. Now kiss me already.” I set my jaw and look him in the eyes so he knows I’m serious.
Which is a mistake because now it’s ridiculously obvious why hooking up with him in the dark has always been the best option because seeing that affectionate look aimed my way … my gut turns to jelly.
“P-please?”
His full lips tip up, and he leans in. I brace for contact, breath trapped in my lungs as the milliseconds tick away and he closes the space between us.
“—where they got to.”
Zeke jolts back at the voices in the hall, and I’m caught in a sudden freefall. My nerves bottom out as I scramble to keep my footing and step away from him at the same time.
It’s not a second too soon.
“There you are,” Bailey says. “I lost rock, paper, scissors. Now, are you guys done? Larken’s here, and we want to get this over with.”
I tug my shirt straighter and step into the hall. “Yes. We were discussing presidential, uh, things and—”
“Chuck always finds something to complain about,” Zeke says, pacing past us.
“Weren’t you the one who was pissed?” Bailey asks.
“It’s because I knew the conversation I was headed into.” Zeke’s face is completely relaxed, and I have to give it to him, he’s a good liar.
Bailey’s eyes narrow. “But we’re in a truce …”
“I know that,” Zeke agrees. “Now, I thought you wanted this meeting over with, or did you only need to get away from Dooms?”
“I want to get away with him. You’re holding me up.” He huffs and walks off, and I try my hardest not to glare at his back.
We’re holding him up? Fucking hell. Zeke was about to kiss me, dammit!
Just before I can walk back into the room, Zeke’s fingers close around my wrist, and he tugs me back to him. His lips are a breath from my ear. “You’re so cute when you’re all pissy.”
“I’m even cuter when I’ve just been kissed.”
He winks. “I guess I’ll find out in”—he checks his watch—“eleven hours.”
And with that countdown hanging over my head, I somehow have to walk back into the room and ignore the way my body is whining to get to Zeke.
Larken and Sam take us through their plans for the weekend, filling us in on the sign-off from both risk managers and safety aspects in play, Chad goes over ticket sales, and Bailey details what’s been spent to run the event.
The whole time I’m nodding and asking questions, trying to act like the president that I am, my gaze keeps straying to Zeke.
Over and over.
And he’s watching me every time.