Chapter 6 ~ Bellamy
I’m a massive simp for my stepbrother
––––––––
I should be going to sleep. Nothing about replaying having Minho Seong-Walker watching me while another guy gave me head is going to help me get any shut-eye or get rid of the current bulge in my joggers.
Which, objectively speaking? It is the most uncomfortable feeling I have ever purposely put myself through—thinking about my cunning, sharp, snake-tongued step-brother, I mean. The head Henry gave me was amazing, but the euphoria I felt died when Minho left.
That would have bothered me to no end two years ago.
But after what I did last year and Minho’s reaction, I can’t think of a better way to punish myself than to get under his skin.
Because, unfortunately, his leaving before I could get a taste doesn’t matter, not when Minho has spent the last few hours securely lodged in my brain like a fucking splinter I can’t pull out.
And I’ve tried to get him out of my head, but he is all I think about ever since my best friend, Noah, told me Minho was back after he saw my stepbrother in his history and period studies class.
Okay, maybe he’s been on my mind a little longer than a day, but can’t a man be in denial about what he wants for a little longer?
I mean, it takes careful planning to scheme how I am going to make Minho’s life as miserable as mine has been without my favourite and only step-brother to annoy.
And I have to say, step one in my plan—securing a seat in that class was easier than I thought it would be.
The look on Minho’s face is going to be priceless tomorrow.
Midnight flashes from my bedside clock while I lie flat on my bed, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, while rain taps softly against my bedroom window.
I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon, and in my defence, Minho inspires my terrible decisions, so if I don’t sleep tonight, I won't even be mad because it will be like he’s here right now.
I can’t help but chuckle to myself.
The memory of his face from the party replays in my head, and I can almost remember his frozen state, the way he couldn’t help but stare, how he looked utterly shocked in my presence for what I swear is the second time since I’ve known him.
I can’t help but find it hilarious.
The first time, I will admit I was shit faced and did a fucked up thing, so I feel bad—a little. I think I did him a favour; honestly, he came out as gay thanks to me.
Yes, I take full credit for that.
So yeah, this all feels too hilarious not to laugh to myself. Especially when I think about last night, I picture all the ways that could have gone differently if only I pushed more.
There’d been something else there too, in the way he looked at me. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, as if he’d been disgusted in seeing me in general, sure, but I swear there was curiosity in his eyes for a brief moment.
Or maybe I am overthinking all of this; it wouldn’t have been the first time, and for all I know, he is finding a way to buy a guillotine for my execution at this very moment.
And yet, somehow, against all common sense, which Minho believes I have none—I grab my phone from my nightstand and open it to my messages and scroll until I find his name.
My thumb hovers over it before I click it and open our text thread, which is technically empty, but that is only because we have never texted before.
Not even called.
Tragic, I know. But those are little facts I am about to, of course, correct. God help me, this guy is going to be my undoing if he doesn't respond.
Not that I would ever let him know that.
Me: Did you enjoy the show the other night?
I shouldn't grin as much as I am, but I can’t help it. Fuck, I am a simp for my step-brother, and I want him to know it, but also not because then I don't think I would let him go—not again.
Five minutes pass, and my message hasn't even been read. By the time ten minutes pass, I am throwing a tennis ball at the ceiling and catching it while my phone lies face up on the nightstand, but still, nothing comes through.
Come on, Minho.
Then my phone buzzes. I scramble off the bed, the tennis ball forgotten as it bounces off my bed, and at the same time, I check my messages. A smile spreads along my lips as I read his name and the bubbles that appear when he starts typing.
Minho: Who is this?
Seriously? I waited fifteen minutes for “Who is this?” Not a problem, I enjoy a little chase, and for Minho, I’ll play the hunter.
Me: It’s your annoying, handsome step-brother who you dream of gagging on
Bubbles appear almost instantly after I send the text. I bite my lower lip, picturing him furiously typing now that he knows it's me.
Minho: How the hell did you get my number, Maddox?
I laugh a little too loudly before answering because there is no hello, not even a why are you texting me, just straight to violence.
It's so fucking Minho that it does something to the organ in my chest, almost like a fluttering sensation I wish I was strong enough to ignore, but won’t or can’t.
Me: Your sister was so kind as to give it to me in exchange for an iced coffee on the house
The typing bubbles appear two seconds later, then disappear before reappearing but disappearing again, and I can practically see him having a meltdown wherever he is.
I hope it's in public.
Not only do I have his number, but I also got the job at Imogen’s cafe, and thanks to Nyla, I know he goes there almost every morning.
Yes, I made sure my shifts are in the morning every Wednesday and Friday since I don't have any classes that early, and I know Minho well enough that he doesn’t either, since those are days he likes working all day at Bennett and Ink.
Before I can ask him whether he forgot how to text, he’s typing again.
Minho: She did WHAT?
Me: She was very helpful. I will have to make her coffee orders special
Minho: I am disowning her as my sister
Me: That's not very nice of you and a little dramatic, no?
The message goes unread for what feels like an eternity before Minho is typing again and then stopping as if he’s thinking about what to say.
Minho: You are one to talk, Mr I am going to treat having a blowjob like it's public theatre for my step-brother
I can’t help the bark of laughter I let out, and it's a full belly laugh that has me dropping the phone beside me as a tear streaks my cheek.
Jesus Christ.
I swear, everything Minho says to me sounds like he’s annoyed and being vaguely flirtatious at the same time. It is deeply addictive and something I want to get stuck on.
Me: At least you were watching
He doesn’t waste any time responding, feeding my obsession that has been dormant for an entire year without him to spar with.
God, I hate how much I missed him.
Minho: I was horrified
He is going to hate me for this.
Me: Sure, baby, I believe you
Typing bubbles show up, disappear and then reappear, and I just know he deleted and rewrote whatever he wanted to say.
Minho: This is going to be the first and last day you ever call me that
Me: Why not? Does it make you feel things?
Minho: Everything about you makes me sick
Oh, I know, beautiful, I know.
Me: That little statement feels charged
God, thank you for bringing this evil man back into my life. I truly missed how entertaining riling him up is, and I am going to take full advantage of our time together for as long as possible before he takes a sharp weapon to my face.
Minho: You are the worst
Me: Why were you watching for so long?
Minho: Why were you even looking at me during that?
Me: The blowjob?
There’s a long pause as if Minho is cursing at himself, and I hope he is because I am not going anywhere until I have him begging me to stop and kiss him or fuck him; honestly, I want to do both, so he better get ready.
Whether he forgives me or not for what I did doesn’t matter to me; I’ll fuck him and call it hate sex if that’s what he wants, but I am done waiting.
I sat back for an entire year, silently stalking his Instagram, watching every post he shared, and listening to every demo he released.
I even bit my tongue while he posted all those dates he went on with that annoyingly sexy surfer dude.
Are they still a thing?
God, sometimes I think he did all of that because he knew I was watching. And if he did, he is as cold as he was when we met.
Minho: Yes, the fucking blowjob you evil, conniving twat
Minho: Let me guess, you were picturing me getting fucked by Rafe again while your rando sucked your dick?
Minho: You are such a perv, it’s embarrassing
The smile I didn’t even know I still had falters a little. Because the answer should be dangerously obvious, even for him. Sure, he and his dad’s friend are a hot idea for a wet dream, but that had been a stupid thing I said while drunk and in his presence, no less.
And me? A pervert?
Oh, Minho—he’s good. But he has no idea how badly I want to be thinking about all the ways I can make him scream my name before and definitely after he comes, not Rafe Kincaid.
No matter how hot the tattoo artist is, Minho is my target.
How does he not know I want him? After last year, I figured that is why he ran off for Briarston, other than the fact that his dad is a serious jerk to him when they are alone together. But that isn’t important right now.
I thought I made my feelings clear to him at that stupid party we ended up running into each other at.
Or was I too shit faced to make it obvious that Minho was my first crush on a guy?
That every opportunity to piss him off was because I wanted his attention, his smile, anger, all of that stupid shit.
I wanted him, and I still do.
Hence why I took his book and am listening to the audiobook: it’s just better to hear a man groan and whimper in your ear than read about it.
Sorry, not sorry.
But I won't give Minho all the answers now, so I type something else instead.
Me: Hard not to notice my step-brother glaring at me like a disappointed husband
Minho: Disrespectfully go to hell