Seventeen
Theo
I will not jerk off to thoughts of my brother’s fake girlfriend.
Frigid water lashes my skin as I stand under the showerhead, willing my mind into submission. The icy spray bites into my chest, but it’s not enough. If anything, it hones my senses and fuels the tension burning through me.
I tip my head back and exhale a broken curse into the chill.
This morning’s run was supposed to fix me. Charging down the slopes of Starlight Mountain, carving through the snow with reckless speed—that’s always been my reset.
Not today. Not when every turn led back to her.
Isla Greene is branded into my soul.
She’s in my thoughts. In my blood. In every damn heartbeat .
I slam my fist into the wall. Cold tile meets my knuckles.
Quit thinking about her .
The command is useless.
My mind snaps to the memory of Isla’s trembling fingers as she hung the ornaments. The shine of tears in her honey-colored eyes. The quiet strength in her smile as she wrestled grief into grace.
When she climbed onto my lap, I lost every ounce of composure. The way her body molded to mine—like she belonged there—sent my self-control plummeting. As she shook in my arms, something primal tore through me.
I can never undo the past or erase the sorrow carved into her heart. But for one fragile, borrowed moment, she let me in and allowed me to hold her pain. I became her shelter—not the storm.
And I’d do anything to give her that feeling again.
Not just for a night. Not only for this week.
For fucking ever.
With a sharp exhale, I shut off the water and step out of the shower. The temperature was too cold to fog the mirror, but I don’t need to see my reflection to know what’s written all over me.
Frustration. Fixation. Fraying restraint.
And another far filthier F-word my body isn’t exactly being subtle about.
I dry off on autopilot. The water, at least.
The shame stays put.
Towel knotted at my waist, I step into my room—and freeze. Isla’s Santa shirt greets me, neatly folded over the back of my desk chair. Innocent in appearance. A loaded weapon in disguise.
What would I have done if she’d come asking for it?
What wouldn’t I have done?
Heat barrels down my spine at the memory of walking in on Isla, sprawled across my brother’s bed, lost in a moment of unfiltered pleasure.
Fingers buried between her thighs. Lips parted. Chest rising with ragged gasps.
It was everything. She was everything.
But it was my name tearing from her throat as she came that did me in.
She didn’t just moan it. She owned it.
I’d imagined that sound many times before. Fantasized about earning it. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the shock of hearing it.
It took every ounce of restraint not to storm into that room and make her say my name again.
Pant it. Whimper it. Scream it on repeat.
The thought has me painfully hard in an instant—a brutal reminder of everything I’ve kept caged. Years lost in longing. So much time spent fighting the urge to make it real.
To make her mine.
“Shit.” I drag a hand over my face in a vain attempt to shake off the image.
But it lingers. She always lingers.
I will not touch myself to thoughts of a girl so far off-limits.
A woman who clearly wants nothing to do with me.
Last night, she shut me down with the Asher card.
Then she proceeded to ignore the open-door invitation gift-wrapped in a Santa shirt.
At breakfast, her entire soul belonged to a plate of pancakes.
On the mountain, she glued herself to the bunny slopes with Jovie, determined never to be alone with me .
I don’t regret letting her go. But I hate how long I’ve let her stay gone. Especially these past few years. She offered slivers of hope, and I let them all slip through my fingers.
Now she’s out of reach. And I’ve got no one to blame but myself.
With a frustrated groan, I toss the towel aside and storm toward the closet, hunting for anything that’ll hide the undeniable evidence of my weakness.
The plan for the rest of the day is simple: stay put, drown in work, and pretend Isla doesn’t exist.
Just like I’ve mastered.
I’m halfway across the room when the door blasts open.
“Fine! I give up. I’ll do whatever you want. Just give it to me!” A redheaded tempest barrels in, slamming it shut behind her with enough force to rattle my spine.
For a second, I’m convinced I’ve cracked. Finally snapped. Hallucinated her arrival like some deranged, sex-deprived madman.
Panicked, I grab the first object within reach— the damn Santa shirt —and clutch it in front of me like a cotton-blend shield.
It offers zero coverage, and Isla’s wide-eyed gasp confirms it.
Too bad the sound only makes things worse.
So much worse.
Just when I think she’s about to bolt, she steps closer and lets out a startled laugh.
“Santa’s sack just got a whole new meaning.
” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, but her gaze doesn’t falter.
“You trying to steal the client from under me? Because there’s no way I can compete with this kind of marketing move. ”
“Ever heard of knocking?” I bite out, fighting the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth .
“Payback for your little intrusion yesterday.” The pitch of her voice rises slightly—the only tell she’s not as unaffected as she pretends to be. “I didn’t actually expect to get lucky.”
“Oh, you think you’re getting lucky?” I raise a brow, my smirk widening as I clock the shift in her posture and the deep crimson flush spreading across her cheeks.
“I didn’t mean…” Her head dips, rust-colored lashes sweeping her skin as if she could blink away the heat staining it.
It’s fucking adorable.
But when she looks back up, her hand gestures to my front, subtly drawing attention to the evidence of my arousal. “I meant…catching you in the act.”
“I wasn’t in any act .” My denial is much too quick and far too guilt-laced.
“Then what were you doing?”
“I…” I straddle the line of laying it all in the open. Figuratively, considering I’m already stark naked.
Her gaze blazes across my body, and I burn beneath it. Not from shame. From something darker. More primitive.
This moment—me laid bare before her—crackles with dangerous energy.
“Asher told me the truth about your relationship,” I tell her, careful to keep my tone steady.
Her eyes flare in surprise. “What? When? Why?” she sputters. “How long have you known?”
“Does it matter?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s always been you, Isla. Knowing you were with my brother didn’t change a damn thing.”
She sucks in a breath, her gaze dropping from my eyes to my mouth, then trailing down my chest before sinking south .
I yank the Santa shirt tighter, the cotton molding to my flesh. For one reckless second, I want her touch instead.
Her hands. Her mouth. Her heat.
“I want—” My body leans in, begging me to cut the distance. Even my heart races forward. It’s my mind that protests: Not like this . Not with years of silence and unspoken words still poisoning the air. “I need to get dressed.”
Before I do something irreversible.
“And then we should talk,” I add quickly.
“Or you could ask me,” Isla counters.
I blink. “What?”
“You can get dressed, Theo,” she says, stepping closer, “or you can ask me.” Her eyes lock onto mine. There’s a challenge in their depths. An invitation. A plea . “We’re on equal footing now, right?”
As the meaning of her words crashes over me, every nerve flares to life.
“So…” She lifts her chin. “ Ask .”
She’s tempting me to make good on every unspoken fantasy. Daring me to make it real. Make us real.
“Isla—” My throat is so tight nothing passes through. Not even air.
“Just to be clear, this isn’t naive nineteen-year-old Isla’s wish. This is twenty-five-year-old Isla’s want. And she’s not fooling herself about what getting on her knees for you would mean.”
“What would it mean?” I rasp, lungs and heart working overtime.
“Nothing.” Her reply is a startling blow to my expectations.
“Nothing?”
“A one-time thing. You helping me get us out of my system. No strings attached.”
“One-time thing? ”
“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?”
“I’m just trying to make sense of your proposal.” Freeing one hand, I dig my fingers into the back of my neck. Every tendon is coiled tight, ready to snap. “I have to know where your head is at before…” My mouth is so dry, the words crack on my tongue.
“Before I give you head?” she supplies.
My brain flatlines. But not before tossing a few images my way first.
Isla on her knees. My fist in her hair. Her plump, pink lips wrapped around my cock.
I forget how to breathe. How to stand. How to human .
“ Fuck .” I drag my palm over my jaw. “Look, I need a second to grab some clothes. I’m at a disadvantage here.” I nod toward her cropped sweater and jeans.
It hardly helps that my nudity is a blatant reminder of where all the blood in my body is currently congregating.
She frowns. “Won’t that defeat the purpose?”
“We’re not…” I take a swift step back. “I’m not…” I groan. “I can’t… won’t ask you to—”
“ Oh .” Isla scoffs, cutting me off. “Okay. Crap. Wow . I’m an idiot.” Her eyes squeeze shut, fingers digging into the furrow between her brows. “Damn déjà vu.” She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Apparently, I’m still that stupid. I should’ve known better than to let myself believe I—”
“Isla—”
“No.” She takes a step back, arms folding around herself as if to shield her heart. The way her shoulders curl in makes me want to tug her close and hold her hostage against my chest. “I get it.”
“Isla— wait .” I reach for her. “Let me explain.”
She jerks away. “Save it. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t hear it.” Her voice quivers, but her eyes blaze. An inhale later, her resolve strengthens. “Forget I said anything.”
Her gaze drops to the Santa shirt clenched in my grip. In a flash, she lunges forward and yanks it from my grasp.
“What are you doing?” I blurt, scrambling to cover myself.
“Getting what I came for.”
She spins on her heel and pulls the door open.
Cold air blasts in, cutting across my skin. The sting is nothing compared to the ache spreading through my chest as I stand there, motionless, watching her walk away.
Her scent clings to me in a cruel reminder of what I, once again, let slip through my fingers.
Or rather… who.