CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Johanna
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Johanna
“THIS CITY” — SAM FISCHER
Six Years Ago
Guess who’s back!”
The door slams against the wall, and my whole body jolts away from Brandon. Hearing my brother’s voice carrying down the hall is essentially the equivalent of pouring a bucket of ice water down my back.
Brandon goes still. My eyes go wide.
Whatever euphoric haze I’d been in just moments ago is completely obliterated now. The reality of what we just did—the exact scenario I’ve been trying to avoid for days—crashes down hard.
Because I knew better.
“B!” Grayson hollers again, his voice closer than ever now. “Where you at, brother?”
He’s going to catch us together, and even without the fact that Brandon is sans pants and I’m on my knees with residual cum tainting my lips, he’ll know exactly what just happened between us.
I’m panicking—I don’t know what to do.
There’s no way to explain this. No way to make this okay.
“Johanna, I—” Brandon whispers hastily.
I scramble up from the floor and throw him his pants as the footsteps grow closer.
“I’m not here,” I say, fast and firm as he yanks them on. “I was never here.”
I slip into the attached bath—out of sight—just as the door from the bedroom to the hallway swings open.
The lock is too loud. I don’t dare touch it.
I just stand there with my ear pressed to the door, praying Grayson doesn’t have a sudden urge to use the bathroom and come in here.
“Yo,” I hear Grayson say, easy and oblivious. “What are you doing holed up back here?”
There’s a beat of silence. It’s only awkward to me, because I can picture Brandon sitting on his bed trying to look casual when there is nothing casual about any of this.
“Nothing,” Brandon’s voice says. “I’m not holed up.”
There’s some shuffling.
Don’t look around, Grayson. There’s nothing to see here. Please—
“Sure you’re not,” Grayson says. Another beat passes. “Hey, where’s my sister? Is she out?”
I could throw up right now.
Does he know?
He can’t—there’s no way.
More rustling. The mattress creaks, and my stomach drops.
Mind over matter, Johanna.
“Must be,” Brandon replies dismissively, as if he’s barely spoken to me since I’ve been staying here. “You know how she is—she doesn’t report to me when she leaves.”
My throat tightens.
I know he’s laying it on thick for Grayson. He’s trying to make it seem like he doesn’t give a shit about me or what I’m doing, but it doesn’t mean I love the way it sounds.
Grayson actually chuckles. I can practically see the smug fucking grin on his face. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
The silence stretches. I can tell Brandon doesn’t know what to say, or maybe doesn’t trust himself to say the right thing—knowing that I’m not even twenty feet away listening to every word.
“So,” Grayson continues, oblivious as ever. “I think Tony and Eric want to order from that new Chinese place for dinner. You down?”
“Yeah,” Brandon says. “I’ll be out there in a minute.”
I hear a clap on someone’s shoulder. The door opens and closes, signaling Grayson’s exit.
I finally release the breath I’ve been holding onto for dear life.
The door to the bathroom swings open, and there’s Brandon, worry and distress covering his face. The fear that’s been buzzing under my skin for the last ten minutes breaks loose, and before I can stop myself, I step into his arms.
He gives a long exhale, holding me steady.
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair, as if he can hear every frantic thought running through my head.
“What are we gonna do?” I whisper.
I don’t know what I was thinking—coming in here in the first place.
I don’t know what I was thinking when I decided to come to LA at all.
I’d just gone to get a drink. I heard my name—faint, from the end of the hall—and curiosity tugged me closer.
Once I realized what was happening—what he was doing in there—it was like a switch flipped in my brain and I’d been possessed. Possessed by someone who doesn’t care about boundaries or any of the reasons why going in that room and sucking Brandon Jackson’s cock is the worst idea in the world.
If I had just ignored it and minded my fucking business, I wouldn’t have had to lock myself in a bathroom to hide from my idiot brother.
My idiot brother who will never understand what it feels like to have someone look at me—really look at me—the way Brandon does.
Whether I want to admit it or not, that’s why I came in here.
Because I wanted to make him feel as good as he makes me feel—regardless of if it’s right or wrong.
I pull back, just enough so I can meet his gaze. His caramel eyes are intoxicating, but I know what I have to say.
“This can’t—”
He lifts his hand gently, interrupting by sliding his finger beneath my chin, just like he did at Starbucks when he wanted to get me out of my head. He tilts my chin upward, forcing me to look up at him fully.
Before I can move away, he leans in, eliminating the last of the distance between us. His mouth brushes against mine, soft and sure, and the last bit of oxygen leaves my lungs.
Our first kiss.
It seems a little backwards—that we skipped a bunch of steps and my mouth was other places before here. The second his lips move against mine, none of it seems wrong.
There’s no urgency. No bravado. No game to be played.
It’s just him, showing me exactly how he feels.
My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, grounding myself as heat radiates through my chest and down to my core.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine. Our breath mingles together, giving each other space without ever completely leaving.
“I want you, Johanna,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “I’ll figure out a way to tell Grayson. This won’t ever touch you—I swear it.”
The words—the official admission of the truth that’s been hovering between us for days—lands somewhere deep and complicated inside me. It’s hope and panic all wrapped into one devastating package.
I want to believe him.
But the other part of me already knows—this is the exact kind of thing that could burn it all to the ground.