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A fierce sense of possession funnels through me despite the logical truth that June is a grown adult. June is allowed to flirt with men.
June. Is. Not. Mine.
Did I retain nothing from Kip’s warning?
She sways a little, looking unbalanced. And when she responds to something he says, her words slur together.
Shit. Has she been…drinking?
I clear my throat aggressively, garnering the attention of four heads twisting in my direction, and June lights up when she sees me, ignorant of the venom racing through my blood.
“Brant! My brother…” she singsongs, stumbling toward me as I approach. “My brother is here, you guys! He’s just the best.”
June slings her arms around my neck, nearly collapsing into me as the rest of the group looks on, probably wondering why it looks like she’s trying to climb her brother like a tree.
I peel her off of me, then lift her chin with my index finger. Her eyes are glassy, her smile lopsided. A pang of worry stabs me. “Are you drunk, Junebug?”
The sound of her nickname brings a flicker of reality to her eyes. She swallows, then pinches her fingers together to signify a teensy amount. “Little bit.”
Celeste pipes in, strolling over to us with a panic-stricken expression. “I’m so sorry, Brant… It’s my fault. I brought those miniature liquor bottles, thinking we’d just get a little buzzed, but June drank two and now she’s drunk a-and—”
“Jesus,” I mutter, swiping my palms over my face. “Kip is going to kick my ass.”
The two friends of Kip offer a sympathetic smile, then sweep past me and the girls, disappearing up the staircase. Celeste wrings her hands together. “I’m sorry. I’ll grab our stuff and we can go.”
June pouts. “I don’t want to go. I’m having fun.” She storms over to Celeste, pleading, “Let’s stay a little longer. I want to swim.”
“Celeste, can you give us a minute?” I intercede.
She looks at me, fiddling with her dark-blond braid and nodding her head with apology. “Sure. I’ll wait out back.”
“Thanks.”
When she heads up the stairs, leaving us alone, I wait for June to turn around and face me. I’m disappointed that she was drinking when she hardly drinks at all, at a cop’s house no less, and I’m even more disappointed that she almost just fooled around with a stranger twice her age.
Disappointed, or jealous?
I ignore my subconscious buzzing in my ear and watch as she clumsily pivots around, her hand reaching for the armrest of the couch to steady herself. Her eyes bat in my direction, her full lips parting as she says, “It’s been hell living with you this week. Even though we’ve hardly seen each other…” She swallows, taking a step forward. “It’s been hell.”
My fingers curl at my sides, tension rippling through me. “Why is that?”
“You know why, Brant.”
Of course I know why. It’s almost as if I took in two roommates last Saturday—June, and the tangible sexual tension that came along with her.
It was a stupid idea.
I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking, especially after working so hard to put space between us, so I’ve concluded that I wasn’t thinking at all. June was struggling, and I swooped in to save her. June wanted to leave the nest, so I offered her a safe place to land.
Unfortunately, the arrangement is backfiring, so I purposely put in long hours at work this week in order to avoid some kind of imminent explosion.
Seeing her so upset over what happened with Sydney confirmed my worst fear…
She feels it, too.
This is a mutual thing, and mutual things are ten times harder to ignore.
But I’m still trying. I’m still trying so damn hard to be strong, to do what I know is in her best interest—to keep us from going up in flames and singeing everything we hold dear.
