“Her boyfriend...” Connor blurts derisively, eyes crinkled with amusement. He was never good at gauging the mood, unable to recognize when joking is not on the table. When the room reeks of violence, which I radiate plenty of at the moment, that’s when the real fun begins for him. “Did you hold hands and exchange sweet kisses,boyfriend?”
That’s the last straw. I kick his chair, and he falls to the ground laughing.
“Or maybe you braided her hair?”
The urge to kick him again is subtly pushed aside by the desire to laugh at my own misery that a single redhead is causing me. I offer a hand to help him stand up, but right when I’m about to pull him up, he does it again—
“No, wait! Maybe youunbraidedher hair.”
That’s it! I let go, but my friend—falling on his ass—only amplifies his laughter. Connor knows I’d rather be caught dead than being labeled someone’s boyfriend, but why does it feel like I’m some twisted version of exactly that? When it comes to Summer, I want everyone to know she’s only mine to play with.
An hour later, as soon as we get to the gallery, I’m served with the news that I’ll have to offer a bigger commission to buy off one of the art critics. That’s what Paolo Villarte—the curator handling the venue—informs me, and I can’t say I’m happy about the news. But I need this thing with Felicity Stone to work out, so I ask close to zero questions on the matter before agreeing to his demands.
Link makes sure to cover the tracks of a wire transfer, while Dean deals with Stone, leaving Carter and Connor to check a couple of names Villarte suggested.
All in all, it takes two hours to be done with work, leaving us time to get back and catch a class or two. The moment my foot steps on campus territory, I have my phone in hand, checking my personal night-terror’s location. To my surprise, she seems to have dragged her sexy ass to the theater in the middle of the day.
Looks like I’ve got a movie date to attend. I’m certain she’ll be over the moon to have me join her uninvited.
Chapter 14
Summer
There’s nothing like the poignant moment of waking up snuggled by the side of my target, refusing to let go for longer than is acceptable, to make me realize that when my judgment is clouded by the game itself, it’s time to be reminded why I’m playing in the first place.
I enjoyed toying with him way more than I should’ve. Why couldn’t his dick be small or at least average? Then I wouldn’t have caught myself salivating for a taste, one lick away from reaching cock bottom. I mean rock bottom.
My senses went haywire when I saw him asleep next to me this morning. For all my theories about why he never slept over with hookups, like not wanting an awkward morning, refusing to share a bed, or being afraid of attachments, I firmly believed he wouldn’t allow himself to drift off. Maybe one day he’ll tell me the reasons for this awkward peculiarity. But then again, that’s one more thing I shouldn’t let get to me.
I need to focus, and my brother will help with that.
A screening of a horror flick in a theater nearby will serve as a much-needed ride down memory lane. While Raven used to forceme to sit through sci-fi marathons, Milo did the same with this genre. He lived for the thrill it gave him, and my presence when he was watching such movies was mandatory. That was our thing. One of the many, in fact.
Our bond, the one many twins share, was stronger than anything. One neither time nor death could break. I loved my parents dearly, and I want to avenge them, but if there’s one thing that can fuel my drive more than anything in the world, it is the thought that my brother was taken from me.Half of me is dead without him.
Maybe what we had wasn’t the healthiest thing in hindsight, because in many ways we were codependent on each other, but we were so strong together. Like the world could be ours if we wanted. Every breath I take now, for however long it may be, is both half a breath without him and one I take for him, too.
Settling at the top-center row with a bucket of popcorn in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, I spot a single other man in the theater, sitting in the bottom rows, far away from me so he won’t spoil my experience.
As the first scene comes into focus, the ache in my heart makes my chest contract, preventing the air from filling my lungs. For the first time, I’ll break the rule of never watching a horror movie without my brother, and there will be no more of that with him.
A good thirty minutes into the movie is when I decide to stuff some popcorn into my mouth, denying myself the option not to swallow. Sometimes it’s the small things amplifying the reminder, like the salty taste and the smell of butter that hits me, making my eyes water.
Too lost in my internal turmoil, I ignore the shadow that settles next to me. It’s moments before I turn to check who it is. And in those moments, I realize I don’t need to look to know. His scent wraps around me like a warm blanket I didn’t know I needed. But I came here for Milo, and Atlas is invading my most sacred time by showing up uninvited.
Without gracing him with another glance, I place the popcorn on the empty seat next to me and stand, fully intent on leaving. I’m not playing our games here. Not when all that’s on my mind is my brother.
I don’t get to take a single step toward the exit when his hand wraps around my wrist, yanking me down on his lap. In an instant, his arms circle my waist, not letting the thought of standing cross my mind.
“Stay!” His warm breath fans on my ear, a single word balancing the scale between a plea and a command.
Shifting on his lap to face him, I’m sure even in the dark, he sees my eyes shooting daggers at him. His hold on me secures, pulling me closer in response to my not-so-lovey-dovey, I’m-going-to-smother-you-in-your-sleep glare.
“How did you find me?” Did I miss being shadowed? I’m getting sloppy.
“I followed the scent of crazy,” he says, and his lips find my cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.
“Stalker much?” I tease, aware I turned him into a lurkologist.
