Page 8 of Bruised

I thought this summer was going to be boring as fuck, with all the parole rules and housebound bullshit, but maybe it won’t be so boring after all. Maybe I’ll even have some fun.

Oliver wants me to stay away? Then maybe he shouldn’t have let someone like him move in.

3. RUIN YOU

Oliver snored all night. I usually find it soothing rather than annoying, but not this time.

I had a hard time falling asleep. Not because of Oliver—because of him.

Not that he made noise or anything, but his mere presence in this house puts me on edge. When Oliver and I tried to have another chill evening gaming, it turned out not so chill when Mason started rummaging around in the kitchen and eating my candy, all while watching me with his all-consuming gaze.

He’s too shameless in the way he looks at me. Predatory. Who can blame me for finding it unsettling?

He’s Oliver’s big brother, and he’s staying in the house all summer. Oliver warned me to stay away from him, but the thing is, being told to stay away from something usually only makes me want it more. Not good. Bad. Very bad, in fact.

I turn around and try to fall back asleep—it’s only ten in the morning, and Oliver and I stayed up until four. But Oliver keeps snoring, and my thoughts keep churning. I’m sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to Oliver’s bed, and it’s comfortable, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not my bed. It’ll take a while until I get used to it, I guess. That’s fine—I have all summer.

There’s a loud bang downstairs. Startled, I snap my eyes open. What the fuck?

I glance over at Oliver’s bed. He’s still asleep, snoring. I don’t want to wake him, but I need to know where that noise came from, so I drag a pair of jeans over my briefs. Keeping the black shirt I’m already wearing, I trudge downstairs, wondering what the hell is going on.

Outside the kitchen window is the largest truck I’ve ever seen in a suburban neighborhood. It’s backing up against the parking garage, and Mason is there, directing it. He’s shirtless, and my eyes fix on the ripple of muscles by his shoulder blades, the dimples on either side of his lower back, and the waistband of his underwear peeking above his tight black gym shorts.

I go outside in the light drizzle. The summer heat hasn’t really arrived yet, if it ever will. In Portland, you never really know.

I approach warily. Mason hasn’t noticed me yet, busy directing the truck. I watch as the delivery guy unlocks the cargo doors to reveal what looks like gym equipment. Mason helps him lower the liftgate before he rolls the equipment out of the truck and onto the driveway with the help of a hand truck.

Mason spots me out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, hey, puppy. Want to help me carry? A little heavy for you, though.” He winks, and I freeze in place.

I should shut him down, tell him not to call me by that name, but all I do is stare as Mason and the delivery guy roll the packages into the garage.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asks behind me. He’s followed me into the front yard, shirtless like his brother, dressed only in socks and shorts.

Unlike his brother, he’s lean in a lanky sort of way, much like myself. He lacks the proper “manly” look of Mason. Shows what only a couple of years can do to make someone seem so much more grown. Besides that, I doubt Mason is a gamer like Oliver and me. He looks like the type who moves more than he sits around. He obviously works out, and he’s obviously, uh… ridiculously fit. He looks like he could be on the front of a fitness magazine.

“Thought I’d set up a home gym so I don’t have to go into town to work out,” he says.

“You thought?” Oliver growls. “Have you asked Mom about this?”

Mason places a weight set on the garage floor and shrugs, wiping his brow clear of sweat. He always has that taunting smirk on his lips when talking to Oliver. When talking to me too, for that matter. Or rather, talking at me. I haven’t exactly talked back, too fucking stunned at the mere sight of him.

“It’s temporary, anyway,” Mason says, rolling his broad shoulders. “I’m just renting this shit. I know a guy.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Oh, you know a guy.” He makes mock quotes in the air. “As if I couldn’t figure that out on my own.”

“Well, you asked, little brother.”

Oliver gives a frustrated groan. “So this is where you’re gonna hang out all summer?”

Mason shrugs. “Pretty much. Gotta keep this body up and running, you know.” He splays his arms out, showcasing his trimmed torso, visible abs, and muscular pecs.

Mason isn’t slow to notice my stare. He winks at me, and I should look away, but I trail my gaze further down instead, to the black gym shorts clinging to his substantial thighs, and between them, a noticeable bulge. Wow. He looks… big.

I gulp, tearing my eyes away.

Oliver follows Mason’s gaze and glances at me with a roll of his eyes. “Hey, Lane, let’s get something to eat. You hungry?”

Yeah, I’m hungry, alright, but not for toast and scrambled eggs.