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My eyes drift to him on occasion, though it feels like every second. He steals glances in my direction, keeping his cool around my brother. I do the same to maintain the charade. If Sloan ever found out about us, he would never speak to Dylan. He would never look at me the same way again.
“What if I want to drive myself?” I ask Sloan.
He gives me a bored look. “What’s the point? Our office is a few blocks from you. And you don’t have enough money to fill your gas tank for the rest of the week.”
“How do you—"
Sloan frowns. “Because you barely make it from one week to the next. You know I got you, right? If you need anything…”
I wave my hand to dismiss him. “I’d rather saw off my arm than ask you for money. But thanks for the offer.”
Dylan drinks from a bottle of vodka, acting uninterested in our conversation. He has upgraded in the past few hours to more potent alcohol, probably because he can’t stand being in the same room as me. But Sloan insisted we celebrate my first night in the house like one big dysfunctional family.
“While you’re living under my roof,” Sloan says with an authoritative tone. “I don’t want you spending any money. If you need anything, let me know.”
“I’m good.”
“And if you can’t reach me, call Dylan.”
I wouldn’t ask Dylan for help if I was bleeding out on the pavement and needed him to call 911.
“Yeah, sure,” I say to end this conversation. “Whatever you want.”
Sloan gives me a drunken smile. “You need someone to take care of you. I don’t like you living alone in Studio City in that shithole apartment.”
“It’s not the Ritz Carlton. But it’s what I can afford,” I counter as I drink the rest of my beer. “Once you get used to it, the building isn’t so bad.”
Dylan laughs under his breath.
Sloan shakes his head. “It’s too much money for what you’re getting in return. The last time I visited you, I found a used condom in the stairwell.”
“It would be nice if you’d stop nagging me while I live here,” I quip. “We all can’t be like you and Dylan and become millionaires overnight. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“We work our asses off,” Dylan snaps, sitting up on the couch, his heated gaze fixed on me.
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “Okay, officer. Don’t shoot. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“We did luck out,” Sloan admits.
“But we also bust our asses,” Dylan challenges. “Don’t discredit what we’ve done to make your sister feel better about her shitty life.”
“Woah,” Sloan says.
“Chill,” I add. “We’ve had too much to drink. It’s time for bed. I have to get up early, anyway.”
“Good idea,” Dylan growls.
He drops the empty vodka bottle on the table and storms out of the living room. Sloan watches him leave and then extends his hand to me.
“Come on. I’ll show you how to work the alarm clock in your room.”
“Oh, great.” I groan as he tugs on my hand and pulls me up from the couch. “More technology I have to figure out.”
Sloan laughs. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
We enter my bedroom, and Sloan closes the door behind him, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Dylan doesn’t deal well with change.”
I learned that from firsthand experience.
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “I understand.”
I tried to understand a long time ago.
“He’ll come around,” Sloan promises. “Dylan needs time to adapt. But seriously, I meant what I said. If you can’t get a hold of me, I want you to call Dylan, okay? He thinks of you like a sister. He’ll help you out if you need it.”
My brother has no idea how wrong he is about his best friend. There’s nothing familial about our relationship. I can still feel his lips on mine when I close my eyes and savor his warm skin pressed against mine. Sometimes, I imagine his hand dipping beneath my panties when I’m in bed at night. I hate myself for feeling something for Dylan, even if it’s only my sexual frustration.
But it’s hard to forget your first love.
Sloan gives me a one-arm hug. “Night, sis. We leave at six-thirty. Don’t be late unless you want to get on Dylan’s bad side.”
I tilt my head back and laugh. “I’m already on his shit list.”
Chapter Six
Ash
After I take a much-needed shower, I drop my towel onto the bed and slide open the glass doors that lead to the beach. I step onto the balcony, drinking in the salty air.
This beats the hell out of my apartment and my view of a parking lot. I love it here, always did. If it weren’t for my issues with Dylan, I would visit my brother more often. But Dylan makes me feel so damn unwelcome. He makes it known that he doesn’t want me in his life… or anywhere near the precious world he has built for himself.
