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“Great,” I chirp, even though it’s not true.
“Yeah?” He sounds faintly surprised, and that makes me happy. Even if it’s bullshit, I’m happy to ruin his day with news of what a fantastic time I had not being at all bothered by his harassment.
“Yep. Milo’s bed issocomfy, I just love being there. And I had really nice dreams.”
“Oh yeah?” Jonathan turns around to face me, one eyebrow cocked as he leans back against the counter. “Were you being railed by a whole soccer team?”
“No. But it’s interesting to know that’s your idea of a good dream. Love is love, Jonathan. I support you.”
He smirks. “I don’t roll that way, stray. I’m pretty sure you know that after last night.”
My heart drops out of my body.
He didn’t seriously just say that.
His smirk grows, the evil glinting in his eyes as he acknowledges wordlessly that he won this round.
Desperate to change the subject before it registers with Milo what he just said, I turn to Jet. “What are you working on?”
“What did that mean?” Milo asks levelly.
Panic gathers in my chest. I raise my gaze to meet Jonathan’s as Jet distractedly relays to me the details of what he’s doing. I don’t understand any of it, but I’m only half paying attention, anyway. My gaze is fixed on his older brother.
Jonathan watches me, visibly debating how destructive he wants to be this morning.
Please don’t.
I don’t know if he can see it in my eyes, but it feels like I’m screaming it, even though I don’t say a word.
My mind torments me with thoughts of what he could say next. How easily he could collapse everything.
He doesn’thaveto take this battle any further.
Probably just telling his father about last night would be enough to ruin things between us. He could lie, too. Say I was into it. Say it went further than it did. He doesn’t have to tell the truth about how it went down. I probably damaged my believability by not going to Milo immediately and telling him what happened. Sure, I could tell him after the fact that I was afraid to, but Jonathan would insist I’m full of shit and just trying to cover my ass. Who would Milo believe if it came down to me vs. Jonathan?
I feel sick.
Then Jonathan speaks, and it feels like a rug being pulled out from under me.
“Kennedy came downstairs for a drink of water last night,” Jonathan says smoothly, glancing over at his father. “You were on the couch, weren’t you? Maybe you heard her.”
Milo remains silent, cracking an egg and discarding the shell.
“Anyway,” Jonathan continues. “I thought I heard noise downstairs. Woke me right up.”
He didn’t tell me that part. Did he really hear us? I’ll die.
“Must’ve been Kennedy getting herself a drink. When she came back up, I was awake, so, like any good brother-in-law, I popped out to say hi.”
Oh my god.
Jonathan’s gaze drifts back to me. “When I saw her with bedhead, wearing that slutty little sleep outfit, I guess I got a bit confused.”
“Hey,” Milo says, a warning in his tone as he looks over at his son.
For a split second, I feel happy that he’s at least standing up for me when his son openly calls me a slut, but the feeling doesn’t last long.
Jonathan smiles at his dad. “Hey, I’m just telling you how it looked to me at the time, half asleep and stumbling out into the hall. I saw a scantily dressed girl just outside my bedroom, and…”
