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“God, I love when you cuss.”
“Why?”
Dylan shrugs. “You’re always such a good girl. I like corrupting you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I knew how to cuss before I met you.” I side-eye him but he simply smirks.
“Yeah, but now youlikecussing.”
“You’re so weird.” But he’s also not wrong. I like the way my cussing brings him a special sort of joy.
“Fuck.” Austin straightens and rests his hands on his hips. “That was a solid hit, Quinn. Good job.”
“How are your nuts?” I ask, simply to hear Dylan laugh. Plus, with both of them here, I don’t feel as vulnerable. When Dylan is around, I can hide my feelings with lighthearted banter.
“The balls are great,” Austin lies. I bite my bottom lip to hold back a grin, and his gaze drops to my mouth before quickly moving away. “Are you guys hungry?”
“Always,” Dylan replies for the both of us.
“Maybe I should be the one making you food,” I say.
Austin arches an eyebrow. “Who’s the chef here?”
“Uh, you are?” I ask.
“Damn straight, Quinn. Now, get your ass to the kitchen before I decide you deserve pizza instead of homemade Bolognese.”
“Yes, Chef,” Dylan and I tease at the same time; only, Dylan punctuates his words with a salute.
Austin sighs. “You guys are so annoying.”
“I think that means he loves us,” Dylan whispers to me, dragging me from the gym and toward the kitchen.
He has no idea how much I wish that was true.
Eleven
FOUR YEARS AGO
AUSTIN
Quinn gets home as I’m finishing my warmup. After working with her in self-defense, I’ll do a quick power circuit. No sense in wasting the sweat. I hop off the treadmill and grab my water, watching the door and waiting for her to come into my domain. Three days a week for the past year, I’ve been here with her. Most of those days alone. Sometimes with Dylan saying dumb shit while Quinn learns to break out of the various holds.
She’s gotten a lot better, but I’m still struggling with her reaction times. There are always a few seconds when I think she’ll just let me do whatever I want with her.
The door to the home gym opens, and Quinn struts in wearing a pair of simple black yoga pants and a tank top that stretches tight across her tits. I avert my gaze.
Stepsister. Stepsister. Stepsister.
Don’t stare at her tits like the horny twenty-year-old you are.
“Hey, Chef,” she says with a teasing smile, bending over to set her water down.
I clench my jaw and pointedly look anywhere but at that perfect ass. “How was school? Is Richard still leaving you alone?”
“No dicks in my life,” she says with a chuckle.
Good.
