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He scoffs. “Don’t fucking lie to me. I know exactly what you were thinking.”
Stepping toward him, I lean into his space. “Yeah? What was I thinking?”
Fuck him. He doesn’t know shit.
“That you wanted her body against yours and how nice she’d feel wrapped around your cock,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.
Dammit. “And how do you know that? How could you possibly know that’s what I was thinking?” I pause and search his face, taking in the tense set of his jaw and the way he’s secretly trying to check on her. Oh, what the actual fuck? “Unless you fucking like her too.”
“I don’t fucking like my little sister.”
“STEP. SISTER.” I realize I’m shouting and lower my voice, hoping the ocean and wind make it so Quinn can’t hear anything we’re saying. “She’s our fucking stepsister,” I say on a hissed whisper. “Stop making it seem like incest.”
“It may as well be.”
“It’s not.” I shake my head and look him over. “And you’re fucking hard for her, aren’t you? That’s why you were watching her. That’s why you’re such a dick?—”
“Did you go to class?” he interrupts, shoving a sore subject in my face.
“Yeah,” I lie. There’s a big fight coming up, one that would be the first stepping stone to a shot at the title Regional Fist, and I skipped class to go and register.
“That’s twice you’ve lied to me tonight. You’re going to fuck up your life if you keep focusing on the wrong career.”
“Funny, you’re the only one who thinks my fighting is the wrong career, when you’re literally the one who introduced me to it, bro.” I push past him and head toward the house.
“I introduced it to you because you needed an outlet to keep from getting kicked out of school. I didn’t think you’d turn it into your entire personality.” Brady is hot on my heels. I pushthrough the door to the house, careful not to slam it, since it’s not my property, but let it fall shut in his face.
Brady grunts, but he won’t let a door stop him from telling me what to do. “You need to study, Dylan.”
Without looking back, I flip him off. “Why don’t you worry about your feelings for Quinn, and I’ll worry about myself.”
“I don’t have feelings,” he snaps.
Laughing, I shoot him a look over my shoulder. I don’t even have to say it for him to look away. His reaction says it all. I might’ve lied to him a few times tonight, but he’s lying too.
Which means we’re both fucked.
FOUR YEARS AGO
I wake up gasping and sweating from the same nightmare that haunts me whenever I get stressed out. I was so little when Mom died, and I only remember bits and pieces from that night, but the memories I do have are enough to form a fucked-up dream. Eighteen-year-old alphas shouldn’t have nightmares.
Rolling over, I punch my pillow and try to fall back asleep. Minutes tick by. The longer I’m awake, the more my vision adjusts and I can make out the objects in my room. I scrub my hand over my face, glancing at the clock.
It’s only two a.m.
There’s a chemistry test at school today, and I’ll never pass it if I don’t get some rest. I roll over and stare at my door. I know where I need to go to fall back asleep, but I’m straddling the line of inappropriate. Still, the test counts for forty percent of our grade. If I fail it, I fail the class, and that can’t happen. I studied hard to get Brady off my back. He rides me harder than our dads, and I don’t want to hear his shit if I bomb the test.
With a heavy sigh, I push out of the bed and creep to the closed door, waiting and listening for any sign of our parents before slipping out and hurrying down the hall. Quinn’s doorknob is like fire under my palm, a clear warning that I refuse to heed. She’s dead asleep, which is good for me, because I don’t have to pretend like I’m sleepwalking again.
She bought that excuse the first time I made my way into her bed two years ago, and I’ll be damned if she finds out the truth now.
I tiptoe across her floor and carefully get under the covers, snuggling close enough to feel the heat of her body but keeping enough distance so she won’t freak out. Her breaths are soft and even. Quinn sleeps like the dead. I smile to myself and inhale, hoping to catch some of her scent.
But, like always, there’s no trace.
My stepsister has a serious addiction to descenting lotion and air purifiers. I kind of hate it. But I guess I can’t blame her. Her dads left her mom for their scent match. That had to have fucked her up. It’s probably better this way. An omega’s scent, if just right, has the power to drive an alpha wild.
Quinn does enough of that without a perfume.
