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Insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. Asher turned off the AC in my car again. “Penguins would freeze in here.”
“Do you mind?” I squeezed through clenched teeth, then turned the AC back on.
My bratty passenger and forced stepbrother wore a loose linen shirt, only half buttoned up. Making him chilly was supposed to force him to close those goddamn buttons and cover up his smooth chest. It was bad enough that he wore the shortest shorts that had ever been made, his legs covered in such rare and fine hair that it was almost invisible. Heat flooded the car when Asher lowered the window and let the broiling air blow into the car. “That’s better.” And after that, he sat in silence.
I resolved not to wonder about anything. It only ever left me more confused than before I tried to understand. For one thing, I could vividly remember Asher refusing to take his shirt off until the moment he cannonballed into the lake. It had happened a few years ago, but it had given me a clear idea of the guy. He was shy and possibly insecure. Yet here he was, his chest practically bare, his shorts tight, his hair flying in the heated wind that blew into the car.
My palms grew slick with sweat after two minutes of Asher’s antics with the AC and car window. Worse still, I could feel sweat break over my back. We had hours yet to go and the last thing I needed was to fall asleep at the wheel with this heat.
I pressed the button that controlled the passenger window and rolled it up. Asher and I looked at one another. He was pissed as fuck. His face was like stone and his green eyes flashed with anger.
My gaze lingered on him only for a moment before I forced myself to look at the road. I couldn’t stand these staring competitions Asher was so intent on. Ever since I’d met him, he had a way of looking at me as if he saw something horrible. The little frown that touched his perfect, black eyebrows and the way the corners of his lips twisted, it was like I disgusted him.
Not that it was important. Our parents had gotten married and created a neat little clusterfuck of a blended family, pretty much removing all the options from the table. I hadn’t realized I’d wanted options until they were gone.
“It’s cold,” Asher complained. It was something he was very good at.
“Button up your shirt.” My tone was flat, my eyes never leaving the road.
Asher snorted. “It’s called style. Read about it.”
“Since when do you care about style?” I didn’t want to get dragged into yet another fight with Asher. None of this was supposed to be happening. For one thing, I was supposed to be getting ready for a beach vacation with Beckett. And if I backtracked a little further, Asher and I were never supposed to be forced into this kitchen sink of a family. I’d been almost a grown-ass guy when Dad decided to remarry. I didn’t need the added responsibility or the brotherly relationship everyone expected.
“Since when do you care about what I care about?” Asher muttered.
I left it at that, grinding my teeth and wondering how Beckett was doing. He had been acting so weird lately, probably worrying about being away from Caden for weeks before his boyfriend could join us. I had to give it to him, the whole beach vacation with just the two of us hadn’t been the best idea. He would sit around and think of Caden while I did all the fun stuff like picking up girls. Or boys. Now that Beckett had come out, I had nothing to worry about. Almost nothing.
There was only one little thing I hadn’t fully processed about my sexuality. It had never bothered or worried me that I was bi. I’d kept it to myself mostly because I was always in the straight crowd and the locker rooms of my high school hadn’t been the most welcoming place to boys who also liked boys. Girl talk had been dominant, so I had just kept half of my truth to myself once I had understood all of it. But that was where the problem lay. The moment I had realized that there was more to like in this world than just one gender. The spark that had awakened this deep and wonderful understanding.
I had been sixteen years old when it happened. For an entire year, Dad had been dragging me to see Eileen and her son, who had acted all tough and cool like I was intruding into his world, but it was over the summer after that first year that it happened. We’d been out by the lake, Asher and I, and he’d finally taken his T-shirt off. He had slouched and moved away from me even though I was swimming and only saw him from the corner of my eye. The sun had kissed his honey-brown hair, and his long, dark eyelashes had framed his big, green eyes in that one moment when we noticed each other. My heart had hammered so abruptly that I had first thought it was a panic attack. I’d had a lot on my plate that summer and it wouldn’t have been the strangest thing ever. A dose of panic crawled into my heart, of course, and I flailed and spun to stay afloat. But it was in the heartbeats that followed, when the adrenaline wore off, that I understood. I hadn’t panicked about the weight of expectations placed on me by school, Dad, or my coach. I had seen Asher. Just that. Plain and simple. I had seen him in an unexpected light. I had seen him as someone who could become my best friend, my favorite company, my insecure ward in need of a big guy to protect him. I had seen him as someone I wanted to touch. To smell. To look at until sunset.
To kiss.
None of it happened, of course. Asher had pouted and fumed through the years we had spent together. The few passing attempts I had made had been met with daggers until I had given it up.
Two years ago, when Eileen had told me Asher was gay, it hadn’t been a surprise. I had always suspected — hoped? I wasn’t sure — that he was. And when it was out in the open, his blatant refusal to even talk to me about it was a clue. It’s none of your business, Jordan, I had told myself and lived with it. It wasn’t like I would do anything with the information if he had cared to share. I wouldn’t meddle in his love life.
But it was hard to keep the distance when he lived one door down the hall in the team house. And even harder when he insisted on having this silly style that could almost be categorized as a driving hazard. My gaze remained on the road, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his thighs. I’d glanced a few times, more because I had been pissed off at his window shenanigans than for any other reason, but I had seen the creamy skin of his bare thighs and the curve of his crotch packed in denim shorts. And now I couldn’t get these things out of my head.
I turned on the radio to kill this horrible silence. Asher could be mouthy when he felt like it, but he almost never felt like it when I was within hearing range. Asher sank lower in his seat and his knees spread further apart. He unhooked his dark brown sunglasses from the middle button of his shirt, stuck them on his face, and looked out of his window.
It gave me a chance to glance at him again. His cream shirt was well apart. It just covered his nipples, leaving the smoothly rounded inner curves of his pecs on display. The middle button of his shirt was done just under the center of his torso, and a silly wave of excitement passed through me when I thought of spending my summer break by the lake. I suspected I would pass by shirtless Asher this summer more than any summer before. Whatever had helped him overcome his fear of undressing around others was actually a blessing and a curse. It was why I no longer allowed myself to leave the shower without a towel. Just the thought of being naked in the same room as him made my face flush.
“What?” he spat in annoyance.
God, I hated him. “What ‘what?’”
“You’re wheezing and grinding your teeth,” Asher said. “You need to give me a heads-up if you’re about to fall over.”
I gritted my teeth harder and focused. “I can never tell if it’s your sense of humor or your neverending cynicism that I like the most about you.”
“Like about me? That’s rich.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps swelling under the shirt’s sleeves.
“I’m trying to do a nice thing here, Asher. The least you could do is be grateful.” He was an impossible guy. There was never anything I could do right. It always had to look like I was attacking him. I learned to keep my distance.
“I didn’t ask for this favor,” he said bluntly.
“Does it always have to be about owing someone something?” My hands gripped the wheel so hard I felt like I was about to break it. This was why I didn’t talk to him any more than I had to. Most of the time, it was easy to avoid it.
