7. Asher

SEVEN

It wasas bumpy as any truce could begin. Even though he had waved it off, I was acutely aware of the unspoken knowledge. Just seeing Jordan in passing made me think of it. And then it made me think of all the things that could be going through his head.

If he didn't almost trip and stumble every time we passed one another, I might have found a way to convince myself he wasn't actively thinking about it. But his behavior was enough of a clue. Jordan couldn't look at me without thinking about last night. Without remembering that he had caught me in the act.

The old Jordan I had known for years would have probably found a way to give me a lecture about it. This guy, however, kept his mouth shut. He was awkward as fuck, but then again, he had obviously caught me in the middle of the dirty act.

The thundering panic that had filled my chest had mixed with the height of pleasure that I had strived for and the bitter disappointment at being interrupted hadn't made for the best moment to have a heart-to-heart. It was lucky that Jordan was still in a good mood this morning, offering a few moments of peace.

I wanted it down to my marrow. I wanted him to look at me with something like approval in his eyes, with a touch of a smile on his lips.

But because all I was getting were folded lips and avoided glances, I decided to spend my morning swimming in the lake. Jordan must have been thinking the same thing, but he stayed behind.

I wore my yellow swim shorts. They were a size too small for my ass this year. I hadn't realized how much I had worked out, but it should have been obvious. Every time my big stepbro had annoyed me, I had taken the anger out on our campus gym equipment. I had worked my glutes hard for my first season of college hockey and I hadn't thought to check if my shorts still fit.

My muscles burned after some time. I didn't know how long I swam for. I plowed through the water, losing myself in the distance, then returning to shallower water. Back and forth, back and forth, I swam until I was exhausted. Last night, after the most awkward encounter of my life — only rivaled by my mom's idea that an STI presentation was a fun activity for a family night — I had been in no mood to give it another go. Jordan's hurried exit wasn't an aphrodisiac, all things considered, so I had tried sleeping. I hadn't had much luck with that, either.

My eyelids were heavy and my eyes grainy. I swam to the pier and climbed out of the water, then lay on my outstretched towel to dry slowly in the sunshine. The golden rays kissed my bare skin, lulling me with their warmth. I didn't know how it happened, but I woke up with a start and peeled my eyes open to see my big stepbrother towering over me.

"I hope you remembered your sunscreen," he said softly.

"Of course I did," I muttered, my voice groggy from sleep. Even so, I could feel the heat radiate from my body. If I woke up red as a crab tomorrow, I would never hear the end of it.

Jordan shut his mouth. I realized he wasn't being a smartass. It was a genuine concern. Still, I had only just woken up, so I appreciated that he cut me some slack for my tone.

"I didn't hear you approach," I said, softening my voice to a friendlier degree.

"I was just about to wake you up." His gaze skidded across my torso, then returned to my eyes. "I only just got here."

"Got food?" I asked. It took effort, but I cracked a smile.

Jordan's eyes widened for a brief moment. He licked his lips, then sadly shook his head. "I didn't think to bring any. But there are sandwiches in the fridge."

My stomach rumbled at the mention of sandwiches. Knowing him, they were probably low fat and with whole grain bread, but they had to be delicious. "Mind if I head back? I'm starving."

"No, of course not. Do what you want." Jordan leaned against the railing along the side of the pier. He gazed out in the distance, then looked back at me as I got up. His eyes landed on my tiny shorts, then dragged to my face.

I had been mistaken about these things before, but if I didn't know better, I would have assumed he was checking me out. Hardly, though. A guy who freaked out as much as Jordan over discovering that I was sexually active in the privacy of my own room wasn't likely to take an interest in me the next day. Especially not when we'd had years of missed opportunities.

Even so, I paused after a couple of steps because Jordan snatched the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. His muscles bunched and remained tense. He hung his shirt over the railing and then looked at me. "Would you mind leaving your towel? I forgot mine."

"Sure thing," I said, moving closer to him to hand him the towel. It was almost impossible not to look at the trimmed happy trail under his belly button or the light sweat over his chest. He was gorgeous from all angles. And when he undressed, even like this, it only made me think how much I wanted him to smother me under his muscles.

Damn my dirty mind. It was fun living with it as much as it was trouble.

When I had no more reason to stick around, I turned away from him and marched off the pier. I followed the trail and walked through the forest, then got out on the other side to follow a more visible trail to the house. When I was finally there, my hunger and my lust battled for my attention. But a survival instinct led me to the fridge first, and by the time I ate and washed the dishes, tiredness set in my muscles. I only managed to wash off the lake water before I crashed into my bed and fell asleep.

That intimate moment on the pier played itself in front of my eyes time and time again. I slept, but I dreamed, too. I dreamed of our fingers brushing. I dreamed of him tugging the towel closer and me not letting go. I dreamed of getting closer to him and letting our torsos touch.

When I woke up, it was much darker in the room than I had hoped. It was evening and I'd missed most of the day. My dick was awake before me, but the clinking of cutlery from downstairs was almost as tempting. Especially when I remembered who the guy setting the plates was.

You do better tonight, I told myself. Be nice even if it kills you. He deserved at least that much effort. Not that I would admit a great deal of wrongdoing. I had tried complimenting his cooking. Maybe there was some room for improvement, though.

I dressed a lot more casually than last night. When I joined Jordan downstairs, the lights in the room were dim, and music was coming softly from a portable speaker. He had lit the lamps that hadn't been in the dining room yesterday. Awkwardly, he turned around from setting the plates and looked at me. "I was wondering what would drag you out of your room."

"It smells nice," I said, taking a deep breath. "That's a good start."

He cracked a stiff smile.

I examined the dining table with a quick look. No candles, but there was the same bottle of wine as last night. I wasn't sure if I wanted to down a couple of glasses to take the edge off or stay away from the wine in case I descended into discussing last night's events while intoxicated. "You made the same dish," I pointed out with a smile.

"Tsk. I don't eat the same thing two days in a row," he said. "But it's similar. See if you like it."

My plate was full of pasta, mushrooms, and prosciutto, but the color wasn't the same. And it smelled a little different but just as good. I sat down and let Jordan pour us each a glass of wine. I wanted to ask what I'd done to deserve this pampering, but I feared he would take it the wrong way. Years of misunderstandings left us on shaky ground. Upon agreeing not to fire at each other, there was little I knew how to do with him. The only other thing I had ever done was look at him with poorly concealed attraction. If the mask of anger was removed, would my devious lust for him be laid out in the open?

I hoped we wouldn't find out tonight. But I had my wine despite the elevated risks. "This is nice," I said carefully.

"Can you imagine?" Jordan forced out a laugh. "Us having dinner with no stab wounds to show for it."

I snorted into my wine glass, splashing dark crimson liquid over my nose and upper lip. "Don't get ahead of yourself. We still have time for it." I fingered the knife and lifted one eyebrow at my stepbrother while wiping my lips with a napkin.

A twinkle flashed in his eyes. "Can you believe it, though? Seven years since I met you." He stabbed a few pieces of pasta and popped them into his mouth.

I took a bite, too, sliding the fork out of my mouth slowly and savoring the explosion of flavors in my mouth. It was a lot more sour and lemony, but also spicier than last night's dish. The same components were all there, but the flavors were different. "Shit. This is incredible," I huffed. "Huh? Seven years? Are you sure?" It only took me a second to do the math. I'd been thirteen when Mom had taken me to Disneyland. She had imagined that a weekend at the happiest place on the planet would help us bond. It hadn't. Jordan had gone on all the rides I was afraid of. The one that I had tried had left me dizzy and nauseous, so I'd only watched Jordan excitedly run toward the massive rollercoaster I was too scared and too sick to try.

Was I still holding a grudge after seven years? That couldn't be right. I stuffed my mouth with pasta to let myself process my annoyance.

It equally felt like seven years was far too long to be true and that I had known Jordan my whole life. It was hard to remember who I had been before his arrival.

"Wild," I said for the sake of saying something.

"It wasn't all that bad," Jordan said. It was a casual remark, but I wondered why he was saying it. Was he checking how I really felt about him? Did he think I hated him?

I shrugged. I could imagine a lot of things going much better. I could imagine him crossing the distance between our balcony doors and finding that mine wasn't latched. I could imagine the unreasonable ecstasy that would course through my veins if he placed his hands on my bare waist and pulled me in. I could almost feel the breathless pressure of getting trapped under his weight. "It wasn't," I agreed, my mouth dry. I sipped my wine, then cleared my throat. "Remember that time we built snow forts?" I asked.

He laughed.

A blanket of snow, three feet deep, had covered the sprawling area behind this house. We had come here for Christmas — one of the last truly snowy Christmases I recalled. Mom and George had decorated the house, although Jordan and I had helped with the tree. I was fifteen, so the help they got from me was reluctant. I had been in the "everything's bullshit" phase of my life. But while the interior smelled like baking cookies and Christmas songs chased off the deathly silence, Jordan and I happened to go out at the same time.

The whole thing had been a spontaneous game. The snow was thick and wet, perfect for sculpting, but we had already outgrown snowmen and such things.

I had been walking away from him when the world shook under my feet. Stars filled the blackness before my eyes, and icy needles pierced my skin as a snowball slammed the beany off my head and split into freezing pieces that slipped under my jacket and sweater.

Blind rage had fueled me in the instant that had followed. I had made a snowball the size of my fist and hurled it at Jordan with all the hatred I could gather. It almost took him off his feet when it smashed against his shoulder. He crouched and laughed out loud, shooting several snow missiles at me to set me fleeing. The next thing I knew, we were a dozen paces apart and on our knees, panicking between catapulting snowballs at each other and raising the snow walls.

I couldn't remember how long we had been at it. I only knew I had to sneak several paces back from my wall to get some good snow for more ammunition. As had Jordan. Our walls had thickened with all the necessary repairs and my muscles had burned so much that I knew I wouldn't be able to lift my Christmas presents the next morning.

"Who won?" I asked.

Jordan snickered. "If you can't remember, then it was me."

I bit down on my lower lip to avoid a silly smile. "Bullshit. I won, didn't I?"

Jordan laughed and shook his head. "Neither. Eileen stormed out yelling that it was Christmas Eve and we were behaving like animals. Couldn't we stop fighting just once in our lives?"

"Ironically, that was the best we ever got along," I said.

"True. The next year, you pushed me off the pier into the freezing water," Jordan said. His tone told me there were no hard feelings, but I was triggered by the blatant lie.

"It was an accident," I insisted. "I wasn't looking."

"I'm fucking with you," he said. "Even I know you're not that evil. Those planks had been a disaster waiting to happen."

My foot had fallen through a plank near the end of the pier. They had been rotting quietly for ages. In pulling my foot free, I had stumbled backward and slammed into Jordan, sending him over the edge to plunge into the freezing January lake. "You could also point out that I was the person who pulled you out."

"I could also point out that you didn't have a drop of water on your clothes when you dragged me out." He swirled his wineglass and sloshed a few sips down his throat. Greedy. I mimicked it before I knew I was doing it.

"It serves you right for ignoring me all summer before it happened," I said testily. He knew I didn't mean it. He was down with the worst cold of his life and we had returned to the city out of fear he might be developing pneumonia from the icy plunge.

"Ignored?" Jordan's humor faded away and concern welled in his eyes. Was he about to teach me a lesson about something? "What do you mean?"

I was still smiling, but the old insecurities rose quickly. "You and Beckett. He tagged along that summer. You two were inseparable, but there was no room for me." The wine soured in my mouth. I ate the rest of my pasta quickly in the awkward silence that settled between us. When he said nothing, I swallowed another couple of sips of wine and then met his intense gaze. "I'm not butthurt, Jordan. But it's true. I remember when you two made bows and arrows and ‘went hunting' when I stayed behind."

"I remember that," Jordan said. "You told everyone that morning you'd be reading until lunch."

I didn't want to discuss what I was actually doing. Not with Jordan or anyone. I was a sixteen-year-old virgin with two attractive boys sharing a bed in the room next to mine. Despite a spare bedroom, Jordan and Beckett had slept in the same bed for years when Beckett was here. Even though Beckett had been completely straight at the time and Jordan totally was, that didn't slow my imagination one bit. I'd spent so many hours fantasizing and pleasuring myself that I remembered doing little else that summer. I had been hurting more than ever, jealous that Beckett got to sleep next to Jordan as much as I was excited at the idea of what they might be doing in that bed.

"I thought you wanted to be left alone," Jordan said with a shrug.

To a degree, I had wanted just that. I had hated Jordan's easy friendship with Beckett. I had been so jealous of the way they cracked stupid jokes with one another. Even if they had invited me, I would have suspected a trap. "I don't know," I admitted. "I wanted to be included. And at the same time, I really didn't want it."

"I'm sorry, Asher," Jordan said carefully in a controlled, kind tone. "I didn't know that."

How would he know? He hadn't paid much attention to me beyond having to greet me in passing. Then again, I couldn't keep blaming him for that. "We're cool. It's been years, right? And we're starting over."

He lifted his glass and got up. "You know, Beckett and I always thought you wanted to get as far away from us as you possibly could."

"And I did," I said. "But only because I thought you didn't want me around. So I made it my choice."

Jordan's frown deepened. He gestured to the living room with his head and I got up to follow. We moved to the comfort of the spacious sofa while Jordan spoke. "I had no idea, Asher. I always thought you weren't interested in hanging out with me and my friends."

"Why?" I asked. I threw my arm over the back of the sofa, folded my leg under my butt, and turned to face my stepbrother.

Jordan rolled his shoulders as he shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, but I don't remember you being thrilled when I moved in."

I didn't know what to say. Was he even wrong? By the time Jordan and his dad moved in with us, I was crazy about this guy. His was the only name on my lips. I couldn't get him out of my mind. Welcoming him with open arms would have been as bad as admitting I wanted him. And to deny my disappointment when he moved in would be impossible without revealing what my true fears had been. "I didn't hate you," I said at last. "I didn't."

"I didn't hate you either," he said. "It's just…ah, can you blame us? We were barely more than children. Neither of us wanted the changes that happened."

I watched him as he poured more wine into his glass and drank. This was the first time I heard him admit that. And it was the first time I felt safe enough to admit the same. "That's true. I felt like Mom tricked me when she brought me down to meet you."

"Right? I told Dad the same. He warned me ten minutes before you and Eileen walked in. It wasn't fair." His voice was hoarse when he spoke the last few words. "I knew you existed. I just never thought I would meet you. Or have to live with you."

"Whoa, don't make it sound like a life sentence," I teased. "Besides, you had it good. Mom didn't even tell me about you or George. Not until we entered and I realized he was who she had been seeing all those months." I couldn't say more than that. I couldn't tell him that my heart had banged against my ribcage and that he had given me the most embarrassing public hard-on that had made me sit still and drag out drinking my milkshake long after everyone was done.

"I don't know, Asher. We had to sell the house," he said.

"Not this one," I pointed out.

Jordan laughed. "That's true. It's the only one that matters."

We shared a moment of silence. For once, it wasn't uncomfortable. "You love this place so much."

He tilted the glass and had a long sip of wine. He nodded before swallowing. I wanted to lick the taste of wine off his tongue if only I could. And to conceal what that thought did to my face, I did the same thing he did. I drank more. "I do love it," Jordan said. "And not just because Dad let me help build it. I love how remote it is. It's our slice of heaven."

"Far from prying eyes," I mused. The heat was rising to my face and I wasn't sure whether to blame my imagination or Jordan's choice of beverage. "So far out that nobody ever disturbed us."

Jordan was silently watching his wine before meeting my gaze with his questioning eyes. "You talk like you have something to hide from."

A lapse of judgment. It was my own doing. I sucked my teeth and shook my head. My hair flapped left and right. "Nothing to hide here. I'm not nearly as mysterious as you'd think."

"I doubt that," Jordan said seriously. "Everyone's got secrets."

"Not me," I insisted.

"Liar."

"What? You don't believe me?" I demanded. "Just because you're hiding something doesn't mean everyone else is."

He looked at me sternly. "Not hiding." The words were clipped and focused. "But you can't tell me you have no secrets at all."

I was getting increasingly dizzier with alcohol. "We're not teenage girls on a sleepover, Jordan," I said, defensive annoyance plain in my tone. "If there's something you want to ask, ask. I'm not hugging pillows and talking about secret crushes with you."

"Whoa, alright," Jordan said, leaning back. His legs were folded under his ass, his shorts pulling up as he tilted his torso back. Damn him. The move pulled the fabric of his shorts tightly over his crotch and I reminded myself for the millionth time that I could bet anything he was hung. What a goddamn waste. I wouldn't call myself a size queen simply because it wasn't something I chased, but I was gifted with a high tolerance for those early moments of discomfort and a body that allowed a lot of fun with above-average sizes. Hung guys struggled to find someone like me. "What?" Jordan asked.

I realized then that I had been staring at the bulging outline of his dick and balls. "I'm drunk."

"Oh." Silence. It lasted for what felt like hours. Was he disappointed that I had gotten drunk? Or was he critical that I would allow myself this lack of control? I wasn't twenty-one yet, which Jordan had pointed out last night. More quietly, he said, "Maybe you should go to bed."

I looked at him and we stopped. Everything stopped. Whether it was the subdued lights, the alcohol, or the dangerous line we were treading in our conversation, I felt like there was something happening between us. Not even in an abstract way. I felt something literal. There was a heaviness in the air. There was a pulse between us, like the base from the speaker, beating, brewing, tingling.

We sat far enough apart that I couldn't even consider accidentally brushing my bare knee against his, but I suddenly longed to scoot closer and carelessly put my hand on his leg. Would he freak out the same way he had last night?

Jordan swallowed, holding my gaze evenly. He didn't blink. He didn't move. His lips parted a little and his tongue flicked across them quickly.

Maybe you should come to bed with me, I thought. Tuck me in. Kiss me goodnight. Walk to the door, then change your mind. Cross the room like a lightning bolt. Tear the blanket off of me. Turn me around and push my face into the pillow to muffle my moans. I wheezed a breath of air into my burning lungs. "I guess I should," I said.

Jordan nodded.

I set my glass on the table and shifted away from him. When I got up, I didn't want my crotch in his field of vision. The embarrassment would kill me. Even worse, I knew he wouldn't do a damn thing about it. He wouldn't make a move. He wouldn't find it sexy. And I would have to live with another proof he didn't find me attractive.

"Unless…" Jordan's voice trailed off and I quickly flung my head around to look at him. He shrugged. "Maybe you wanna play some basketball on the PS."

"Sure," I said before I even thought about it.

A dazzling sparkle flickered in his eyes as he hopped off the sofa and fired up the console. In a minute, he had the loading screen on. He handed me the second joystick and I thanked all the gods out there. It was the best solution to tonight's problems. I didn't want to part ways just yet, but I didn't want to be subjected to his curiosities any longer.

So, we played. We played late into the night, joking the same way I had heard him joke with Beckett all those years, cursing and teasing and vowing vengeance for each point lost. We played until my thumbs were sore. Those were the best hours I had ever spent with Jordan Mitchell.

More than once, we jumped off the sofa in the heat of the moment, and flailing, our knees touched. Jordan must have realized that such abrupt contact of his body with mine distracted me enough to give him an advantage. He once pressed his entire leg against mine and kept bumping it until I completely lost my focus. And just then, I was glad to let him win. I would let myself be distracted by his bare legs as much as he was willing to tease me.

That night, for once, we had a good thing happening.