8. Jordan

EIGHT

Days of blissfollowed our peace treaty, although it might have been a stretch to call them that. They were good days nonetheless. They were fun days. And we kept them that way by the sheer force of will. We refused to have a serious conversation. We steered clear of any sort of criticism or even advice.

Undoubtedly, I wanted all the best for Asher, but I was starting to realize that he might know better what was good for him. It wasn't my place to nudge and push him. Not now, at least. Not when things were going just fine.

We didn't stretch the limits of how long we could keep this thing going. We microdosed our time together. It became a habit to leave hot coffee in the pot for him, then wonder if it would spoil by the time he dragged himself out of bed. And when he came down to claim his prize for waking up, I wondered how heated his body still was from sleeping. I wondered if he had made his bed before coming down or if it was a cozy mess of his body's heat, a burrow of comfort.

The days were hot and lazy. The lake was inviting. Beckett and Caden were stressed out of their minds and Nate Partridge was hard to handle. Harder still on the day they released him from the hospital. He dragged a dark cloud wherever he went and nobody could blame him.

Dad called daily to update us on the progress. The pipe was fixed, but it required parts of the wall to be removed. When they would do that, they found even more parts that were damp. They were treating the inner side one day and reconstructing the wall another. Dad didn't get into the details, but from the exhausted tone he used, I figured there was tension all around.

"When are you coming, then?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said with a long sigh. "I don't have the faintest idea. It'll be up to Eileen."

My guts knotted. I didn't want to get involved when I couldn't do anything to help. And I especially didn't want to get involved in a situation that would pit me against Asher once again. If I delved deeper into the tension between them, I would have to tell Asher what was up. And if there was discord between our parents, then there would be discord between us. It wouldn't be the first time. Married couples had disagreements; their respective children mimicked them. And while I didn't know if we would still fall into those bad habits, I didn't want to test it.

The truth was, I enjoyed spending these moments with Asher.

After the first night of playing games, we did more of the same. Sitting next to him on the sofa, cans of beer on the coffee table in front of us, and his scent in my nostrils became my favorite evening ritual.

At times, I would forget myself and look at him for too long. He would grow so still that somewhere in the depths of my mind I knew he was aware of my gaze. He let me look. Knowingly or not, he always let me look at him. And when our limbs touched by chance, my breath hitched. There was no way he couldn't hear it. But I was far too tempted to let things continue like this to worry much about restraint. Even the risk element seemed more exciting than I'd anticipated.

How long could my knee be touching his before he moved it away? Before he suspected something? There were times when I held my breath and waited for him to call me out. Would he be disgusted by me? Or would he melt into me like I dreamed? I feared to find out, but I longed to have that answer.

To his credit, Asher did the dishes while I did the cooking, and he brought a pretty good mood to our dinners.

There were moments, as ever, when a wrong word made us both tense. There were moments when we stood at a crossroad, having to choose peace over chaos. Going down memory lane wasn't easy. Too many of those memories were soaked in hurt and pining for me. Too many summers around him had felt like hell because of his proximity and his blatant dislike of me. Too many times had I chosen to keep my distance in order to protect this thing we called family.

On the fifth night of our truce, I went out of my way. That morning, I discovered I'd forgotten to charge my phone, so it was dead. I plugged it in and left it behind. It was hotter than expected, so I stayed indoors. There was no stopping Asher, though, who had burned despite the sunscreen on his first trip to the lake. He was lucky that I had found him when I had. He avoided the peeling skin in a matter of minutes. His skin now had a bronze tan and it was hard not to lose myself in gazing at him.

Partly out of boredom at being holed up inside and partly to impress him with no end goal in mind, I prepared an elaborate dinner. For starters, I prepared a quick and delicious Mediterranean quinoa salad using a pre-packaged frozen medley of bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, and cucumber. Tossed with pre-cooked quinoa and a sprinkle of feta cheese, it offered a vibrant and nutritious kick-off to our meal.

Moving on to the main course, I chose frozen wild-caught salmon fillets. I seasoned them with a zesty blend of herbs before grilling them to perfection. Alongside the salmon, I served roasted sweet potato fries and a side of steamed broccoli.

I topped things off with a medley of frozen berries in a bowl and a drizzle of honey for dessert.

While cooking, I had seen Asher pass through the house and heard him shower upstairs. Since the first night's incident, he had kept the bathroom floor dry and clean, although I felt bad for making him do that. I mean, it was the right thing to do, but I didn't want him doing it just because I'd said so. Then I reminded myself not to overthink it. Deep breaths.

When he joined me in the dining room, which I lit with lamps and candles for the winning combo — and not to make it look like a date! I was only creating a cozy atmosphere — Asher's appearance made me pause.

He wore gray pants that were lightly checkered with a darker shade of gray and that framed his ass to absolute perfection. His shirt was a white, billowy thing with a Russian collar, rolled sleeves, and fitted to hug his shoulders and back snugly, but he had left the upper half unbuttoned, and the stiff placket made a wide opening to reveal his chest. In an instant, I knew it was meant to be worn that way. The beady black buttons along the upper part of the placket were purely decorative. Asher couldn't button the shirt over his chest if he tried anyways. It was too tight. Paired with a dark gray belt around his waist and a minimal silver belt buckle, he looked like a million dollars. He'd styled his hair a little, too, making it wavy and slightly curly. His strong jawline was stiff and his tanned cheeks smooth and shining like bronze. He placed his hands inside his pockets, but several of his leather and string bracelets clustered along his lower forearm. His watch was on his right wrist and I remembered he was a leftie when the thought to correct him crossed my mind.

"What?" Asher asked.

I realized I was staring. "Oh, nothing. You dressed up."

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and shrugged. "I figured I might make an effort. Three courses, huh?"

"Four if you want some cheese first," I said and pulled a napkin off a tray of sliced hard cheese. "Why the effort?" I asked with honest curiosity.

Something danced in Asher's eyes. "I could ask you the same." He looked at the dining table.

Because I want you to think I'm nice, I thought. Whatever I'd done to inspire this look, I felt two conflicting things about it. For one, I was deeply grateful. I could feast my eyes on his smooth, bare chest all night long. I could devour him with my eyes. I could memorize every line and crease of his shirt and every curve of his body. But on the opposite end, I was terrified. Why did he have to be so provocative? He didn't even know what he was doing to me, yet he was leaving me stunned every time he blinked.

"Take a seat," I said softly. I didn't want to sound too commanding with him. He had some mild issues with authority that I was becoming aware of. It was yet another reason I was never meant to do anything more with him than what we had already been doing. I was a pretty authoritative person in any situation, but even more so behind closed doors and with the lights off.

As was becoming a custom, I popped the cork out of a wine bottle and poured us each a glass. Suddenly, I felt awkward wearing my course jean shorts and a low hanging sleeveless T-shirt. "Gimme a sec, alright?"

Asher nodded and became interested in the label on the wine bottle.

I hurried upstairs and rummaged through my wardrobe. The house was cool unlike the outside, the AC humming perpetually all day long, so I found a pair of dark green chinos and a light cream shirt. I strapped on my wristwatch to show off, tucked my shirt in, did all the buttons up except the top one, then undid one more. The shirt was tight, and so were the pants, but I decided to put up with it for the sake of good looks. Why? I didn't want to consider it. Maybe I just didn't like being outmatched. Maybe I wanted us to be on even ground. And maybe I was pushing my luck and testing the limits of how far I could take this thing before it looked like flirting.

I returned downstairs slowly. The closer I got, the more unsure I was about this. What did all this effort say about me? What did it mean to panic-change into my best-fitting clothes when I saw how unmistakably hot he was?

But I didn't have long to consider it. I descended the stairs and turned left into the dining room to Asher's surprised look.

"What do you think?" I asked and feigned casual confidence by outstretching my arms and giving him a spin.

He took a moment before replying. "That's a nice fit." His hand walked the table to his wine glass. He lifted it without taking his eyes off of me and pressed the edge against his lips. He took a long sip before speaking again. "You look great." There was something awkward about the way he said those words, so I hurried to sit down.

"I hope dinner's not cold," I said and cleared my throat. I couldn't resist shooting him another glance over the candles and letting my eyes take in the sight. His fine chest, his pronounced Adam's apple, his defined jaw, his high cheekbones. How could anyone look like that and be single at the age of twenty?

"This is good shit," Asher said eloquently about the wine.

"Good. We're going to deplete the cellar," I said.

He chuckled. "Honestly, I can't believe you're not throwing a hissy fit that I'm drinking."

I held my breath for a moment or two. "Frankly, I'm surprised, too." That made him laugh, although I hadn't completely joked about it. "Here's the thing. There's no avoiding booze. They don't exactly have tight policies at the Thinker and we've all been freshmen at some point."

Asher pretended he was shocked while chewing a bit of cheese. "Are you telling me the great Jordan Mitchell broke laws in his heyday?"

I snorted. "My heyday is still ahead of me, kid."

"Call me that again, and I'll kick your ass, dear brother," he said. And even though I knew he was joking, I tensed and felt a wave of panic wash over me. Brother. I drank to hide the shock on my face. We were not brothers. We were not even stepbrothers the way others were. I had made sure of that. On paper, yes, but not even an iota more than that had happened to form any such bond. The years of distance and the efforts to suppress my longing to bond with him in any way seemed so pointless when he spoke those words.

"Let's eat," I said dryly and served the starter. Though delicious, the food did nothing to fix my mood or my pounding heart. We ate quietly and Asher made small talk a couple of times. I engaged a bit, but I couldn't focus.

He was not my relative. And despite Dad and Eileen's efforts, Asher was not my stepbrother. When I had looked him in the eyes one night and told him he was nothing to me, it was a lie. But it was better than the truth. You are my everything. You are all I want and can't have. You're the dreams I dream and the song I hear in total silence. You're my happy place, but I can't let you find that out.

Asher went quiet after a time. He praised my cooking, as he had every night before, and drank more than with any dinner so far. Then again, I was drinking, too. I opened the second bottle while we snacked on the berries but left my bowl half-finished and suggested we go to the smaller terrace behind the house.

He followed silently through the kitchen and out the back door. We set the freshly opened bottle on the wooden table and crashed into the matching wooden terrace chairs with soft cushions. The air was still warm and humid, but occasional gusts of wind rustled the leaves in the massive forest that surrounded us.

The music Asher played us from his phone blasted loudly as we drank.

"I was joking," he said in a tight voice. "About kicking your ass."

I snorted and looked at him. "For real? I was shaking."

He pouted and my heart tripped. How could he be so cute when he thrust his lips out like that? What arcane hex was this? "You got all weird," he pointed out. "Besides, I could stand my ground against you."

I threw my head back and laughed. "Don't tempt me, Asher, or I'll wrestle you this instant."

"In these fine clothes?" he gawked.

I sent him a determined look to make him understand I wasn't kidding. "I'm a neat-freak athlete who knows how to remove a stain."

He shook his head. "I'm not rolling in the grass with you."

"There's a surprise." I hid my cheeky smirk behind the glass.

"Ha-ha. You think I couldn't fight back, huh? Because I could. I've been working out for years, Jordan. And even if you could take me down, I'd make you work for it." He threw his head back and poured the rest of the wine down his throat.

I matched his gesture, then got up. "Go on."

He huffed. "This is a new shirt."

I reached to unbutton mine. "It won't run away if you leave it on the chair."

He looked at me with glassy eyes and pink cheeks. "Are you serious?" His voice was airy all of a sudden as I pulled the hem of my shirt out of my pants and shrugged it all off. I threw mine on the chair. "You are. You're fucking serious."

"Afraid?" I teased. Stop this. Stop this right now. But I was past listening to the voice of reason. My conscience had never done me any good. It wasn't like there was something wrong with this. Guys wrestled. It was a thing that happened. Right? Yes.

My prodding angered Asher enough to jump up on his feet and yank his pretty shirt out of his pants, then undo the buttons from the middle of his torso down. He threw it off his body and over the chair, then marched onto the lawn after me. "This is ridiculous, Jordan."

I cracked a grin. The level of excitement I felt was the only ridiculous thing around here. His bare torso was kissed by the moonlight. My chest felt tight and my palms slick, but I wasn't quitting now. "You're so gonna lose," I growled, the amusement in my voice unmistakeable.

"You're gonna regret this," he warned me in a distant, soft voice. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe what was happening. His chest was rising and falling with each deep breath he drew and released.

He tensed as I leaned forward. The grass was soft under my socks. Luckily I was fucking drunk because this would have been my nightmare in a sober state. He was right to worry about the stains, but I couldn't make myself care right now. I had the chance to hold him and a big excuse to cover up the desperate longing that drove me to this.

Asher clamped his teeth around his lower lip and worked his anger to a blazing level. I'd seen him do that before games. It made him a force on the ice. But I wasn't afraid.

What happened next wasn't planned. No rules of a fair fight bound us. We took off like we were in a race, arms outstretched and all the force in our legs propelling us forward. When our chests clashed, I wrapped my big arms around his significantly lither frame, trapping his arms almost effortlessly in a heartbeat.

"Fuck," he grunted, his head trapped in the nook of my neck. He wrapped his arms around my torso and held his ground firmly. To feel his heated hands on my back was something out of a dream. His muscled chest on mine, his tensing abs against my stomach, and the light sweat that couldn't dry in this humidity made my brain spin.

Asher growled and grunted. He cursed and jerked. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break free of my hold. My arms locked around him, but his heels dug into the lawn and wouldn't give an inch. However hard I swayed him, he wasn't falling.

Somehow, Asher managed to lift his right leg and toss it behind my left, kicking his heel into the tendons behind my knee and making me trip. I lost my balance, but I didn't lose my grip. In the next instant, I knew I should have released him. But it was too late. We tumbled down to the ground and Asher collapsed over me. He couldn't support my weight no matter how strong he thought he was. He fell over me with a smug grin on his face, his crotch smashing against mine in the process and kicking a grunt out of me.

But he was celebrating too quickly. I thrashed and twisted, rolling to my side and carrying Asher with me. The cackle of glory he was just letting out turned into a curse and a growl of despair. I pinned him down, although he didn't make it easy. His legs flailed, and he tried lifting his hips to prolong the fight, but he only ground his body against mine, writhing under me, rubbing his hot torso against mine, and gasping for air. I managed to trap his legs under mine, practically sitting on his thighs, and lifted my torso away from him. It pained me to break the contact I had craved for so long, but I was on the verge of victory. I yanked his arms up and crossed his wrists, pinning them down with one hand far above his head. He jerked again, but he could do nothing.

"Submit, Asher," I demanded.

"No," he gasped. He twisted his hips but failed to make any significant room for maneuvering.

"Submit," I insisted, bringing my face closer to his.

Wine was present on his sweet breath when he huffed, "Stop fucking saying that."

"Why?" I asked. I dug my fingers into his ribcage and made him coil and yelp.

"Not fair," he cried. "You're tickling me."

"Why?" I asked again. "Submit. Go on."

"Stop saying that word," he spat angrily.

"Why?" I laughed at how useless his movements were all the while fearing closer contact. He couldn't imagine the things this was doing to me and I was determined to leave it only in my imagination.

"Because it's fucking turning me on!" The words were like bell chimes. They rang hollowly through my head. My mouth dried and I froze for a long moment, gazing into his eyes. He was breathing hurriedly, chest rising and falling and rising and falling. The air hissed through his clenched teeth. Sparks of hatred blazed in his eyes. His lips were wet, pulled over his teeth to bare them, red like the most delicious, ripe apples I'd ever seen. Or like blood.

I released him and pulled back. My heart was beating faster than if I'd played three periods on the ice without a break. I scrambled to my feet and turned away from him. Panic clamped around my heart, making it hard to breathe. It was like a steel claw had grabbed my torso and tried to crush me.

Asher's pleading voice was a mix of hurt and anger. "It's not like that," he blurted. I heard him getting up. "I didn't mean it like that."

"What did you mean?" I asked in a low, breathless voice.

My stomach was hollow. My crotch was on fire. I longed to hold him for just another moment. But if there was even an ounce of truth to what he had said, I needed to be the responsible one. I needed to keep us at a distance.

If I caved, there would be no stopping the disaster that followed.

"Nothing," he said tightly and slapped my shoulder to turn me around. "Look at me. It's nothing. I meant nothing."

I blinked. It was hard to look at his face. Harder still was not looking at his bare torso. I realized how pissed my expression was.

"What do you want?" he yelled. "You were laying on top of me. It's a physical reaction. It doesn't mean anything."

In all fairness, he did tell me to stop. But my tongue was tied as I weighed the horror of the consequences against the pleasures in which we might indulge.

"Nah," he said bitterly. "Don't give me this straight dude bullshit, Jordan. If you're so insecure about yourself, why the fuck did you insist on wrestling? You can't be that surprised a gay guy got a hard-on from lying under you." He spat those words out like an insult — like he wanted to shock me — but I could only hear the admission that he had gotten hard. Despite all my practice to steer clear of him, my gaze dropped in search of his hardness. The bulge was impossible to miss, clenching my heart in fear and dangerous excitement. "Don't fucking make me feel guilty about it, asshole." A plea. Panic. "You don't get to start this bullshit and then get on your fucking high horse. You're not better than everyone else."

"Stop talking," I whispered. I gazed into his hurt eyes. I looked at his quivering lips.

"I refuse to feel guilty about it," he went on. "If anyone's wrong here, it's you. I told you I didn't want to fucking wrestle you. And now you're freaking out. Like you freaked out the other night. Well, guess what? I have needs like everyone else."

"Asher, shut up," I snapped. The corners of my lips trembled. I wasn't sure if I was about to laugh or cry. But Asher's eyes were teary and his lips were curving down.

I wasn't freaking out at all. The air returned to my lungs. My heart beat fast, but only because it was pumping unfiltered joy to all the cells in my body.

"I won't shut up," Asher continued, his voice trembling. "You had to fucking ruin it. And you're gonna tell everyone and I'll be the fucking freak who has a hard-on for his stepbrother. Jesus Fucking Christ! What have I done?"

Guilt. Shame. Longing. I knew all these things that played across his face. I knew the crystal beads of tears well enough. I knew the streaks they left on your face. And I knew the fear of being caught.

"So what if I'm kinda into you?" he demanded. He erratically moved between panic and accusation. He threw blame at me, then freaked out over his part in it. He stepped closer and lifted his fists like he was about to fight me. "It's not like you would notice. I had to fucking tell you to stop because you can't get your head out of your ass for one hot minute and see how dangerous it was to wrestle. You never think. For all the lectures and bullshit you gave me, you never think." He flailed one fist toward my chest, but I caught it, then grabbed his other wrist and waited for him to look into my eyes. "I'll never hear the fucking end of this, will I?"

"You're into me?" I asked. Happiness blossomed inside of me to an impossible degree.

"See?" he whimpered. "You're doing it already. Just fucking don't." His voice cracked again. He cleared his throat and searched for an insult, this temperamental, bratty stepbrother of mine. "If your straight ass can't handle it, you should ask yourself…hmpf…"

My lips slammed against his before I knew what I was doing. Every part of me was on fire. I had no control over my actions. I could barely follow my thoughts. And when I felt it, the softness of his lips on mine, I wondered how I had survived without them all these years.

I kissed him roughly, swallowing the few meek protests before he settled into my arms and parted his lips for more. He kissed me back, sighing with such sweet relief that I wasn't sure my heart could handle it.

Again, I kissed him, mouth opening and air flowing between us. I kissed him with all the hunger of the years that had passed. I kissed him like I wanted to compensate for all the times when I could have been kissing him but wasn't.

I released his wrists, and he coiled his arms around my torso, pressing our bodies together. There was no mistaking the truth in the words he had said at the start. I was turning him on. I was turning him on hard. But the feeling was mutual.

Could I believe it? Mutual!

He grunted and rose on his toes, kissing me harder. "What the fuck?" he murmured over my lips.

I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to explain. I thrust my tongue into his mouth and his tongue met it eagerly. All the sensations heightened. I could taste the wine on him. I could smell his cologne.

My fingers ran through his rich, honey-brown hair and I gripped a fistful on the back of his head. I pressed us closer, wrapping my other arm around his body and holding him tight. Releasing him wasn't an option. I needed him. He was my everything in this instant. He was everything I had dreamed about.

I'd stopped breathing again. When? I was dizzy with desire and growing with all the feelings I had harbored in secret all these years.

When Asher whimpered against my lips, his face pressed hard against mine and his mouth open wide, we pulled our heads back.

We stared at each other. Shock rippled across his face. His eyes grew in wonder and surprise. Something tugged at my heart this way and that, leaving me unsure of everything I had ever believed to know.

"What…was that?" he whispered.

I swallowed fearfully. "I want you. I've wanted you. For the longest time, Asher."

He moved his hips to check how true my words were, I was sure. He bit his lip briefly when he felt how hard I was.

"I didn't know you were…"

"I never told you," I admitted, my heart leaping in my chest. "I was afraid to say. Afraid you wouldn't…"

"Jordan, are you gay?" He tightened his hold on my arms, his heated body pressing hard against mine. It was like he didn't want to separate from me, but he couldn't believe my words either.

"Bi," I explained, wondering why we weren't kissing.

"And you were into me?" His voice thinned and grew higher at that.

I nodded. "For longer than you can imagine." I wanted to lean in. I wanted to open my mouth and taste him again. I wanted to be done with explaining and busy kissing him. I had waited for so long.

"All this time…" His whisper carried a note of bitterness, but it was drowned under the squeaky excitement and surprise that was still on his face. "Jordan."

I licked my lips. "I want to kiss you, Ash." I leaned in and waited for him to close the distance between us. And he did, albeit carefully. Everything faded away. I kissed him harder still, our tongues battling and exploring each other's mouths. The action grew quicker and hotter with each passing moment. And so did my needs. Kissing him wasn't enough anymore. I needed to touch him. To feel all of him. I needed to cradle him and cuddle him, to carry him in my arms, and to pin him to the ground.

I grabbed his hips and pressed his crotch against mine so hard that he moaned into my mouth. "Yes," he hissed a moment later. He bit my lip and pulled his head back, then slammed our faces together again.

We made out harder and faster, impatience growing in us both equally. If he wanted half the things I did, this summer wouldn't be long enough to do them.

My hands were busy exploring his body as we slowly moved toward the house. In a few steps, we were on the terrace, and I was pushing Asher toward the wall. His bare back pressed against it and my hands crossed his muscled torso. I felt all the curves and ridges of his muscles, water running to my mouth with the need to lick him.

Asher threw his arms around my neck and hopped up, his legs coiling around my waist. He was lighter than I'd expected. And when I pressed him against the wall again, his big, peachy ass settled on my crotch. He was exactly where I had wanted him all along. He was where I had dreamed of having him.

"Are you sure?" Asher whispered.

I panted between our kisses, then murmured, "I've never been so sure about anything in my life."

That triggered something wild inside of him. He kissed me ferociously. My lips, my cheeks, my chin. He kissed and licked and sucked, grinding his body against mine like he had been starved for my touch and was just served a buffet. His moans grew just as my panting quickened.

Asher threw his head back and I kissed the length of his neck. I licked his Adam's apple and reached as low as his collarbones.

"Fuck," he cried. "Don't stop."

Every dream of mine was coming true. I saw myself carrying him upstairs, throwing him on my bed, and submitting him to an entire night of pleasure.

I couldn't remember ever being this happy.

I didn't know what happened first. At the moment, it almost felt like Asher pushed me harshly back and fell on his feet before anything else. But that couldn't have been right. The music must have been cut off first. How else would he have known to push me?

The whole world spun and shattered. A black vignette narrowed my vision. I stumbled back as Asher whispered a curse. My heart thrashed in my chest.

"Boys?" Eileen called.

I hadn't heard a thing. Not the car. Not the door. I hadn't listened. My senses had been focused on Asher in every way that I hadn't even considered this.

"Are you upstairs?" she asked.

"We're here," Asher said in a shaky, rough voice. He kept his glassy gaze locked onto mine.

I was dazed. Not one thing made sense in my head.

We'd left the speaker in the living room to blast the music loud enough to hear outside. Of course, we couldn't hear the door or Dad's electric car. It was like we'd tried to get caught.

Asher broke our eye contact, realizing I was as useful as a dirty, wet towel. He crossed the terrace to grab his shirt, threw mine to me, and began buttoning himself up.

I followed his lead, but slowly. My fingers were numb. I missed the buttons. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. And then, the anger flooded me. A deep, animalistic torrent of frustration lifted me off my feet and carried me with it. I wanted to cry and fight and smash things.

Eileen poked her head through the back door and gave a tired smile. "My boys," she said, her long hair swaying as she walked toward Asher and threw her arms around him. "I'm so happy to finally see you." She gestured for me to come and join the hug. I did, but I wanted to weep. I hugged her and felt the heat of Asher's body on mine when I hugged him too. "George couldn't get that pipe fixed without ruining half the bathroom. I was desperate to see you. Are you alright? Did you have everything you needed?"

"We're fine," I said, although I didn't know how. I shuddered with the spilling need to travel back in time, to start it sooner, to have him and kiss him and fuck him and hold him. But he was tense now and it filled me with fear.

Dad walked through the kitchen with an innocent smile on his face. "There wasn't another way, Eileen," he said.

"You keep saying, but I've told Marrie, and she swears she had the same thing happen to her. They ended up taking off four tiles and the whole thing was done in an afternoon." Eileen released us. I glanced at Asher, but he wasn't looking at me.

"You're here now," I said. It took all the strength I had to say the rest. "That's all that matters."

Eileen was visibly tired as she exhaled. Dad approached and hugged Asher and me in turn. He winked at me as if to say everything was fine. But I felt like nothing could ever be fine again.

Panic rose in me like a flare torch. What had we done? We could have wrecked four lives in one heated moment? And for what? For being horny and drunk enough to cave in.

"Honestly, I'm a little drunk," Asher said.

Eileen frowned at him.

He just shrugged. "Sorry. I guess I lost control."

"Off to bed with you," Eileen said. "We'll catch up tomorrow when you feel better." She pecked his cheek and shook her head at me like it was my fault. It was. I shouldn't have let him drink. And I shouldn't have stuck my tongue down his throat, either.

My heart pumped blood, but that was the extent of its duties. I felt nothing. The bitter taste on my tongue was a bit of disappointment and a big serving of guilt.

"I think I'll head to bed, too," I said. "We got carried away with your wine."

Dad laughed and tapped my shoulder encouragingly, but all I could think about was the disgust on his face if he had seen me a minute earlier.

Eileen sighed, but that didn't stop her from picking up the bottle and pouring some wine into a used glass, then bringing it to her lips. She plopped down into the chair just as I slipped into the house.

Asher wasn't in my field of vision. By the time I reached the stairs, I heard his door shut and the key turn in the lock.

Good. One less temptation.

So I shut myself in my room and buried my face in a pillow. I wanted to scream, but I only growled.