Luca
The next coupleof weeks fly by for me. I’m busy studying for finals and getting ready for the trip home for Christmas break this weekend. There hasn’t even been time to obsess over what happened with Branson at our parents’ house.
I still do, though.
There’re so many emotions swimming around my mind every day that I don’t know which one to latch on to.
Embarrassment, for the way I behaved when he soothed me after I had that nightmare. And again, for when I stormed out of the house like a child.
Elation, for finally getting to taste him, for feeling his hard cock against mine, even if it was only through our clothes.
Mortification, for how Sarah found us immediately after. My dick was still solid in my pants, and I can’t stop worrying that she saw. The situation was awkward enough, due to the fact that we were outside in the middle of the night, in a snowstorm, in just t-shirts and pants. I can only imagine what she was thinking.
Lastly, the guilt. I feel guilty for not only kissing him, but for enjoying it so much. I have a girlfriend. I’ve had a girlfriend for several years now, and in the blink of an eye, I forgot all about her. Because if I’m being honest with myself, she wasn’t on my mind the entire night.
Not when his lips were on mine.
Not when his hand was stroking my cock through my pants.
Certainly not when I got back to my room and fucked my fist feverishly until I came all over myself, moaning Branson’s name.
The next morning, though, yeah. I thought about her then. About how hurt she would be, how hurt I would be if she did this to me, but also about how no matter how bad I feel, I still want to do it over and over again.
We’ve seen each other a few times since I got back, but we haven’t had sex. I can’t fuck her when it’s my stepbrother’s hands I really want all over me.
I need to end things with her once and for all. I’m basically stringing her along at this point, but something keeps holding me back. I think it’s the knowledge—and fear—that nothing is ever going to come from these feelings I harbor for him. Ending my relationship with Courtney isn’t going to start my relationship with Branson. That realization guts me, but that’s no reason to stay with her. Not getting to be with him doesn’t make me want to be with her any more.
The time for overthinking is over now, because Courtney is going to be here any minute. She wants to come over and watch the new Marvel movie together, and I agreed. I think I’m going to end it tonight. I’ve been drinking all afternoon because I’m nervous about breaking up with her, and because Branson isn’t home. I think he might be out with a guy. I have no real reason to think that other than the fact that I know Knox and Weston are out of town right now, and they’re usually the only people he hangs out with.
I can’t stop picturing him with another man, his hands all over him, his tongue running all over his body, him moaning someone else’s name. The thoughts make me equally want to puke and punch something—or someone.
The front door opens and closes, letting me know Courtney is here. She has a spare key because one time all of us guys forgot our keys at home when we went to a frat party, and Weston ended up having to scale the house and jump through the bathroom window. It was hilarious to watch, but we wanted to make sure it never happened again.
“Hi, babe,” Courtney says as she places a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Hey, I’m making a quesadilla. You want one?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll get the movie pulled up.”
She leaves me to finish making the food, and I secretly take another shot to calm my nerves. The food’s almost done when I hear the front door open and close again. Not knowing who that could be, I round the corner, my gaze instantly finding Branson’s deep brown eyes.
Shit.
I have purposely not hung out with Courtney at home because I didn’t want to be around them both at the same time. How am I supposed to break up with her while he’s here? He’ll know it’s because of him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I live here?”
“I know that.” I feel my face flush and I’m suddenly sweating. “I mean, weren’t you on a date?” The second that leaves my mouth, I regret it. There’s absolutely no reason to think he was on a date. I sound so fucking jealous.
The look on his face is amused for all of three seconds, then quickly turns confused. Cocking his head to the side, he replies, “No? Who said I was on a date?”
“N-no one. I assumed.”
Shut your fucking mouth, Luca. You are making it worse.
“I was at the frat house, helping Cash build some furniture.”
I’m an idiot.
Courtney clears her throat and chooses now to insert herself into our conversation. “We’re about to watch the new Marvel movie. Want to join us?”
That’s weird… Why is she being so nice to him?
I give him a pointed stare that I hope says “say no,” but he either isn’t hearing what my eyes are yelling at him, or he doesn’t care, because he smiles and agrees.
Jesus. This’ll be interesting.
We somehow make it through the whole movie without any awkwardness. I kind of hope Courtney goes home soon. My nerves are shot from having them both in the same room. I keep sneaking glances at Branson and he keeps catching me.
Courtney interrupts my thoughts. “Jessica knows of a party at the sorority tonight. Want to go?”
“Not really. I kind of want to stay home, but you should go.”
“What? Why don’t you want to go? It’ll be fun, Luca. Please come.”
“I said no, Courtney. I’m not going, but I want you to.” She’s fucking bugging me.
“Whatever, Luca. You never want to fucking do anything lately. I’ll see you later, I guess.”
A weight is lifted off my shoulders when she leaves. If that isn’t a sign that a relationship needs to end, I don’t know what is. Guess I’ll have to dump her another day.
I can’t tell you what possesses me to say what I say next, because it flies out of my mouth before I can think twice. “Can we talk about what happened over Thanksgiving?”
His eyes dart to meet mine and he stares at me for a second, visibly caught off-guard. “What is there to talk about?”
Is he serious?
“Well, maybe about how we practically devoured each other in the middle of Martin Street. Or how you felt me up. Or how I wanted you to continue.”
His jaw ticks. I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or if he’s angry. Maybe he’s both.
“There is nothing to talk about, Luca. It happened and it can’t happen again. Putting aside the fact that we are brothers, and you are straight”—he really spits out the last word—“you have a fucking girlfriend. We watched a whole movie with her. She just fucking kissed you. I don’t fuck around with straight guys, or taken guys.”
I’m not sure why I’m hurt by what he says. I know it’s all true. We are brothers, I am—or thought I was—straight, and I do have a girlfriend.
It does hurt, though. His words cut me deeper than I want to acknowledge. I get he’s trying to be responsible and probably trying not to let himself get hurt, but how are we going to pretend there isn’t anything here to explore between us?
“Branson,” I breathe out, his name a plea on my lips, “please. How can you say that like there’s nothing here? Can you honestly say you don’t think of me when you’re lying in bed? That you feel nothing when you remember that night?”
He refuses to even look at me. It’s fucking killing me. I wish I didn’t put myself out there for him. I’ve laid all my cards out on the table, and he has the ability to wreck me. I desperately want him to just admit how he feels.
Finally, he looks up at me and breaks my fucking heart. “I’m sorry, Luca, but I don’t. I don’t think about that night and there is nothing more between us. There never will be.”
I am speechless. I can’t think of anything to say, but I don’t need to. He gets up and leaves. He fucking leaves.
He doesn’t feel the same.
I feel like someone ripped my heart open.
I go to the kitchen and drown my sorrows in more liquor. Fuck this. I have a girlfriend I don’t want and a stepbrother I can’t have.
* * *