Chapter Twelve
Blair
After eating and showering at Faye’s, I left her. I felt vulnerable and raw and needed some time to rebuild. She didn’t ask what was wrong, but she hugged me before I left and promised to speak to me later, probably seeing the confusion in my eyes and knowing I would pull away if she pressed.
She’s such a kind, loving soul.
She’s so much better than me and what I deserve.
When I get back to the house, all the guys’ bedroom doors are closed. I sneak past them and into my own room. I’m just changing my panties, my fingers caught at my hip, when the door opens without a knock. My eyebrow rises as Bray waltzes in, running his eyes across me and whistling.
“You look hot.” He winks before throwing himself on my bed, crossing his arms beneath his head. His hair is untied today, falling across his face and my pillow like some kind of fucking hair advert, while his bright eyes watch me with unconcealed lust. His chest is bare and built, and he’s in nothing but low rising grey joggers which almost have me groaning.
Brother, remember?
Straightening my thong, I grab my cotton pajama shorts, uncaring about him looking. I bend over in front of him and pull them up. I hear a groan, and when I settle them on my hips, it’s my turn to wink at him. His fist is caught in his mouth, and his eyes roam across me. Turning away, I pull my shirt off, grab a short-sleeved white crop top, and slip it on before undoing my bra and tossing it away. My nipples instantly pebble beneath the material, but who cares?
“Any reason you are in my room?” I ask while I’m dressing.
“I just came for the view, it’s better than mine,” he tells me unashamedly, grinning at me.
I prop my hands on my hips as I look over at him. “Do these corny lines ever work?” I ask curiously.
He sits up slowly, his abs rolling, as a slow smirk crawls across his dangerously sexy lips. “I don’t know, you tell me... stepsister.”
“No,” I reply, leaning against the back of the bed, holding myself up until our faces almost touch. “Brother,” I whisper, pulling away with a grin, leaving him groaning as I exit the bedroom. A second later, I hear him rushing after me like a puppy.
I grab a beer from the fridge and pop the top, taking a sip as I watch Asher, who is now in the living room. There’s a bike before him and he has headphones in, his expression locked in concentration. His eyes blaze with passion, and his mouth is slightly parted as his blond hair glows brightly in the sun. He holds a paintbrush in his hand, and there are some streaks on his arms and shirt. He’s painting the bike. I move closer to see, and Bray leans his elbow onto my shoulder, whispering in my ear.
“When he gets in the zone, you have no chance of getting his attention. Trust me, all the ladies dig the art thing, but he never notices.”
Pushing his elbow away, I throw him a look over my shoulder. “Yeah? At least the ladies like him.”
He stumbles back with his hand on his chest and fake pain etched on his face. “Oh, baby, why you gotta do me like that?”
I grin, and Asher’s voice has me looking back. “What? What’s going on?” He watches us in confusion. “How long have you guys been standing there?”
Dear God, that’s adorable.
“Not long.” I smile. “What are you painting?” I ask, moving closer. I place my hand on his shoulder as I look at his work. He jolts under my touch, but he doesn’t pull away.
“It’s Cyrus, he wanted more skulls.” He grins up at me. “What do you think?”
“Wait, you never ask me that,” Bray calls, fake insulted.
“I like it,” I answer seriously, running my eyes over the outline. It’s going to be amazing and realistic as hell with all those strong lines. “You’re really talented.”
“Not as much as you, sister, with that ass,” Bray remarks, and we ignore him again.
“Thanks, Blair.” He beams.
I wink and pull away just as Cyrus storms into the room, his face thunderous. He glares when he sees me.
“The bike can wait, we are leaving.” He doesn’t even greet me, the ass.
“Hi, Cyrus, nice to see your grumpy ass too,” I singsong with a wave of my beer.
Asher sighs but gets up, wiping his hands as Bray jumps to his feet like a puppy. “Yes! Pussy, drugs, or ass beating?” he asks. Cyrus throws him a glare, jerking his head at me. “Oops. Forget you heard that, baby.”