by T. L. Martin
“Is this what you want?” he demands, breath as quick and shallow as mine. “To be used?”
My heartbeat inflates in my throat. I’ve never experienced this side of him. The view of him from his feet. His cool anger and solid grip in my hair.
“Is it?”
No, I want to say. But the truth is trapped on my tongue, caught in my web of lies, and when I open my mouth, the “Yes” that escapes taunts us both.
Liar, liar.
The sound of our breath tangles and drowns beneath techno music and the leaky faucet.
“Is he who you think about when you touch yourself?” The question comes out quiet, reluctant, like he’s forcing it out against better judgment.
My pulse skips so fast I can’t think over it. Did he see me?
He lowers to his haunches in front of me and tilts my head back so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. Whiskey swirls in a tumbler glass. Then his lips touch my ear, and a soft growl ghosts down my spine.
“You don’t even know how much you’re worth, do you?”
My eyes fall shut, knees shake. I know exactly how much I’m worth: twenty bucks in change on a good day. Our chests heave in tandem, up and down, up and down. The light stubble on his jaw tickles my cheek. His heat seeps through my skin, and I want to wrap it around me like a hot blanket. I want to drown in it and never come up for air.
My eyes open, and I let the urge take over. I run my fingers through his hair and down the nape of his neck.
He stiffens, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
“Tell me,” I whisper. My chest squeezes at the intensity behind his gaze. “How much am I worth, Easton?”
His jaw twitches, eyes drop to my mouth.
“Enough to touch you?” The question escapes like a taunt, but it’s not. Those words are the most honest and vulnerable I’ve ever said. Heart racing, I drag a fingernail down the vein in his neck, and slowly, I lean closer. So close, my parted lips brush his. “Enough to kiss me?”
His stare holds mine, and he inhales my exhales. “Don’t.” It’s quiet. A warning. A plea.
“Don’t what?” Maybe I’m manipulating him. Maybe that’s proof I really don’t deserve him. But right now, my heart is made of glass, and if he turns me away, it’ll shatter to pieces. My lips skim his, and this time, my tongue darts out to glide across his lower lip.
“Eva,” he groans like he’s in pain. His fingers loosen their hold on my hair, but then, he threads them through the strands and holds me tighter.
My palms slide down his chest and curl against his abs. He’s a furnace, but I can’t stop shivering. “Am I worthy enough for you to touch me back?”
He releases a low breath, abs tightening beneath my hands, and each clipped word is rough on the edges. “You’ve had a lot to drink. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Then, his voice darkens enough to force my gaze to his. “Besides, you have plenty of other guys to choose from, and you’ve made sure I know it.”
I frown. “Is that jealousy I detect in your voice, Easton Rutherford?”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t deny it.
I want to feel satisfaction, but I don’t. Other than the heat of his body, I don’t feel anything. If jealousy was enough, he would be touching me the way I want.
“You want to know a secret?” I ask.
A fist pounds on the door.
He ignores it.
“None of those other guys have ever made me come.” A vein in his neck twitches, once, twice. “Thankfully, I can take care of myself.”
Another knock on the door. “Yo, there’s a line out here longer than the Great Wall of China! Hurry the fuck up!”
“Want to know another secret?”
He watches the words pass my lips, his chest rising and falling with rough breaths.
“I think about you while I’m doing it.”
His nostrils flare, his eyes darker than night.
Thump. “Five seconds, or I swear, I’m gonna piss in the hot tub.”
Rising to my feet, I walk away from him. Pretending it doesn’t hurt. Pretending it’s easy.
After shooting a dirty look at the guy on the other side of the door, I step through the crowded hall with a calmness I don’t feel. On the inside, I can’t stop shaking. Easton isn’t just someone I want. He’s the solid ground beneath my feet. I don’t know why I always beg to shake it up like a magnitude ten earthquake. And tonight, the tremors terrify me.
Easton
Tap, tap, tap.
A few feet to my left, my mom’s fake nails rap against the wine glass in her hand.
Tap, tap, tap.
She laughs at something Ken and Barbie say, and my father’s arm around her waist stiffens further.
Tap, tap, tap.
These anniversary parties grow more and more pretentious every year. At least they serve as a cold reminder of why I’ve chosen a different future.
“I’m sure a bright guy like you can see where I’m coming from, right?”
As I vaguely listen to the suit in front of me, I nod and take a sip of water. He continues to spew whatever bullshit he thinks will impress me—or rather, my father. Joke’s on him. Scoring points with me will only make my father like him less.
“I used to know the guy, so, of course, it had to be some kind of ploy . . .”
Since the start of this charade thirty minutes ago, my focus has been on one thing. The living room staircase Eva hasn’t come down yet.
“And he strolls in, looking all high and mighty—you know, like he’s the king of the place . . .”
She’s been avoiding me since Marco’s party two nights ago. Worse, it’s like none of it ever happened. Like she didn’t say the things she did. Touch me like she did. Lick me like she did.
“So, anyway, we decide to put on a show, see how much of a hardass he really is . . .”
A minute later, I see her. I swallow hard, shove my free hand in the pocket of my grey slacks. She’s all legs and curves in a skin-tight black dress, with a modest jacket draped over her shoulders. Loose, dark curls hang past her waist, and her lips . . . red as fucking sin. Head held high, she descends with one hand gliding down the railing. Halfway down, an ankle tilts in one of her high heels, and she barely catches herself before she trips. She glances around to see if anyone is watching, and apparently satisfied she’s gone mostly unnoticed, she straightens her shoulders and continues gracefully down the steps.
My lips twitch, and I take a long swig from my cup.
“So, all along, I was right, and the dumbstruck bastard could only stare—”
Eyes on Eva, I pat the suit’s shoulder twice. “Good talk.”
Walking away, I flick my gaze over my shoulder to where my parents are ass-kissing a long-time client. They’re buried in the crowd of Kens and Barbies, clearly occupied, but my mother’s warning still grips me with paranoia. Not enough to change my destination though.
I don’t have to talk to her. I just have to see her.
My stare narrows, pace slowing, when someone reaches her first. He’s young and ostentatious, dressed in a white pinstripe suit. One of my dad’s interns, probably, and he must be as big of a tool as he looks. When he says something to Eva, she rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed.
The idiot takes her rebuff as a sign to touch her waist, lean close, and whisper something into her ear. Eva shoves his hand off, but it doesn’t deter him.
My grip tightens around the glass in my hand. I scan the room to make sure my parents are still engrossed in conversation. When I see they are, I somehow manage calm and controlled steps on my way to Eva.
I stop beside her. A warning weighs on my tongue, but I keep it locked behind clenched teeth and shoot the tool a glare.
He scans me up and down before glancing at Eva. “Are you here with him or something?”
A waiter walks by, and Eva snags a glass of sparkling water. She brings it to her lips. “You could say that.”
He gives me a sk
eptical look at Eva’s noncommittal answer. “Doesn’t sound serious—”
“Get lost,” I growl.
Taking the hint, he puts his hands up in surrender and disappears into the crowd.
“I had it under control,” Eva says coolly.
“Don’t you always,” I drawl.
She stares at me, dark eyes sliding along my face. Vulnerability flickers in chocolate-colored irises. The moment drags in slow motion and tightens my chest. I squint, open my mouth to say something, anything, but before I can get a single word out, she whirls around and walks away.
Jaw tight, I follow her and catch her wrist. She peers back at me, from my grip to my face.
“You look . . .” I swallow, my gaze sliding down her body.
Fuck.
Her expression remains cool, but a faint flush climbs up her cheeks. “Pretty sure there’s a rule book that says brothers shouldn’t look at their sisters that way.”
“Coming from a girl who breaks all the rules.”
She smiles, a small but genuine curve of seductive red lips. I feel that smile in my chest. A twisting and swelling, and, Jesus, there’s something fucking wrong with me.
A second later, when she spots something across the room, her smile dies. “I have to go,” she mutters, pulling free from my grasp. “You know, people to see and all that. Special night for us Rutherfords.”
She takes a step to leave but pauses when I say, “Wait.”
A dark brow raises.
I rub the back of my neck. “We should talk.”
Glancing casually around the room, she says, “If you’re feeling lonely, there are plenty of people here for you to talk to, Easton.”
Pushing out a breath, I drop my arm and slip a hand into my pocket. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
She laughs lightly. “Trust me, you get used to it.” Her gaze drifts away before finding mine again. “Our rooms are fifteen feet apart. You could have knocked on my door at any time.”
I frown, deciphering the edgy tone in her voice. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.” She forces a smile, but it’s all teeth. “I’m fucking peachy.”
I grind my jaw and set my glass on a passing waiter’s tray. Before I know what I’m doing, my hand’s on Eva’s lower back, giving a gentle push to get her moving. She glances over her shoulder with a glare, but at the look I shoot back, she scowls and walks through the crowd, with me following behind. I shouldn’t be touching her, speaking to her, let alone in my mother’s vicinity, but I’ve already crossed so many lines where Eva is concerned, and right now, they’re all blurred.
We walk until the chatter fades to a whisper. Then, we’re alone in the hallway leading to the back kitchen reserved for storage.
The moment we stop, Eva whirls around. Her eyes are electric, blazing with anger and something else I can’t place. “I can’t take back what I said, Easton,” she snaps. “Maybe it makes you uncomfortable. Maybe it even disgusts you—”
“Disgusts me?” My pulse thuds in my ears. “Jesus, Eva. You have no fucking idea—”
“You couldn’t stand to look at me for the rest of the party, and then you left with Whitney. I’m no Einstein, but I think that’s pretty straightforward, don’t you?”
I step close. So close she has to lift her chin to hold my gaze. “Do you have any idea what would happen to you if anyone suspected something going on between us?” I whisper roughly. “If anyone saw us like this?”
“Like what, Easton?” Her shallow breaths brush my neck, and heat runs down to my groin. The narrow hallway closes in on us. “We’re just two siblings talking.”
“Don’t do that,” I warn quietly. “Not after the other night. After everything you said—everything you did. Like you said, you can’t take it back.”
She swallows, and my chest thunders against my ribs, restraint stretching tight. A flush works up her throat. Red lips slowly part. The faint scent of her lavender shampoo slips into my lungs, drowning me.
Someone touches my hand.
“There you are,” Whitney purrs. She entwines her arm with mine, and the contact fills me with cold water. “Well, this is cozy. Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” I respond at the same time Eva says, “Nope.”
I shrug Whitney’s arm off mine, my gaze pinned on Eva, who downs her water as if it’s liquor.
“I was just leaving.”
“Probably a good idea,” Whitney says. “The balding dads are slim pickings out there. Wouldn’t want to miss your chance to snag one.”
My glare snaps to Whitney like a whip.
Hesitation crosses her expression, but it disappears as soon as her gaze flicks back to Eva.
“Don’t worry about me, sweetie.” Eva gives her a humorless smile. “Your daddy keeps me busy enough.” Dropping her glass into a dead houseplant, Eva walks past us, bumping Whitney’s shoulder in the process.
“Eva, wait,” I growl.
She pauses but doesn’t look back.
“Whitney, leave.”
“Easton,” Whitney hisses. The word fires like a bullet, but her eyes plead with me. “Anything you can say to her, you can say in front of me. I’m your girlfriend.” Her gaze slides to Eva. “She’s just a dirty little girl her own parents didn’t even want.”
Eva’s shoulders tense. Her fingers curl at her sides, then, slowly, they release. Just like that, she resumes walking down the hall and disappears into the crowd.
When I swing my focus back to Whitney, anger rushes through me so violently my fucking bones shake under my skin. Her eyes widen at my expression, but she holds her stance.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My voice is so low and unsteady I hardly recognize it.
“Okay, so maybe that was a little too far.” She glances away, chewing her lip. “But come on, you have to know this is messed up. I’m not the only one who knows you locked yourself in the bathroom with her at Marco’s house.”
The wave of surprise at that knowledge isn’t enough to cool the mounting rage.
“Jesus, Easton. You really can’t see how bad this looks, can you? I mean, it was one thing to catch you staring at her all the time, but this?”
My muscles pull tight. There’s no way I was that obvious. Lately though . . .
Whitney arches a brow. “Didn’t think I noticed, did you?” Crossing her arms, she lets out a sigh. “But whatever. You two can dig yourself a hole if you want. Next time, it won’t be me to catch you trysting in a dark hallway, and we both know how your mother will take it.” She looks at her nails. “Anyway, I’m just trying to help is all. I mean, why even risk it when you and Eva are too different to ever work out long-term?”
Denial runs down my back at her last words. She’s right about one thing. Sooner or later, we’re gonna get caught, and it’s Eva who will take the brunt of it, not me. At least this fake relationship with Whitney takes some of the spotlight away from me and Eva, but even that won’t be enough if I don’t back off. I need to avoid her, like I used to. But just the thought is poison in my veins, eating away at my resolve. The feeling brings anger back to the forefront.
My eyes narrow. “Stay out of my fucking business. It’s that simple.”
She glares back. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You can say it three goddamn times if you want, doesn’t change the fact I don’t want your help.” Steam clouds my vision. “If I ever catch you talking to Eva like that again, our deal is off.”
She gapes at me. “You can’t do that. Our agreement is through senior year. Besides, I know you too well. You won’t go back on a deal. It’s not in your makeup, and we have too much history to turn a blind eye to each other.”
“We have no history, Whitney. It’s all bullshit. I play the role you need me to play in public, I’m there when you need to see your mom, and you pay me for it. That’s it. That’s the extent of what this is.”
Her brows raise, and she releases a sharp breath. “Well . . . you car
e about me on some level. I know it,” she whispers. “There’s a reason I pay you as much as I do. You started helping me before money was ever on the table.”
Any other day, I’d feel guilty for making her voice break, but her remark toward Eva is a solid wedge in my chest, blocking the emotion from rising.
“And anyway,” she huffs, “you won’t be able to afford law school without my help. Unless you change your mind about taking Daddy’s money, you need me more than I need you.”
“How about you figure out your shit, and I’ll figure out mine?” Gritting my teeth, I turn around.
Whitney’s heels click-clack after me. “Maybe you can’t see it now, but you’ll thank me eventually. One day, when you’ve saved up enough to move out and start your own company, when you’re so successful you become twice the man your father is, you’ll look back on this stupid, toxic crush and realize how much better off you are without her.”
She has no idea what she’s talking about. The real reason I’m paying my own way through law school has as little to do with success as my desire to become a cop first, but people like Whitney or my parents can’t grasp that. Regardless, as we’re swallowed by a sea of forced chatter, fake smiles, and high-end designer clothes, her words replay in my head. She just proved how little we actually know each other, and yet, a bitter flame inside me won’t die.
Stupid, toxic crush.
My fixation on Eva is stupid, yeah. Toxic, probably. But a fucking crush? Not even close.
I spot her talking to someone across the room. She’s wearing an easy smile I rarely see. Her eyes meet mine, and she says something that prompts the guy in front of her to look my way.
My shoulders relax when I see who it is. I make my way toward them with Whitney still trailing behind. “You’re late, man.”
“Takes serious effort to look this good.” My brother grins and pulls me in for a brief hug. He leans back to scan me up and down. “Looking sharp, big bro.”
A corner of my lips tips up. Isaac’s almost four years older than me, but I outgrew his 5’9” frame two years ago. He’s referred to me as his “big” brother ever since.