Series: Peach State Stepbros Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“You know the ones I’m talking about,” Atlas whispers. “Black silk, with that lacy pattern at the waistband…”
My cheeks are warm again, and I glance around to see if anyone is in earshot.
“What about them?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“I think they might be riding up your ass tonight.” He finally makes eye contact with me, a wicked grin overtaking his face.
A swirling fire burns in my chest, so hot I have to keep myself from growling like a dog.
I can tell he’s living for it.
“Come on,” he says. “Taylor and Brenner really wanted to come. They’ll be here in a few. You can’t punish them for my mistake.”
“They aren’t being punished. They can still come.”
“Yeah, but how are they gonna have any fun without me?” He wears a cocky expression, but I can’t really judge him for it since I’d feel the same about my friends. “Can’t you just take pride in knowing Alpha Theta Mu puts on the best parties and let me make them even better by being in attendance? You know everything is better with me.”
I ignore his cockiness, or maybe it’s just easier to stomach with years of practice under my belt. “I’d be fine with letting you be if I knew you weren’t gonna start any trouble like you did last spring.”
He scowls. Something about bringing up that fight agitates him, and I have to admit, I like knowing I’m getting to him the way he gets to me.
The gist of the aforementioned fight is that a drunk Atlas decided it was a wise move to start trouble with a linebacker from the school team. It took Colin and me to break them up, and the incident left a few of the guys in my house unwilling to see my stepbro again.
“If you tell your dogs to stand down,” he says, “I’ll be a good boy. Promise.”
Atlas and I have a complicated relationship. Yeah, sometimes I really want to strangle him, but he’s my family. It’s my Achilles’ heel, and he must know this; otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking to stay. Besides, he’s not hurting anyone, and he clearly only wants to have a good time with his friends. But I know him. He’s a live wire that could spark at any moment.
I get it because I’ve got my own rage too.
It’s one of the reasons why, despite how much he can unnerve me, as much as we can give each other hell, on some level, we get each other.
I weigh the pros and cons in my head to see if it’s worth the risk or the shit I’ll get from the guys to make this fly.
I release his shoulders and step away from him, folding my arms as I look him over to make my decision. “You promise you’ll be on your best behavior?”
“Do you want me to pinky swear on it?”
Little ass. I try to do you a favor and—
I haven’t even said the words, but he must read them on my face since he quickly says, “I’m kidding. Yes, I’ll be good, Troy. Now please go tell your posse that I’m not signing autographs tonight.”
I turn to see some of the gang from the house eyeing Atlas and whispering to each other. They look as irritated about his presence as Marty was.
“You owe me,” I tell him.
He studies my expression. He knows my submission isn’t free. “What are you thinking I owe you?”
“You need to text Mom, and—”
“You mean Ellie? She’s your mom, not mine.”
As if I need to hear that for the thousandth time.
“She said you bailed on dinner this Sunday, and you already bailed last time.”
He considers this. “Can I owe you something else?”
“No. That’s what you owe me.”
His eye roll is all the confirmation I need. I know this guy, and he might be reckless and a fuckup, he might not give a shit about much, but just like with all our little competitions since we first met, he always plays fair.
“Don’t make me regret this, Atlas.”
“Try not to celebrate having this over me too much because you know you’re gonna need me too one day, and you’re not going to want me rubbing it in your face.”
Valid point. Part of being stepsiblings is being tied to each other in a way most people who have these complicated feelings toward one another don’t have to be. Whether that’s covering each other’s asses when we were getting up to no good in high school, or helping out in emergencies, we’ve accepted we’re in each other’s lives, even though it wasn’t something we had any say in.
I’m about to walk away, but then stop. “Oh, I meant to say, you got a little something on your…” I indicate his ass, and he glances over his shoulder. “Sorry,” I add. “I thought I still saw part of my name written on your left cheek.” Since he brought up the panties, it seems only fair to revel in my own victory from another of our ridiculous high school wagers.