Page 94 of After All This Time

"No, it's fine," I quickly cut in. "I'll stay an extra day. Or maybe we could leave tomorrow after you've met whoever it is you need to meet. We'll probably need to stay over again—"

Tobias shakes his head, just the faintest, subtlest movement. But it feels like a warning… like the absolute last thing he wants is to share a room with me again. The rejection burns in my throat, and a knot twists in my chest, tightening as I fight to make sense of it.

"Monday will be better. We'll get up early, leave first thing, and be back in Chicago by the evening."

"Fine. Whatever's easier."

"Maybe we could go for dinner tomorrow as a family, considering we never really see you both together," my mom asks, carrying that practiced mix of optimism and manipulation that only she can pull off.

I glance at David and Tobias, both of them hiding their mutual loathing of the idea behind bullshit smiles.

"Sounds great, Kayla." Tobias lies so smoothly that it's almost impressive before pushing back in his chair and pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "I'll be back in a minute."

I take that as my cue. Standing up, I mutter a quick "Goodnight" to my mom and David, keeping my voice polite, and make my way upstairs to my personal slice of hell.

Once inside, I remove my dress, the silky fabric slipping off my skin and pooling at my feet. I grab an old T-shirt from my bag and pull it on. It's enormous and practically swallowsme. The neckline slips lazily off one shoulder, and I dig out a pair of shorts, tugging them on underneath.

I collapse onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, willing myself not to think about Tobias standing outside, cigarette in hand, brooding under the stars.

Since he kissed me, this tiny spark has spread like wildfire through my veins, and I wasn't prepared for how fast it would burn away everything I thought I felt.

Minutes later, footsteps stop outside my door. My heart stutters, and my breath catches in my throat.

Open that door, Tobias. Show me you don't regret me. Show me that kiss meant something more than just some heat-of-the-moment mistake you'd rather forget.

After what feels like an eternity, I hear the faint creak of his footsteps moving again. The shadows vanish, and a moment later, I hear his door closing.

Tobias has been MIA all day, locked away in some business meeting with David, which makes absolutely zero sense. This is the same Tobias who's spent years telling anyone who would listen that he'd rather eat glass than have anything to do with Daddy's corporate empire, so what the hell changed?

I stand in front of my full-length mirror and shimmy my black lace panties up my thighs. The black dress I pull on next is simple but effective, hugging every curve and dipping low enough at the neckline to leave just enough to the imagination. I step into four-inch fuck-me heels, the kind that makes my legs look longer than they are, and even though my insides are pure chaos, they give me a little hit of confidence.

My fingers trace my lips for the hundredth time today, searching for the ghost of Tobias's kiss.

The not knowing is driving me insane—where his head's at, what he's thinking, whether he's been obsessing over last night like I have.

We kissed. God, we did so much more than kiss, and just the memory of it has my body burning.

But my insecurity sneaks in, and the overwhelming feeling that Tobias regrets everything crashes down on me.

I stand in the doorway to the foyer, freezing when I see him. And honestly? More than anything, I just want my friend back.

Friend? That word tastes like a lie now. It feels wrong on my tongue, like calling an inferno a flicker of a flame. Because friends don't memorize the way each other's moans sound. Friends don't wake up wet from dreams about rough hands and desperate, hungry kisses. And they definitely don't stand in doorways mentally undressing their stepbrother while their body screams for a repeat of the last time they touched them.

Sure, it's normal to look at your friend—your stepbrother—and want your fingers back in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

Totally normal.

Tobias Sinclair is somehow doing absolutely nothing and still manages to pull the breath straight out of my lungs.

He's in black jeans that fit like they were painted on, scuffed boots, and a fitted black T-shirt that molds to his body.

"Thinking we should've had a conversation about our outfits," I say, arching a brow at Tobias. "This matchy-matchy bullshit is a little too much, don't you think?"

"You look good, Firefly," he says, his voice low enough to make my pulse trip.

His eyes drop to my neck, and I already know he’s thinking about the way his lips claimed that very spot last night. With my ponytail pulled back, my skin is left exposed, practically begging him to do it again.

"Thanks. You look like you always do."

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