Page 8 of Unwrap Me After Dark
“There’s food in the kitchen,” he says casually. “I made pasta.”
I glare at him, trying to determine if this is some kind of peace offering or just another way to mess with me. My stomach betrays me with a loud growl, and Tyler chuckles.
I manage a stiff nod and head into the kitchen. Sure enough, a pot of pasta sits on the stove, still warm. I scoop some onto a plate and sit at the kitchen table, choosing not to join him in the living room. Distance is my only defense right now.
The pasta is delicious, annoyingly so. I shovel it into my mouth, focusing on the simple act of eating rather than the knowledge that Tyler made this.
Footsteps approach from the living room. I tense as he enters the kitchen. He leans against the counter, drink in hand, watching me.
“So,” he starts, swirling the whiskey in his glass, “about yesterday.”
I stab at my food, saying nothing. Maybe if I don’t engage, he’ll drop it.
“You ran away pretty fast,” he continues, undeterred. “After all that build-up.”
“There was nobuild-up,” I mutter, eyes fixed on my plate. “Nothing happened.”
“No?” His voice drops lower. “Then why are you blushing right now?”
Damn my fair complexion, showing every emotion.
Tyler pushes off from the counter and takes a step closer. “So, what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” My voice cracks. “We’re stepbrothers.”
“Stepbeing the operative word.” He moves even closer, and I can smell his aftershave now. “We’re not blood related.”
“That’s not the point.”
He leans in, his breath ghosting over my ear as he whispers, “Don’t tell me you don’t like a little taboo.”
Heat burns through me, pooling low in my stomach. “I don’t,” I protest.
Tyler’s grin widens. “So it was the dirty talk that got you so hot and bothered?” He studies my face with fascination. “I wonder what else you’d like.”
Something in me snaps. I stand, the chair scraping against the floor with a screech. Tyler’s eyes widen—the first sign of uncertainty I’ve seen from him—before he masks it with that infuriating confidence. He backs into the living room as I stalk toward him, not sure what I’m planning to do once I reach him.
He raises his whiskey glass. “Want some?”
I should say no. I should return to my room and lock the door. Instead, I grab the glass from his hand and take a burning sip, the alcohol leaving a trail of fire down my throat. One sip turns into another, and then another one. I’m starting to think it wouldn’t hurt to loosen up a bit. There’s nowhere to go, anyway.
We end up on the couch, the bottle of whiskey between us on the coffee table.
Tyler sprawls on the opposite end, one arm slung over the back of the couch like he owns the place. The drumming of rain against the roof fills the silence between us. I take another swig, welcoming the sting.
Tyler raises his glass in a mock toast before downing another shot, his eyes never leaving my face. I look away, focusing on the amber liquid in my glass, swirling it slowly.
My phone buzzes against my thigh. I pull it out, squinting at the screen.
Mom: How’s the bonding going with Tyler? You boys getting along?
A pang of guilt twists my gut. She was so hopeful when she suggested this trip. Convinced we just needed time alone to “sort things out.”
I glance up to find Tyler watching me. “Mom wants to know if we’re bonding.”
Tyler’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “And what are you going to tell her?”
I set my phone down without answering the text. “Look, maybe we should just…try to get along. For our parents’ sake.” The words taste weird on my tongue, but the guilt weighs heavier than my pride. “I’m tired of fighting you every second.”
