He laughs to himself and licks his lips. An involuntary habit that always drove me crazy, because I know what that mouth is capable of.
“I missed you,” he confesses. “Am I an asshole if I’m sort of glad someone died?”
I punch him in the shoulder, to which he feigns injury. He doesn’t mean it. Not really. But in a weird way I appreciate the sentiment, if only because it gives me permission to smile for a second or two. To breathe.
I toy with the thin silver bracelet circling my wrist. Not quite meeting his eyes. “I missed you too. A little.”
“A little?” He’s mocking me.
“Just a little.”
“Mmm-mmm. So you thought about me, what, once, twice a day when you were gone?”
“More like once or twice total.”
He chuckles.
Truthfully, after I left the Bay I spent months doing my best to push away the thoughts of him when they insisted their way forward. Refusing the images that came when I closed my eyes at night or went on a date. Eventually it got easier. I’d almost managed to forget him. Almost.
And now here he is, and it’s like not a second has passed. We still have this bubble of energy building between us. It’s evident in the way he angles his body toward mine, the way my hand lingers on his arm longer than necessary. How it hurts not to touch him.
“Don’t do that,” I order when I notice his expression. I’m caught in his eyes. Snagged, like catching my shirt on a door handle, only it’s a memory tripping up my brain.
“Do what?”
“You know what.”
Evan’s lips lift at the corner. Just a twitch. Because he knows the way he looks at me.
“You look good, Gen.” He’s doing it again. The dare in his eyes, the implications in his gaze. “Time away agreed with you.”
The little shit. It isn’t fair. I hate him, even as my fingers make contact with his chest and slide down the front of his shirt.
No, what I hate is how easily he can have me.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I murmur.
We’re tucked away but still visible to anyone should they get the urge to glance in our direction. Evan’s hand skims the hem of my dress. He pushes up under the fabric and softly drags his fingertips along the curve of my ass.
“No,” he breathes against my ear. “We shouldn’t.”
So, of course, we do.
We slip into the bathroom next to the laundry room, locking the door behind us. My breath lodges in my throat when he lifts me up on the vanity.
“This is a terrible idea,” I tell him as he grips my waist and I brace myself against the sink.
“I know.” And then he covers my mouth with his.
The kiss is urgent and hungry. Lord, I missed this. I missed his kisses and the greedy thrust of his tongue, how wild and unbridled he is. Our mouths devour each other, almost too roughly, and still I can’t have enough of him.
The anticipation and frantic need is too much. I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open to drag my nails down his chest until the pain makes him pin my arms behind my back. It’s hot and raw. Maybe a little angry. All the unfinished business working itself out. I close my eyes and hold on for the ride, losing myself in the kiss, the taste of him. He kisses me harder, deeper, until I’m mindless with need.
I can’t stand it anymore.
I force my arms free to unbuckle his belt. Evan watches me. Watches my eyes. My lips.
“I’ve missed this,” he whispers.
So have I, but I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
I gasp when his hand travels between my thighs. My own hand is trembling as I slip it inside his boxers and—
“Everything okay in there?” A voice. Then a knock. My entire extended family is on the other side of the door.
I freeze.
“Fine,” Evan calls back, his fingertips a scant inch from where I was just aching for him.
Now, I’m sliding off the vanity, pushing his hand off me, withdrawing mine from his boxers. Before my flats even connect with the tiled floor, I already hate myself. Barely in the same room with him for ten minutes, and I lose all self-control.
I almost had sex with Evan Hartley at my mother’s funeral reception, for fuck’s sake. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I have no doubt I would’ve let him take me right then and there. That’s a new low, even for me.
Damn it.
I’d spent the last year training myself to at least approximate a normal functioning adult. To not surrender to every destructive instinct the second it pops into my head, to exercise some damn restraint. And then Evan Hartley licks his lips and I’m open for business.
Really, Gen?
As I’m fixing my hair in the mirror, I see him watching me with a question on his tongue.
Finally he voices it. “You okay?”
“I can’t believe we almost did that,” I mumble, shame lining my throat. Then, I find my composure and steel up my defenses. I lift my head. “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t going to be a thing.”
“The hell does that mean?” His affronted gaze meets mine in the reflection.
“It means I have to be in town for a bit for my dad, but while I’m here, we’re not going to be seeing each other.”
“Seriously?” When he reads my resolved expression, his sours. “What the hell, Gen? You stick your tongue down my throat and then tell me to get lost? That’s pretty shitty.”
Turning to face him, I shrug with feigned indifference. He wants me to fight him because he knows there’s a lot of emotion here, and the more he drags it out of me, the better his chances. But I’m not going there again, not this time. This was a lapse in judgment. Temporary insanity. I’m better now. Head on straight. Got it all out of my system.
“You know we can’t stay away from each other,” he tells me, growing more frustrated at my decision. “We spent our whole relationship trying. Doesn’t work.”
He’s not wrong. Until the day I finally left town, we were on and off since freshman year of high school. A constant push-and-pull of loving and fighting. Sometimes I’m the moth, other times the flame.
What I eventually figured out, though, is that the only way to win is not to play.
Unlocking the door, I pause to offer a brief look over my shoulder. “There’s a first time for everything.”
CHAPTER 3
EVAN
This is what I get for trying to be a nice guy. She needed to forget for a little while—that’s cool. I’ll never, ever complain about kissing Genevieve. But she could’ve at least played nice afterward. Let’s get together later and have a drink, catch up. Blowing me off altogether is harsh even for her.
Gen has always had sharp edges. Hell, it’s one of the things that draws me to her. But she’s never looked at me with such dead disinterest. Like I was nobody to her.
Brutal.
As we leave the West house and walk toward Cooper’s truck, he gives me a look of suspicion. Beyond appearances, we’re entirely different people. If we weren’t brothers, we probably wouldn’t even be friends. But we are brothers—even worse, twins—which means we can read each other’s minds with one measly look.
“You’re kidding me,” he says, sighing with what has become a near-permanent state of judgment plastered on his face. For months now, he’s been on my case about every little thing.