Page 5 of Shane

Suddenly, there’s a heavy knock at my door, and my neck muscles contract. I’d know the sound of those Fred-Flinstone-sized knuckles anywhere.

“What, Shane?” I say through the door.

“Open up.”

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

Of course, he opens the door anyway, and once he sees my tear-stained face, his expression softens slightly. “Look, Kennedy, I get it. We haven’t exactly been best friends lately, but maybe, for our parents’ sake, can we at least try to make this work? You tried your best to wait them out, hoping they’d break up, but I guess love wins.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. This whole situation feels like a nightmare. Like somebody else’s life. Yet the realization that I have zero control over the choices of my father has been made abundantly clear to me tonight.

Shane’s right.

I have to make some sort of peace with it, even if that means that he’s now a permanent fixture in my life.

My stepbrother.

Ewww.

Shane waits for my response, his usual arrogance replaced by something resembling genuine concern.

Reluctantly, I nod. “Fine. For our parents.”

My shoulders relax slightly, but the tension between us remains as he advances towards me carefully, like he’s walking on eggshells. The closer he gets, the more I have to tilt my head to watch his approach.

Shane is tall.

Ridiculously tall.

He stands between my legs as I sit on the edge of my bed and uses his thumb and pointer finger to tilt my chin up higher so that I can face him.

The unexplainable part is after everything I let him.

I always let him.

He bends down slowly, probably anticipating that I’ll stop him at any moment, but I don’t. I know what he’s about to do. I’m almost daring him to do it. To get it over with. It wouldn’t be the first time. This combustible energy between us has been building since we met freshman year. We both know it, and we’ve both been fighting it.

It’s not the brutal clash of lips and teeth that I expected between us. Actually, it’s a soft, tentative, careful kiss that feels as if it comes from an affectionate place and not an indecent one. I open my mouth wider, welcoming him inside. His tongue slips past the barrier, engaging mine in a dance that is both sensuous and unhurried. The taste of him, a blend of mint and decadence, intoxicates me. My hands curl into the soft waves of his hair, tugging softly as my mind plays out a storm of explicit fantasies.

His hands start to wander before one settles at the back of my neck. His grip is firm but gentle, anchoring me to him yet not confining me. The way he's holding me leaves no room for doubt about what he desires.

His voice is husky as he pulls back, “I’m glad that’s settled,” he says with a smile I’ve grown to ignore because it can’t be trusted.

What in the actual fuck am I doing?

Remember who he is, Kennedy.

Remember who he’s about to be.

“Get out,” I tell him, my voice cracking.

“I’m going. I’m sure you have a lot to process. You just kissedthe fuckout of your stepbrother with our parents downstairs. That’s got to be a Christmas mind fuck for your ass.”

“I hate you!”

“Your brain might hate me, but your pussy definitely doesn’t. I can smell how much she likes me from here.”

“Get! Out! Shane!”

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