Page 8 of Darling Obsession

“All we’re doing is fucking,” I grit out. “It’s hardly meet-the-family worthy. I haven’t even seen her much lately.”

Damian sits back, studying me with that annoying twinkle in his eyes. “You do realize that on several occasions, when one of us has asked you if you’re seeing anyone, you’ve told us that you’ve been, and I quote, ‘holding out for Darla.’”

“I recall,” I mutter.

“It was quite a catchphrase for a while there. I considered putting it on a T-shirt for you, so you wouldn’t have to keep repeating it.”

“How thoughtful.”

My brother chuckles. This must be amusing to him.

“Anyway, that was months ago,” I mutter.

“Right. I believe the last time you mentioned her name was around the time that we all met with Granddad, and chose our challenges for one another, without realizing that’s what we were doing.”

Fuck. I really want to be pissed at Granddad. But I know he had no idea how this would come back to fuck me. My siblings wanting to meet the woman I implied I was interested in, possibly seeing, but refused to introduce them to probably seemed like an incredibly reasonable challenge.

“So, what is it between you and her, really?” Damian presses.

“Nothing. We had a thing, it didn’t work out. The end.”

“So, are you fucking her, or is it over? You’re contradicting yourself.”

“Can’t it be both?”

He sits back and studies me in a way I don’t like. I’m sure he’s miles better at reading people than I am. ”Harlan Vance. Are you in love?”

The way he says “in love,” he makes it sound like some rare and curious disease.

Maybe to him, it is.

“Fuck love.”

“She’s important to you,” he concludes. “More than you’re letting on.”

“What’s important to me,” I hiss, “is maintaining my privacy. You know I abhor anyone in my personal business. Including you.”

“Oh, I know. You’re extremely secretive. And yet here you are, looking awfully desperate for my help.” He leans in with interest. “Who is Darla?”

I get the sense that it’s actually starting to allure him that he doesn’t know.

“The answer to that would fall under personal business.”

“But I thought you hated everyone, little brother.” His eyes narrow. “Or maybe you only hate what you can’t have.”

“Poetic.”

He lounges back again, sipping his drink. “Has it occurred to you that if you keep hating on everyone, you’ll end up alone? Forever. Is that what you really want?”

“Sounds like bliss.”

He chuckles. Of course, that’s the name of his private sex club.Bliss.

“Hate is just a front for fear,” he says dismissively.

“More poetry. I didn’t tell you to meet me here so I could watch you jack off to your own cleverness. I’ve actually got a fucking problem.”

“What problem, exactly, do you have?”

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