Page 18 of The Tangle of Awful

Especially since I’m frozen, caught in the act.

Caught by my son and baby brother.

While Dempsey is seemingly clueless, staring down at his phone, my son doesn’t miss a thing. His eyes dart to my crotch, bounce over to where Aubrey can be seen beyond the glass windows as she dips a toe in the pool to test the temperature, and then back over to me.

His grin is vicious and calculating. “Seems like I missed all the fun.”

“I’m going to lift some weights,” I growl, rushing past them. “Be nice to your sister.”

“I strive to be just as nice as you, Dad.”

His taunting words hit their intended mark. He caught me ogling Aubrey and now he’s going to be up to his usual fuckery.

I’m going to have to get a hold of my attraction for Aubrey or shit is about to get messy quickly.

Aubrey

One of these days, I’m going to self-destruct. Blow up my already fragmented world because I don’t know how to keep from chasing after things I don’t need in my life, but also would feel incredible pain from.

Lusting after and flirting with Hugo is a recipe for disaster.

And yet…I still couldn’t help prancing through the house in nothing but a bikini once I’d heard him return home. The thrill of the idea of him seeing me all grown up was too much to ignore.

I needed him to see me.

What I didn’t count on was his reaction.

His blue eyes were blazing with barely controlled desire. Desire for me. I’d come into the kitchen hoping to get some sort of reaction from him, but what I got was more than I expected.

He wanted me in that moment.

Badly.

I can feel eyes on me as I sun myself on the poolside lounger. Hugo’s gaze was hot and hungry, making me feel powerful. It’s no longer Hugo watching me from inside the house, but his son instead. This feeling is one I recognize from him from two years ago.

Stripped down.

Powerless.

Gutted.

Cold.

I shiver despite the sun warming my flesh. I’m not the girl aching for her stepbrother and who thought she actually had a chance. That girl shriveled up long ago. My thoughts drift to the past against my will.

“Don’t talk to Finch.”

I look up from my paper, confused at Spencer’s harsh tone. “What?”

His nostrils flare. He’s pissed. And I have no idea why. Spencer stalks into my room, eyes filled with fury, not stopping until he looms over me at my desk.

“Don’t. Talk. To. Finch.”

“I heard you,” I grumble, “but I guess the better question is why not?”

“Because I said so.”

I scoff at his demand. Spencer isn’t usually like this. Sure, I’ve seen him get pissy with his dad lots of times, and even Dempsey, but never at me. We’re more than stepsiblings. We’re friends. Sometimes I wish we were a lot more than either of those things.

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