Resentment(33)
It’s a red thong. With a note attached: “Can’t wait to fuck you again, E. :-)“
Oh my god...My brother is a whore... I toss the panties across the room, and stand up, in desperate need to wash my hands. With bleach.
I start to head to the kitchen, but then I hear water running on the other side of the condo Eric’s side. Remembering what he said about the ink setting in his bathroom, I rush over, hoping a pipe hasn’t burst.
But then I stop when I’m halfway there.
The sound of the water isn’t coming from his bathroom. It’s coming from his roommate’s bathroom.
Confused, I twist the doorknob, and push the door forward, but it suddenly swings open and I fall forward into something hard. Something super hard. It takes me several seconds to realize that that the “something” is a set of abs. A set of sexy, wet, and all too familiar abs...
Slowly glancing up, my eyes widen as I see the man who’s invaded my nightmares for the past ten years. He’s ten years older now. Ten times sexier.
Dean Collins...
What the fuck!
My throat is dry and I can’t move. My mind can’t seem to form a coherent thought.
For a single second, my mind travels back ten years ago and I remember when his body was pressed against mine, when he pulled me into the shower with him and made love to me after a game.
“Have you forgotten how to use your motor skills, Mia?” He quickly snaps me into the present with his asshole greeting. “Do you really need to keep leaning against me?”
I immediately step back, scowling. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here. What are you doing here?”
“My brother lives here. He owns this place, actually. I take it you’re his latest charity case?”
“I’m not anyone’s fucking charity case.” He hisses, glaring at me. “How long will you be in town?”
“Why?”
“I need to know how long I need to stay at a hotel.” The look in his eyes is glacial. “How long I need to stay the hell away from you.”
“Oh, hey!” Eric suddenly walks over, completely unaware of the tension between us. “I didn’t know you were home, man. This is my little sister I told you about months ago. Aim, this is Dean. Dean this is Aim. I think you two went to the same high school, right? Central? Or did mom try to make you go to Main like me?”
“I went to Central.” My eyes are on Dean and I can’t help but notice that his left arm, which is way more sculpted than it was in high school, is covered in a sexy sleeve of all black ink. (And by “sexy,” I mean someone else would find that shit sexy, because I don’t.)
“Alright, well.” Eric shrugs, still oblivious. “We were going to go zip-lining, Dean. You want to come?”
“The zip-line is closed this month,” Dean says flatly.
I let out a sigh of relief and Dean’s jaw clenches.
“I forgot about that,” Eric says. “Well, would you like to join us for dinner? You always pick the best places.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He cannot come. He. Can. Not. Come. You said it was going to be just us, Eric.”
“Dean is family, Mia. He’s practically like a brother to me.” He ignores me and looks at Dean. “You want to come or not?”
A twisted smirk crosses Dean’s lips. “I’d love to.”
***
Hours later, I sit at a table and try to prevent myself from leaning over it and stabbing Dean in the eye with my fork. Since Eric is sitting at my side, he’s missing the palpable hate that’s practically radiating off the two of us.
He and Dean have mostly been discussing football, but Dean has thrown looks of disgust my way each time Eric has looked away.
I cannot believe that the guy who broke my heart in high school is sitting across from me and is seemingly friends (good friends) with my brother. Not only that, but I can’t believe that he’s glaring at me, like I’m the one who hurt him.
Out of nowhere, I find myself muttering, “Portland is a long way from Harvard...How the hell did you end up here?”
Dean, clearly catching my every word, mutters back, “If you kept in contact, you would fucking know.”
“I had no reason to keep in contact, because as I first told you years ago, I don’t approve of douchebags.”
“Then how have you been living with yourself all this time?”
Eric looks over at me. “Mia, who the hell are you talking to?”
“No one important,” I say. “Speaking of which, your friend Dean here looks like he’s about my age. And since you’ve been living here for as long as I can remember, and you don’t typically hang with people who aren’t as ‘established’ as yourself, are you mentoring him? Is he an artist in training? A freelance charity project for your shop?”