Hard(27)

He had the audacity to get irritated. “The house and money are legally mine.”

“Not for long. Once you’re gone, I’ll be glad to get your ass-print off my furniture.”

I left him with his dishes. He yelled after me.

“So you’re giving me the silent treatment?”

That was the plan.

“It won’t work, Shay.”

Watch me. I didn’t answer. He didn’t deserve it.

He chuckled from the kitchen, setting the plates back in the sink.

Unwashed.

“This is going to be a fun game, Shay. Just you wait. You’ll break before I do.”

Like hell. Nothing else was going to break around here. Not my resolve. Not my anger.

And not my heart…even if a tiny fragment already cracked.

Used and hurt.





Sex dreams didn’t count as incest…right?

I mean, people couldn’t control what they dreamed about. What flashed in my head wouldn’t damn me forever as a perverted, reprehensible sex-fiend. It just meant that the heart-pounding, muscle-rending, core-clenching visions were the result of my subconscious—a part of my mind that was much more deviant than I realized.

I tried to avoid Zach, but three days of radio silence was hardly a punishment. We still lived in the same space, and the mansion somehow shrunk to the size of a walk-in closet. We bumped on the stairs. Brushed hands in the garage. Accidentally blessed each other when we sneezed in the hall.

Zach grinned whenever he saw me, and I fell for the dimples every time.

I stayed away from him during the day. But at night?

My dream had us meeting in the garden, embracing under the roses, and committing delicious sins right there in the dirt. It was where we belonged. We were sex-crazed, immoral menaces, and it nearly ruined our lives.

Zach thought our indiscretions were harmless. After all, our parents weren’t married that long. It was easy for us to rationalize, but if our friends or families found out? That was a shame I couldn’t confront yet.

Hell, I couldn’t even approach Zach after having the sexiest dream of my life. I hid in my room all day just to steer clear of him. I longed to busy myself with lesson plans, but nothing for my classes or student teaching gig had been assigned yet. I checked the calendar. Four months until I graduated from college, one semester early, all thanks to Dad. He bought me a couple extra credits my freshman and sophomore year because I planned to get out into the real world as soon as possible.

Everyone—even my family and friends—assumed I wanted to inherit my trust early.

They thought I was in it for the money, and I hated having that reputation. I wasn’t a money-hungry, trust-fund baby, step-brother humper. That was not the legacy I wanted to leave on this world.

Fortunately, I could get rid of the step-brother easy enough. As soon as I got my trust, I’d buy his stake in the mansion, and he’d be out of my life quicker than I could say skeleton in the closet.

But first, I had to live with the man-whore. Except who was I to judge him? I slept with him, a complete stranger, just to have a quick, one-night stand. It was the greatest sex of my life, but it didn’t make me a pillar of morality.

Still, there was a big difference between me and Zach. He was an unrepentant playboy who propositioned me, was rejected, and then immediately leapt into bed with the first bimbo he could find.

A woman he brought into my house.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

I abandoned my laptop and ducked into a cold shower. It didn’t dull the fire in my belly or the dreamy, forbidden fantasy that swirled in my mind. He wasn’t worth my anger. Hell, he hardly deserved the passing glance I gave him when we headed to bed last night.

I just needed to clear my head. I spent entirely too much time thinking about that ass.

Literally.

I was supposed to be enjoying myself. I had two weeks until my student teaching job began, and I deserved a vacation from the insanity that was weddings, funerals, inheritances, and incest.

My stomach grumbled. Momma always said she could tell a proper lady in two ways—how graceful she acted in the face of adversity, and the quality of her shrimp and grits.

Well, I already humiliated myself with my current adversary, including indulging in activities in the bedroom I wasn’t sure had real names. The least I could do was have a home-cooked meal.

I showered, dressed, and spent too much time and money at the grocery store. Zach and I had a new agreement.

What was mine was mine.

What was his could rot in the sun for all I cared.

I bought my own food, claimed my own rooms, and smacked his hand when he stole one of my chocolate chip cookies. We shared the house, and that was it. I’d be damned if I let him near any of my desserts.