“Are those…” Chris squinted, his face turning scarlet. “Light sabers?”
“More like baseball bats,” Josh whistled. “Is that even anatomically possible? Like, do they need medical attention afterward?”
“Look at how hot these guys are,” Nico gushed, completely abandoning any pretense of heterosexual curiosity. “Like damn, those abs! I need to step up my gym game.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I probably saw my brain.Great. Bree just created a BL fan club in my bedroom. Next, they’ll be writing fanfiction about characters from Nico’s video games. Actually, knowing Nico, he probably already does.
The door creaked open, and Colt’s imposing figure filled the frame, his broad shoulders practically touching both sides. There was something different about his energy as he entered—more aggressive, more territorial, like an animal sensing a threat to its domain. “Please tell me this isn’t turning into an orgy. Ijust cleaned the living room, and I’m not in the mood to disinfect another space today.”
“Nope!” Bree chirped, not even slightly intimidated by Colt’s brooding presence. “Just converting your brothers to the joys of Boys’ Love manga. Educational purposes only. You’re welcome to join the seminar.”
Colt’s eyes swept the room before landing on me, that familiar glint appearing—the one that always preceded some form of torment. But there was something else there too—a hunger that seemed out of place, almost predatory. His pupils dilated slightly as our eyes met, and his nostrils flared just like Jaxson’s had earlier. His lips curved into a smirk that made me want to throw something at his stupidly handsome face. Preferably something that would mess up that perfect hair he probably spent an hour on this morning.
“Quite the education you’re getting here,little brother.” The way he emphasized those last words made my skin prickle. Even his tone changed when addressing me—sharp where it was warm with others, pointed where it was playful. It was like he had a special voice just for making me uncomfortable.
“Shut up, Colt,” I muttered, which only made his smirk wider. It was like telling a cat not to knock things off tables—it just made them more determined.
“She’s expanded our horizons,” Ben declared solemnly, still engrossed in Bree’s phone. “I feel like I understand art on a deeper level now.”
“That’s not all you understand deeply.” Chris snickered, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Ben.
Colt chuckled at the others but kept his predatory gaze on me, like a wolf who’d spotted the weakest member of the herd. “Well, as fascinating as this cultural exchange is, the burgers are ready. Unless Lan’s planning to hide in here all night? Jaxson’s been asking where you disappeared to.”
There it was again—that subtle jab, that slight edge to his voice that he reserved just for me.I gritted my teeth, trying not to react to the mention of Jaxson. The last thing I needed was Colt picking up on that particular vulnerability. He was like a shark with blood in the water when it came to finding ways to torment me.
“Food!” Nico scrambled up like someone had lit a fire under him, nearly knocking over Chris in his haste. “I’m starving!”
“You’re always starving.” Colt’s voice softened as he addressed Nico, the edge completely gone. “It’s like feeding a black hole with legs.”
“A black hole with excellent taste,” Nico corrected, already halfway out the door. “Come on, guys! Last one to the kitchen gets the burnt burger!”
One by one, they filed out, though not before extracting promises from Bree to send them links to more webtoons.
“I’ll be right back—bathroom,” Bree announced, squeezing past Colt who was still blocking the doorway like some kind of unfairly attractive bouncer. “Don’t start the party without me.”
I moved to follow her, but Colt’s arm shot out, barring my exit with all the subtlety of a medieval drawbridge. His forearm—annoyingly muscular and currently level with my chest—might as well have been a steel beam for all the give it had. A steel beam that, despite my best efforts not to notice, was attached to a body that belonged on fitness magazine covers.
“Excuse me,” I said, injecting as much sarcasm into those two words as humanly possible. “Some of us would like to rejoin civilization.”
“Make me,” he challenged, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriating half smile that always sent a confusing flutter through my stomach. It wasn’t fair that someone so irritating could look so good while being irritating. That should be against some law of nature.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the entire doorframe, strong and solid and oddly magnetic. “What are you, twelve? Move your arm before I bite it.”
He chuckled, the sound low and rich in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. “You’re welcome to try, but I don’t think you’d like the consequences.”
There was something in his eyes that made my breath catch—a heat that contradicted his cool demeanor, a hunger that had nothing to do with the burgers waiting in the kitchen.
What is his deal?Colt had always been difficult—stern, perfectionist, perpetually scowling at the world like it had personally offended him—but it hadn’t always been like this between us. There was a time, years ago, when he’d been different. Not warm exactly—Colt and “warm” existed in separate universes—but protective, almost gentle in his own gruff way. He’d taught me how to ride a bike, how to stand up to bullies, how to throw a decent punch (which I was seriously contemplating demonstrating right about now).
Then something changed. Three years ago, it was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly I became the focus of all his attention—not all of it negative, but all of it intense in a way that made my skin feel too tight. It was like living with a particularly moody tiger who’d decided I was both fascinating and somehow worthy of constant surveillance.
His gaze swept over my room, nose wrinkling slightly. “Do you ever clean this place? It looks like a clothing bomb went off.”
“It’s a converted closet, in case you hadn’t noticed,” I shot back, instantly defensive. “Not all of us have the square footage to color-code our underwear drawer.”
“Even a closet can be organized,” he countered, stepping fully into my room now, scanning it with that critical eye that missed nothing. Despite my annoyance, I couldn’t help butnotice how his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, how his jeans hugged his thighs in a way that was completely unfair to my concentration.
“Excuse me for not meeting the exacting standards of the Clean Freak Brigade,” I snapped, feeling my hackles rise. “Some of us have lives that don’t revolve around alphabetizing our spice racks.”