We pull up to a massive building— but that’s hardly saying anything, since this is Manhattan and the place is basically made of massive buildings. He climbs out of the car without a word to the driver, and I follow him toward the massive revolving door and into a lobby decorated in gold and dark wood. Maybe we’re going to some hotel bar to get coffee? I thought we—

“Good evening, Mr. Hale. All turned out alright?” a man standing in the entryway asks. He’s wearing a red doorman’s uniform, and has a sincere, welcoming look on his face.

Xander smiles at him in a way so familiar, it almost hurts— who is this door guy to get a look that I’ve never warranted? I brush the feeling off as Xander answers. “It’s fine. This is Josie.”

“Jocelyn,” I say, jumping in. “No one outside my family calls me Josie,” I add quickly, extending a hand to shake with the doorman.

“Oh— so…family?” the doorman asks, giving Xander a quizzical look.

“Stepsister,” Xander answers, voice going a little flat.

“Ah, well,” the doorman says, “Pleasure to meet you, Jocelyn. I’m Robert.” We shake, and it’s this action that makes me realize—truly realize, at least— that this isn’t a hotel. You don’t know the doorman at a hotel. This is Xander’s place. He lives here. I turn to Xander, eyebrows lifted. He shrugs; I release Robert’s hand and follow Xander to the elevator at the end of the elegant lobby.

“How do you live here?” I ask, shaking my head. “I mean— you do live here, right? I’m not wrong?”

“I live here. For about two years.”

“Do you have roommates? Or…are you with someone?” Did Xander marry some heiress? Is he an honorary Hilton or something?

“No,” he answers quickly, sharply, reaching forward to call the elevator as he says this. “I’m not with anyone. No roommates.” The elevator arrives, a car that’s gilded and antique-looking. We board, and stare at the ceiling in silence as we ride up to the eleventh floor. Once there, Xander leads be down a carpet-lined hallway, to a white door.

“So, this is just…yours. You just live in a place like this. In Manhattan,” I say cautiously, torn between my need for answers and my desperation to not irritate Xander with questions.

“Yep,” he answers. “This is mine.” He turns the key, pushes open the door, and my jaw drops.

“Xander— what do you do?” I ask, eyes wide.

I expect another short answer, but he doesn’t respond directly. He glances at the floor, then meets my eyes.

“Go on in,” he says. “I don’t keep the coffee maker in the hall, you know.”

I laugh a little, and Xander’s eyes spark, like this is a victory. When I step forward into the apartment, he lingers in the hall a few steps behind me. I can’t help but get the feeling he’s staring at me, but I don’t turn around. If I turn around, he’ll stop. He’ll look away, avoid my eyes.

So I walk forward, slowing, feeling the weight of his gaze for one step, two, three, five, ten, until finally he exhales, and I hear him shut the door behind us.

The apartment is at the perfect height— a high enough floor that I can see the corners and angles of the skyline, but low enough that I can make out people walking their dogs on the street. It’s like a compromise between the fantasy of New York and the real thing.

The place feels professionally decorated, with large white rugs and speed modern furniture. There are leather chairs, a massive television, and a kitchen that I really, really think I’ve seen on Pinterest before. It’s not the sort of place I’d have ever imagined Xander living in, but there is one pretty Xander-specific touch: the art. The walls are covered with artwork that looks ripped out of comic books, all hard lines and bright colors and monsters.

“I don’t have decaf,” he calls to me from the kitchen, where he’s lifting the backsplash to reveal a hiding spot for a massive copper espresso machine that looks like some sort of alien robot.

“That’s fine— actually…do you have anything to drink? I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine after all that, if you’ve got it.”

Xander looks at me, and then the corner of his mouth twitches a little before he smiles. “Yeah— you’re how old, now?”

“I’m twenty-one,” I say, surprised at the insinuation he might withhold a glass of wine on account of my age.

“I’d have given you the wine either way. I just…you’re an adult.”

“I’ve been one for a while,” I say, eyebrows lifted. “Is it that surprising?”

“No. Yes. Fuck, I don’t know, Josie,” he says with a defeated laugh, then closes the backsplash door and opens up a wine cooler that’s under his kitchen island. He retrieves a bottle, then pours us both two very full glasses.

“Thanks,” I say, sipping mine. It’s a great wine; I’m no connoisseur or anything, but I know it’s a hell of a lot better than the stuff I buy at the grocery store.

I take a seat on one end of the couch, staring out the massive windows. Xander sits in a chair on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you going to tell me what you do to afford this place? Because last time I saw you, you weren’t exactly a high roller.”

I wait for an explanation, but he shakes his head. “Another time,” he says, taking a long drink of wine. “Don’t take it personally, Josie, but let’s be real: I don’t know you that well.”

“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who picked up and left,” I tease back, but Xander’s expression goes a little dark— a little too much like the expression he used to wear back when we lived together, when he was storming from room to room like our household’s personal thundercloud.

“It’s not like you made our whole situation easy, you know. Hell, Josie, you’re half the reason I had to leave,” he says, leaning back in the chair and studying the ceiling.

“What did I ever do?” I ask. I mean to still sound playful, almost teasing, but the words come out more hurt than anything else. Xander shrugs— it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about this. But…is this why we’ve barely spoken since he moved out? Did I do something to drive him away? I figured it was solely his father, the stress of the new marriage, new school, but now… “Xander, seriously. Did I…I mean, God, I was fourteen when we met. Whatever it was I did, was it a big enough deal for you to leave home?”

“Technically, I got thrown out,” he reminds me. Which is true— his dad told him to “get the fuck out”, if memory serves. But Xander didn’t fight it; it was almost like he’d been waiting to hear it directly like that.

“Still. I didn’t know it had anything to do with me,” I say, shaking my head.

“It didn’t. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But why—”

“You should cancel your credit cards,” he says abruptly. “The longer you wait the bigger a headache it’ll be. You can use my computer.”

I’m more that a little stunned by the change in conversation, but I also don’t know how to get the conversation back to where it was.

Back to him telling me what I did when we were younger that upset him so much.

I nod faintly, and Xander vanishes, reappearing with a sleek laptop. He hands it to me and I open it up sitting on the couch, clumsily trying to remember the username and password to a card that, if memory serves, only has a three hundred dollar limit on it anyway.

There’s a chime; a message pops up, the sort that goes to both Xander’s phone and laptop. My eyes instinctively travel to the message, even though I swear I’m not trying to snoop; Xander pounces. He slides in next to me on the couch, snatches the laptop of my lap, and closes the message out.

“Confidential,” he says darkly. “Work stuff.” He slides the laptop back onto my lap.

“Oh,” I say, still pretty alarmed by Xander’s reaction. It’s after my surprise fades that I realize that Xander is now sitting right next to me, his thigh pressed against mine. The smell of him is everywhere, the heat from his body radiating into mine.

I’ve had a crush on Xander since I was a kid. And being next to him like this brings it all back. I feel my nipples bead, and I’m certain they’re now visible through the fabric of my shirt.

“I’m finished with the computer,” I say, voice stunted. “I couldn’t remember my password.”

“Okay,” Xander says in a clipped way. He glances down at my chest and then back into my eyes. For a moment, his gaze is so bold that I feel my entire body flood with heat.

Is he—is he going to kiss me?

But then he looks away, runs a hand through his hair.

I finally close the laptop delicately and lean forward to set it on the coffee table. Xander still hasn’t gotten up.

“Part of the reason I had to go, had to leave home, was because of what might happen between us if I didn’t.”

I can’t believe he’s actually said it out loud. I never thought he had any feelings for me at all. I hoped, but never dared believe it might be true. And even now, maybe I’m misreading things.

“What did you think might happen?” I say, trying to sound oh so casual.

His eyes lock on mine. “Come on, don’t make me say it.”

“I don’t know if we’re thinking the same thing.”

He almost smiles. More of a smirk. “Yes you do,” he murmurs.

And now my entire core is throbbing, my pussy suddenly drenched as I realize that this is real. This is actually fucking happening.

Finally…dear, God…finally, my gorgeous totally untouchable stepbrother is leaning in, and kissing me. And it’s hotter and sweeter than I could ever have imagined.