Lucian

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I went through the motions of showering on autopilot, but my mind was still stuck on the kiss. How silky her lips had felt, how soft her waist felt in my hands. The way her breasts had crushed against my chest as she lifted up on her tiptoes to kiss me. Her fingers on my chest, short, rounded fingernails digging into my skin.

Just a kiss, but holy shit—what a kiss.

I twisted off the water, but didn’t get out of the shower right away. I couldn’t. How could I leave the bathroom like this? I had a hard-on so vicious it hurt.

Yet, she was only mere feet away, in my room. Thinking about me? About our kiss? She hadn’t been unaffected by it—I heard that moan.

I stood in the shower, back against the cold wet tile wall, and fisted my cock. Unbidden, an image of Joss filled my mind—the way she’d looked in that brief glimpse I’d gotten of her, naked and soaking wet. A line from a Sam Hunt song popped into my head—hips like honey, so thick and so sweet. Yeah, exactly. Her hips were wide, curving down to strong thighs. Narrower in the waist, and then, god, her breasts. My cock throbbed—her breasts were perfect. Heavy, big and round and teardrop shaped, her lush skin a few shades darker than caramel, wide dark areolae and even darker nipples.

Fuck, fuck, fuck—no.

I’m not jerking off to her. I’ll never be able to look at her in the eyes if I do that.

I released myself and breathed forcefully for a few seconds, and then roughly jerked on my clothing; even with tight boxer-briefs and jeans, it was obvious I had a hard-on, but I wasn’t hiding in the damn bathroom. I exited, but then cursed when I realized my stupid hairbrush was in my room—living with so many people for so long had taught me to keep all of my belongings confined to my personal space.

One thing I wasn’t used to was sharing my space, so I didn’t think twice about going into my room, forgetting momentarily that Joss was in there.

I twisted the knob and pushed the door open, took two steps in before I happened to glance at the bed.

And stopped, literally, midstep. My jaw dropped, and any chance I had of getting rid of the hard-on was erased instantly.

Joss was on my bed, one hand shoved under the waistband of the yoga pants, moving vigorously. She had the hoodie shoved up, baring her breasts, and she had two fingers pincered around a nipple, rolling it. Her hips were gyrating, and she was biting her lip to muffle the moans she was making…which had disguised the sound of my entry.

She hadn’t noticed me.

Her eyes were closed, a rictus of ecstasy turning her beautiful face into a mask of erotic release as she fingered herself.

Shit, I should leave.

But I was paralyzed in place by the image of her, like that—thrashing, hips flying, moaning, breasts bared, pinching her own nipple.

I forced my eyes closed, backing up a step. Another. My shoulder blades hit the doorpost, and I couldn’t keep my eyes closed anymore.

God, I was a piece of shit, and I knew it, but I couldn’t look away.

Right then, as my eyes flew open, Joss came. Her moan flew out past her teeth, and she tensed, hips flexed upward, fingers moving inside her pants, and then she was undulating crazily against her fingers and groaning past clenched teeth. Flopping back down to the bed, she gasped breathlessly, withdrawing her hand and lowering the hem of the hoodie.

Her eyes flicked open and immediately fixed on me. “You—you saw.”

I’m never speechless; I never stumble on my words…except right then. “I—uh. My hairbrush, and you were…um.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed slowly, counting to ten; this usually calmed me, centered me, but in that moment, all it did was let visions of an orgasming Joss fill my libido-flooded mind.

“I’m sorry, Joss. I should’ve left—I shouldn’t have watched. But I—shit. I’m sorry.” I spun around on my heel and left, inadvertently slamming the door behind me.

I made it down to the studio and slumped onto the couch they keep there. I put my head in my hands, trying to get myself under control. My erection throbbed, aching painfully. There was no hope for control, no hope of getting it to go away—erotic visions of Joss danced in my skull, teasing me.

“FUCK!” I shot to my feet, pacing away, fruitlessly adjusting myself in an attempt to alleviate the aching pressure behind my zipper.

I heard a step, stopped in my tracks and turned to find Joss in the stairwell, watching me through the open door, the hood drawn up over her dreadlocks. “Lucian?”

I jerked my hand away from my cock as if burned, shoved my hands in my back pockets. “Hey.”

She took a step toward me. “Hey. So, about what you just saw—”

I held up my hands to stop her. “Joss, I am so sorry I walked in on you, more so for not walking back out like I should’ve.” I wiped my face and turned away. “I’m a piece of shit for watching you like that.”

“No,” she murmured. “Don’t say that. You’re not.”

I laughed bitterly. “I kind of am. That was a dick move.”

“We’re both guilty of staring longer than we should have, then. So let’s call it even.”

I shook my head. “Not quite. Slightly different situations. You caught me getting into the shower, I caught you…” I trailed off.

“Masturbating.”

“Yeah.”

She took a step closer to me. “What’s going on, Lucian? Between us, I mean. What is this?”

I let out a breath. “No fucking clue.”

She shoved her hands into the pouch pocket of the hoodie. “But you feel it, too.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She stared up at me. “You asked, before, what I was going to do now.” She ducked her head, dropping her eyes to her bare feet. “When I was passing through Winnipeg, I happened to wander into this little bookstore. It was cold, and I was looking for somewhere to sleep for the night, and was just kind of killing time. This bookstore was just this tiny little place, maybe half a dozen shelves, mostly used sci-fi, westerns, and mystery paperbacks. The owner was this middle-aged black guy, and he had a tiny espresso machine in the back, and if you asked, he’d make you a latte or Americano or whatever. And it just…I don’t know. I felt them there. My mom and dad, I mean. I sat on the floor between two shelves and cried because I missed them so much. And the owner helped me to a chair and made me coffee and got me talking about Mom and Dad, how they owned a little place like his, and how I missed them so much. And he…he said something so simple and so profound it just…changed me. ‘So open your own place.’ Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.”

“That’s what you’re doing next?”

She nodded. “That’s my dream. I sat in that little bookstore, sipping coffee out of a chipped mug, the smell of books everywhere, and I had this vision of opening a place like Mom and Dad owned. Nothing big, nothing fancy. Local books, bestsellers, whatever I like. A nice espresso machine, maybe some baked goods. Somewhere you can go and sit and sip and read, where students can do homework and writers can write and locals congregate. That’s what Mom and Dad’s place was, and I had this vision of me, in my own place like that.”

“What’s stopping you?”

She shook her head, sniffling, dreadlocks moving in serpentine waves. “I don’t know. Everything. Life. Being homeless. Being broke. Not having a high school diploma. Where do I even start? I don’t know. But that’s my dream, and I’ll get there someday. For Mom and Dad.”

“What would you call it?”

She smiled, hesitating over her answer. “I would call it home.”

“I meant—”

She looked away with a shrug. “I know. And I have no idea—I haven’t thought about it.”

I frowned at her. “Bullshit.”

She fiddled with a dreadlock, and then glanced at me. “The Garden.”

I laughed. “Really?”

She sniffled again. “Mom and Dad fought over the name for months when they opened their place, and that’s what Dad wanted to call it. Mom thought it was silly, and insisted on the more pedestrian Pete’s Cafe, which Dad always hated. But Mom insisted, and Dad could never tell her no, so that’s what they called it. But Dad always told me one day he’d get her to change it to The Garden.”

“Why that?”

“He said it was because a bookstore is really a garden of sorts. Each book is a seed, for ideas and thoughts and dreams, and I always thought it sounded like a cool, unique, even romantic name for a bookstore.”

“I like it.”

“Really? You don’t think it’s stupid?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all.”

She looked up at me again, and her gaze was hesitant. “About the kiss…” She shifted her feet, shoved her hands in the hoodie pocket again. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

I felt the sting of rejection, even though I knew it was stupid—she was a girl with a dream, a wanderer, and I knew better than anyone that when she was ready to leave, there would be no stopping her, certainly not me, or a kiss, or even the hint of attraction, or whatever it was between us.

“Ready for what?” I stepped toward her. “It was just a kiss.”

Her gaze dropped down to my zipper; my erection was subsiding, but it was still very much obvious that I was, or at least had been, aroused as hell. “Not just a kiss.”

I passed a hand through my damp hair. “Joss, come on. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“We kissed, and then you caught me masturbating because of it, and unless I’m mistaken, you either did or wanted to do the same thing.”

“I didn’t,” I admitted. “It didn’t feel…I don’t know.”

“But I did.” She laughed bitterly. “Now I feel even more like shit.”

“Joss—Jesus. It’s not like that. I’m sorry I walked in on you…I should have realized you’d be in there and I should’ve knocked.”

“That’s not what I’m pissed off about, you idiot!” She barked another bitter laugh and turned away, pacing the room. “We had this kiss, this moment, and yeah, it was crazy hot—and then you caught me jilling off while thinking about you, and that fucking kiss. And now you tell me you didn’t jack off when clearly the kiss was just as hot for you, because that goddamn python in your pants makes it pretty damn obvious. But you didn’t jack off because it didn’t feel right or whatever, and I did because I’m fucking weak.”

“Joss, it’s not like that. It’s not a big deal. You’re allowed to do whatever you want and you don’t need to give me or anyone explanations.” I moved toward her, standing behind her; she was facing away, hands shoved in the pouch pocket, hood still up.

She must have felt my presence, because she took a step forward, out of reach. “Just…let it go.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

She turned around. “Lucian, I don’t want you to think—”

I held up a hand. “You said let it go, so fine, let’s just let it go.”

A long, tense moment of silence between us.

“Can we go to the other place, where the bar is?” Joss asked, after a while.

“That stressed out you need a drink, huh?”

She glared at me. “That’s not what I—”

I waved a hand to stop her. “I was kidding. Let’s get shoes and coats and go.”

“I don’t have shoes here, all my wet stuff is in the other apartment.”

“You can shove your feet in a pair of my boots. They’ll be big but it’ll work for the short distance we have to go.”

These exchanges were tense and uncomfortable, each of us feeling out of sorts.

I found her a pair of thick wool socks, which came up to her knees, and an extra pair of snow boots her feet swam in, but between that and an extra puffy coat I found in a closet, she was fine to make the short trek down the sidewalk. Of course, that didn’t take into account the insane amount of snow we’d gotten—something like three feet in less than seventy-two hours. The city was doing their best to keep the streets and sidewalks clear as it fell, but we never got this amount of snow, so they didn’t have the infrastructure necessary to keep up. Which meant snow had blown in from the water and was piling up against the buildings in drifts taller than me, in some places—and snow was still flying thick and hard in a blinding, stinging wall of white. We left through the front door of the studio, and I had to shove the door hard to clear snow away enough to let us out, and then we immediately sank into snow up to our thighs, and had climb out over the drifts and into the street where the snow was only up to our knees.

Joss clung to my arm and put her mouth to my ear. “This is crazy!” she shouted, and the wind even then tried to snatch her words away. “Will we even find the bar in this shit?”

I pulled Joss close and shouted in her ear. “Stay close! Hold on to me!”

She clutched the back of my coat and followed in my footsteps as I stomped and slogged through the knee-deep snow, clearing a bit of a path for her. It was brutally difficult, and I was out of breath by the time I caught a glimpse of the front door of the bar. I angled us onto the sidewalk, and caught a shovelful of snow in the face, thrown by one of my brothers. It was Bast, decked out from head to toe in layers of clothing, a scarf around his mouth and nose, a pair of goggles on his eyes, a shovel in his hands as he dug out the door.

He saw us coming and stuck the shovel into the snowbank, hauled open the door, and we both ushered Joss in before us.

I leaned close to Bast. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He gestured at the snow with his mittened hands. “Shoveling snow, dumbshit. What’s it look like?”

“I know, but why?”

“Because if I don’t keep it at least somewhat clear, we’ll get trapped in, if this bullshit keeps up.” He gestured up at the second-story window. “You wanna jump out from there and dig us out when it stops snowing?”

“Good point.”

“No shit.”

I left him to it and went inside. It was weird, seeing the bar empty and dark like this in the middle of the day, all the chairs up on the tables, only the hanging lights over the bar turned on. Joss was standing just inside the doorway, stomping snow off her feet and shaking it off her arms.

I gestured at the empty room. “Well, we’re here. Now what?”

She shrugged. “Hang out upstairs with whoever’s here?”

I shook my head. “So you just don’t want to be alone with me.”

Joss’s shoulders slumped, and she turned to look up at me. Her golden-brown eyes were soft, hesitant. “Lucian, that’s not—I mean, it is, but not how you’re taking it.”

“Then enlighten me, because I’m confused.”

“I’m not staying, Lucian. I’m not getting into a relationship, or joining your crazy but amazing family.” She shook her head and shrugged, hands lifting, palms up. “I can’t get into anything. I just can’t. Not with you, or anyone. Not now, and maybe not ever.”

I backed away from her, away from her scent, from those eyes, from the temptation her lips presented. “Fine. I get it.”

“Lucian…”

I shook my head. “Don’t. I get it, I really do.” I gestured at the stairs. “Go hang out.”

“What are you going to do?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. Help Bast shovel, probably.”

“Lucian, I don’t want you to be—”

“I’m not anything. I’m fine.” I tugged the hood of my coat up over my head and exited the bar before I said or did anything else.

I didn’t have a hat or gloves or anything, but I didn’t care. I just needed to be away from Joss and her eyes and those words, and my own stupid hurt feelings.

Bast saw me come out and rested on the end of his shovel. “Okay, Luce?”

I nodded. “Fine. Let me see the shovel.”

He held it out to me. “Wanna take over? This shit is hard-ass work, man.”

I took the shovel. “Yeah, I’ll go to work on it.” I made a gimme gesture with my hand. “Let me have your hat and gloves and shit.”

Bast ripped the hat, goggles, and gloves off and handed them to me. They were damp with his sweat and from the snow, but I didn’t care. My hair was still damp and my ears were cold and my fingers were stinging. But it was better than having to look at Joss and act like I didn’t care that she’d just rejected me. I tugged the cold-weather gear on and attacked the snow with all the hurt and anger I had.

As I shoveled, I tried to keep my mind off of Joss, but it was a losing game. Every second or third shovelful of snow, she kept arising in my mind—naked, her lush dark skin wet; standing in the bathroom doorway, her eyes raking me, tongue sliding hungrily across her lower lip; on my bed, spine arched, heavy breasts swaying as she thrashed, her fingers between her thighs as she brought herself to orgasm.

“Fuck!” I shouted, frustrated, aroused, and angry.

I threw the shovel down and collapsed back against the door of the bar, gasping breathlessly. I glanced at my handiwork and discovered that in my angst I’d gone a little overboard, shoveling out into the street rather than just around the doorway, clearing a huge swath of sidewalk.

I went back inside, then, panting, sweating, heart hammering, fighting yet another hard-on I wouldn’t do anything about.

I found Joss upstairs on the couch in front of the TV, a PS4 controller in her hands, tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth as she played the newest Call of Duty with Canaan, Corin, and Xavier. Bast, Bax, and Brock were in the kitchen talking, and I could hear the other women somewhere, chatting.

Joss was having fun, it looked like, ducking her head as shots whipped past her on-screen avatar’s head, moving the controller around as if that would move her character faster, shrieking in triumph when she scored a kill against Corin.

“Goddamn, Joss!” Corin crowed. “You’re good at this shit. Sure you haven’t played recently?”

Joss didn’t take her eyes off the game. “Nope. First video game I’ve played in…oh god, five or six years? My ex-best friend Maria’s younger brother had one of these games, and we used to play with him once in a while, but like I said, that was a long time ago.”

Tate was sitting at the island, her Nikon plugged into a laptop as she sorted through photos; she glanced at Joss quizzically. “Ex-best friend? What happened there?”

I noticed Joss’s hesitation, but I don’t think anyone else did; it was a subtle thing, just a hunching of her shoulders, a tightening of her jaw. “Um…nothing too interesting. There was a boy we both liked, and we were both immature teenagers. We fought over his stupid ass—who liked him most, and who would get to date him, blah blah blah. It got so out of hand that we stopped talking, and never really figured out a way to get over it.”

Tate made a sympathetic noise. “So who got the guy, after all that?”

Joss snickered self-deprecatingly. “Neither of us, which is the truly shitty part.”

“Ohmygod!” Tate exclaimed. “You and your best friend broke up over a guy neither of you ended up even dating?”

Joss nodded. “Yep,” she said, and then cursed good-naturedly as Xavier sniped her from across the map.

“Wow. That sucks, hardcore.”

Joss shrugged. “Yeah, it does. But…it’s old news so, whatever, at this point.”

Joss scored two kills in a row, nailing Xavier and Canaan with a single grenade. She stood up, controller held over her head, cackling. “What now, bitches!”

Corin glanced at me. “Luce, buddy, your girlfriend is kicking our asses at our own game, man.”

“Yeah, well…you guys suck at that game anyway.” I grabbed a stool at the island beside Tate and watched her scroll through black-and-white photos of various locations throughout Ketchikan. “Those are awesome, Tate. You’re really talented.”

She smiled at me and turned the laptop so I could get a better look, and clicked to a different window to show me a photo she was editing in Photoshop. “I’ve been experimenting with retouching black-and-white photos with a single element of a bold color. It’s nothing groundbreaking, obviously, but it’s a lot of fun and really compelling.”

The photo she was working on was of a big, bearded man kneeling down on the sidewalk, tugging a winter hat onto his daughter’s head, while the daughter laughed and reached up to tug on her dad’s beard. The only element of color was the hat, which Tate had turned to a vibrant royal purple, drawing the eye to the little girl’s head, and the grin on her face. It was an incredible photo, and I found a little knot of jealousy forming inside me.

“I got the father to sign a release for the photo, so I’m gonna sell this at Eva’s studio.”

I breathed out between pursed lips. “That’s… a really incredible piece, Tate.”

She met my gaze. “You think so?”

I nodded. “It’s amazing. For real.”

Her grin brightened even further. “Thanks, Luce. That means a lot.”

I squirmed inside, hating the jealousy I felt for her obvious talent. I’d never found my thing, aside from traveling. From sports to flying to athletics, my brothers all seemed to be happy with their career choices, but me? Nothing.

I had gone to the docks at every opportunity just to escape the house, the bar, and the enormous shadows cast by my brothers, and had found a measure of peace and quiet there, with the water lapping against hulls, ropes clinking against masts, the cry of the gulls and the honking of cruise ship horns. Dad’s friend Clint had taken to me, for some reason, and let me spend my every free moment on his boat, and he never seemed to get tired of my questions and my presence. I loved the sea and I loved traveling, but was that a skill or a talent? Not really either. It wasn’t something I could translate into a passion, or a career, unless I wanted to buy a boat and become a fisherman. But I don’t love the fishing; I just love boats and the water, the freedom and quiet of coursing across the waves, far from anything.

Tate, Aerie, Eva, Mara, Claire, Dru, they all have their things.

Even Joss has something she’s interested in.

I clamped down on the unsettling disquiet running through my brain. I stood up and left Tate to editing her photographs, and everyone else to their conversations.

Where did I fit in?

I slipped back downstairs to the bar, unnoticed, and sat alone at the bar, in the dark, nursing a glass of whiskey and my private inner turmoil.