Series: Peach State Stepbros Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Difference was, if I got in trouble, I played nice and displayed the requisite contrition. Atlas just did what he wanted and never gave a shit what anyone else thought. He was a loner, and if you were acting like a dick, he’d tell you to your face, which made a lot of people—especially teachers—see him as a fucking asshole. His temper didn’t help his reputation any either. To say it’s hot trivializes the volcanic rage he can explode into. Doesn’t happen often, but I’ve seen it when he’s gotten in a few fights, and it’s not the sort of thing anyone wants to be in the middle of, which is why Marty’s in his face.
As I approach the commotion, I say, “Hey, Marty…Marty! I got this. Okay?”
I rest my hand on his shoulder, and as he turns to me, I can feel him relax. He huffs and flashes me a threatening glare I read as, Tend to your stepbrother!
When he heads off, Atlas’s eyes widen, his green gaze shifting to me. “Do all the rushes get this kind of attention at Alpha Theta Mu?” He takes a sip from his Solo cup, and I can tell by his expression that he enjoyed just how pissed his presence made Marty.
“You know damn well rush week is over. Now, are you gonna make me kick you out?”
“Sounds like somebody’s mad because they were close to getting some action before they noticed me.”
He knows I’m gay, but apparently saw that girl flirting with me and wasn’t gonna miss a chance to give me hell.
“Maybe I’m curious why you’ve been watching me for the past ten minutes.” As I say that, I cringe, regretting that I took the bait.
“My friends aren’t here yet,” Atlas says, “so I had to entertain myself. And what better way than to watch my gay stepbro torturing some misguided woman? Oh, check out my big man muscles. You want tickets to the gun show? They’re free.” He’s not half-assing his impression either. I’m talking full-on stereotypical idiot jock voice and mannerisms, which he knows damn well doesn’t fit me at all. “Oh, please. Touch them all. Why would I spend all my time at the gym if I didn’t want everyone wanting a piece of this meat?”
My cheeks flush with heat. Even worse, I can tell by the wicked smirk on his face that he doesn’t mean it. He just wants to annoy me, and damned if it’s not working.
“Better to be you? I’m gonna find a wall at the back of a party and see what woman I can find to give an intriguing glance and pouty lips. Maybe she’ll take me home because she thinks she can rescue my sorry ass.”
As I finish my impersonation, he says, “I don’t pout.”
“If you say so. But I’m not gonna let you distract me from the issue—”
“You already did.” He beams with pride, running his fingers through his dirty-blond bangs like he’s using the move to accent his victory.
I get back to business. “As a junior at Peach State University, I trust you understand what the word ban means.”
“I was banned the rest of last year, and it’s a new year, so I get a fresh start, lil stepbro.” He takes another swig of his drink.
“Three months older won’t make you three inches taller, lil stepbro.”
He smirks at the familiar exchange, one we’ve swapped variations of plenty of times since our parents married.
“Isn’t your friend Colin studying law? Maybe he can read the fine print over my banning and let me know where I stand. Or you can just get some of your jock friends to escort me out of here like you did last time?”
“I’m happy to escort you out myself now.” I sling an arm over his shoulders.
Atlas sure knows how to get under my skin. Reminds me of when we were in high school, of every time I wanted to punch that smug grin off his face. Or put him in a choke hold when he’d find just the right dig to spear into my chest. Hell, there were times when just listening to him breathe or eat Cap’n Crunch made me want to snap.
Atlas wraps his arm around my back. “You remember when you lost that bet senior year and had to wear those little lacy panties?”
“What?” I’m totally thrown. Not that I’m confused about what he’s referring to. Getting under each other’s skin had always included this hyper-competitive streak. Races down the street, basketball matches in the driveway, video games that ended in broken controllers, senseless bets—we had plenty of chances to demonstrate who was superior. Perhaps the lingering tension between us has to do with the fact that none of these challenges ever determined a clear victor.
That said, I still don’t get why he’s bringing up the panty bet.