Okay, he doesn’t exactly love me. But I’m totally growing on him.
I catch him smiling at my antics, and he does that more now. Smiling, I mean.
He also tolerates my flirting more and replies to my texts in a timely manner. I think he even likes filthy texts now. He’s become a fan of the dick pics as well, though he often tells me to stop sending them.
Sometimes, I find him looking at me with this cryptic expression when I’m watching his boring movies.
Other times, however, he looks at me as if I’m an alien, which is usually my cue that he’ll leave. Other times, he locks himself in the bathroom for more than half an hour and comes out distraught, his real expression hidden behind the disturbing control that he wields so well.
It doesn’t help that whenever I ask him if everything is okay, he lies through his teeth with that fake smile and says the word that I hate the most now. Fine.
He’s anything but fine, but I don’t know how to get him to talk. That is, if I’m supposed to do that when we’re not in a relationship.
Bran is a vault. No matter how much I bang on the surface, it never cracks. He always, without a doubt, slips behind the steel walls and closes himself off.
A tap on my shoulder brings me back to the present and I find my cousin staring at me. “Are you thinking about them? A man? A woman? Both?”
“Fuck off, Kill.”
“Honestly, I can’t imagine you in a relationship.”
“Why the fuck not?” I snap.
He pauses, raising an eyebrow. “You’re too volatile. Besides, you said you don’t want a partner. Ever. Since you’re a free soul and refuse to be tied down.”
Right. I did say that.
Fuck. I completely forgot that I actually used to think that way not too long ago. What is it about Bran that makes me want to fucking tie him to me?
It’s the conquest, right?
Just because I have his body, I don’t have his soul, and I’m on the edge because I want his everything.
Once he hands that over, I’ll discard him.
Right?
“So?” Kill shoves my shoulder with his. “Who changed your precious set of anti-monogamy rules? You can tell me. Must be killing you to keep it all to yourself.”
“You really want to know?”
He nods.
I beckon him with one finger. “Come here. It’s a secret.”
He inches close and I smack him on the nape. “Mind your fucking business and stop being nosy.”
My cousin massages the assaulted spot. “You’ll regret that.”
“Take it as payback for all the times you throw shit at me.” I break out in evil laughter and continue strolling down the street.
Kill grabs me by the arm and pushes me in the opposite direction. “Let’s grab a coffee first.”
“And croissants.” I stroke my stomach. “You think they have macarons?”
“Don’t think so.” He watches me. “Since when do you like macarons?”
“I always have.”
“No, you haven’t. Your sweet tooth usually ends at donuts.”
I hum but say nothing. I might have started indulging in them since Bran bought some once. I finished the whole box in one night and had a mini sugar coma.
He’s started hiding them from me since then and only leaves two pieces out like a stingy asshole.
“Kill!”
My grouchy cousin’s face breaks into a rare genuine smile at the sound of his girlfriend’s voice.
She’s waving us over to her table with… My, my.
My lips curl into an automatic grin when my eyes meet those stunning blues. For a fraction of a second, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights, his fingers loosening from around his cup.
It’s a bit similar to his expression last night when I pressed him against the wall as soon as he was out of the elevator and fucked him there until he couldn’t stand up straight.
Chill, Kolya. Jesus, man. We’re in public.
Does he understand that logic? No, because he’s twitching against my pants in pure dick fashion.
I know Bran is allergic to being labeled beautiful, but he so is. He’s also so elegant and well-groomed. The collar of his shirt is perfectly folded, his cuffs are symmetrically rolled, and every strand of his hair falls into the right place.
He’s always dressed in refined fashion and he carries himself with silent charisma. He might bottom and enjoy it, but he’s the control freak outside the bedroom. Hot-headed, too, to the point of madness. Bet no one looks at his fancy manners and can guess he loves it rough.
While Glyn and Killian are busy sucking each other’s faces off, I slide a chair over and sit beside him. I purposefully sit with my thighs so wide apart; my jeans touch his pants.
He continues watching me as if I’m a world wonder, his lips slightly parted.
The need to devour those lips beats inside me like an urge, but I force it down and whisper, “You’re drooling. Am I that hot?”
He swallows and quickly diverts his gaze, choosing to focus on the absurd PDA across from us.
Typical Bran. To be honest, I don’t know why I keep hoping he’ll one day come out in epic fashion and kiss me in front of the world like he loves to do in private.
That’s just impossible.
I suspect he’d rather keep this going for years instead of finally being honest with himself. Not that I care. Once I graduate, I’ll be back to my life in New York and he’ll return to being the prim-and-proper London boy.
“What a coincidence,” Glyn says after she finally breaks apart from Kill.
He taps her nose. “You really think it’s a coincidence? Looks like I have a lot more to teach you, baby.”
Kill. You evil genius.
So he knew she was in this coffee shop with Bran all along, which is why he insisted we grab coffee here.
It’s nice to know I have a successful stalker cousin. Some might say it runs in the family since I’m pretty sure I caught Gareth stalking a Mercedes the other day and he used one of the bodyguards’ cars for the mission.
What’s not nice, however, is the fact that he also uses baby. Couldn’t pick another nickname?
I steal a glance at Bran, and he’s busy staring at his coffee as if searching for an answer to the fucking universe. Black, no sugar like his soul.
He’s interlinking his fingers, letting them rest on his lap and I rest my hand on my thigh, close to his, and inch closer, getting high on the warmth emanating off him.
Fuck me. He’s intoxicating.
I simply can’t exist in his vicinity and stop myself from touching him.
It’s torture.
“How are you, Niko?” Glyn asks me with an easy grin.
Sometimes, it’s hard to think of her as Bran’s sister. Though they do look like siblings, she’s more carefree than he’ll ever be. She acts spontaneously while he counts his every step. Every word. Every action. Like a psycho.
Except when my body talks to his, of course. That’s when I get the uncut version of my lotus flower.
“Nikolai,” Killian says. “His name is Nikolai.”
“But I love Niko,” I say with a smile.
To give Bran credit, he pretends that I didn’t say a word as he sips from his coffee. However, I can see his hand twitching on his thigh.
“Right?” Glyn says. “It’s much easier to call him Niko instead of Nikolai. Don’t be jealous, Kill.”
“Yeah, don’t be jealous, cousin. Glyn and I are friends, right?”
“Uh-huh.” She grins and I wink at her.
I swear I catch Bran glaring at me from my peripheral vision, but when I look at him, he’s busy watching his coffee.
“Watch it, Niko,” Kill threatens in mock calm. “You’re digging your own grave.”
“Let me search for the fucks I have to give.” I pretend to check my pockets and then produce two middle fingers. “Oh, here you go.”
Glyn bursts out laughing, Killian is nowhere near amused, and Bran is still lost in his phone.
Christ. His mental door-slam game is strong.
“So what were you doing here before we interrupted you?” I ask Glyn.
“Nothing much. Bran and I love to catch up.”
“You must be close,” I say and feel Bran stiffen beside me.
“We are,” she says with glee. “We’re a team against Lan.”
“We’re not against Lan.” He speaks for the first time, voice calm and clear like an unmovable mountain. “He’s our brother.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t act like one.”
“This is not the time or place for this discussion,” he says point-blank, and although he sounds composed, there’s a firm edge beneath it.
Hearing him speak in that tone is how I figured out his kind image is just that—an image. He’s actually a bit controlling. Okay, a lot. Neurotically so.
He acts like he’s okay with everything, but deep down, he tries to manipulate the situation so it works the exact way he wants it to. He’s picky, standoffish, and meticulous. Difficult and grumpy, too. The quiet ones are the fucking scariest.
“Whatever.” Glyn pouts. “You always try to give excuses for him anyway.”
“He’s my twin brother.”