I sat in my room, my mind racing with thoughts of last night's unexpected encounter. The gentle rustle of pages from my book had been my only company for the last hour, since Henry left for his meetup.
The sudden sound of the front door slamming jolted me out of my daze. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the familiar timbre of Dad's laugh and Zac's deeper chuckle echoing through the hallway.
The sound of their heavy footsteps grew closer, their carefree banter filling the air. I had been so engrossed in my book that I didn't even hear their car pull up.
Their voices grew louder as they entered the house. Dad's hearty chuckles and Zac's sarcastic quips danced up the staircase, wrapping around the banister and seeping under my bedroom door. They sounded... happy. Normal. It was eerily comforting, a stark contrast to the tumultuous sea of emotions I'd been adrift in since my encounter with Dad.
My eyes remained glued to the pages of my book, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I could feel the weight of what had happened between us, a silent elephant in the room that was now the entire house. I was afraid to face him, to see if the moments from last night had hardened into something unrecognizable. I wondered if he regretted it, if he was disgusted by me. But his laughter downstairs suggested a blissful ignorance of the shift in our dynamics.
I knew deep down that I had not forced him into anything. The way he had held me, the urgency in his touch, it was clear that he had desired me just as much as I had desired him. But the doubt clung to me like a second skin, whispering dark scenarios into my ear. What if it was the alcohol talking? What if he didn't remember? I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of doubt swirling in my chest.
The aroma of cooking meat wafted up from the kitchen, and my stomach grumbled. I realized that I hadn't eaten anything all day. I pushed myself off the bed and took a moment to compose my face in the mirror. The person staring back at me was the same one who had confidently taken charge last night, yet now I felt like this evening's dinner wouldn't just be about food.
Dad's voice grew louder as I approached the stairs, I padded downstairs, my bare feet whispering against the cool hardwood. The sight of him in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, was surprisingly soothing. He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, it was as if last night had never happened.
"Hey, Dylan. Already awake too,I see." Zac called out, his eyes flicking towards me briefly before returning to the TV. He lounged on the couch, one hand absently scratching at his chest. His bicep bulged with the movement, the sleeve of his shirt stretching taut around his muscular arm. He seemed so casual, so unchanged.
I took a deep breath and tried to match his tone. "You don't have to put on a show just because you're the early bird today."
Zac grinned, flashing perfect white teeth. "Some of us have to work for our gains, you know." He flexed his arms playfully, and the room seemed to shrink around his bulging muscles.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach as I took in the sight of him. "Oh, please. Average, more like you're just not flexing hard enough." The words slipped out before I could censor them, and I watched as Zac's grin grew wider.
He sat up, his abs rippling as he planted his feet firmly on the floor. He strutted over to me, his swagger exuding a cocky confidence that was impossible to miss. He stopped right in front of me, so close I could feel the warmth of his body. He rolled up his sleeves, biceps bulging as he folded his arms across his chest. "You think these are average?"
I couldn't help but let my gaze linger on the mountain range of muscles that was his arms. Zac had always been so... overwhelmingly masculine, and it was both infuriating and fascinating. Normally, I'd have a snappy comeback, a way to cut him down to size, but today, with dad in the room and the knowledge of what had transpired between us, I felt the need to tread carefully. I didn't want any suspicion to arise. So, I gave him the win, allowing a hint of admiration to tint my voice. "Alright, alright, they're... impressive."
Zac's smile grew smug, the corners of his eyes crinkling with satisfaction. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "I know you think so, Dyl." His words were a low murmur, a taunt that only I could hear. It sent a shiver down my spine, not entirely unpleasant, but definitely unwelcome under the circumstances.
He stepped back, the tension between us palpable. "And all of that," he began, gesturing to his muscular physique, "is thanks to Dad's training." He winked, turning towards the kitchen where Hugo was busy flipping burgers on the grill. "You know, Dad knows a thing or two about sculpting a man's body."
I felt my cheeks heat up as dad glanced over his shoulder. He caught the end of Zac's words, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Well, I did give you all the right tools," he said, flipping a burger with a deft flick of his wrist. "It's up to you boys to use them wisely."
Zac flexed his arms again, his voice boastful. "And I've used them very wisely, haven't I?" He looked at me with a knowing smirk. "I mean, between the heavy lifts and the cardio, I've got the whole package." His tone was casual, but the innuendo was unmistakable. The memory of Zac's cock in my mouth flooded back to me, unbidden and vivid. He'd only made me do it once, but it had been a victory for him.
Dad chuckled softly, a knowing look passing over his face before he spoke. "Alright, Zac, let's keep the gym talk to the gym, shall we?" His words were light, but there was a firmness to his tone that suggested he didn't want the conversation to go there, not with me in the room, and certainly not with the tension that still lingered from the night before.
Zac's smile didn't waver, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, come on, Dad. It's just a little locker room talk. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about," he quipped, his gaze flicking towards me.
But Dad's expression grew stern, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Zac, that's enough," he said firmly, flipping the burgers with a sizzle that seemed to punctuate his words.
Zac's smile faltered, and he took a step back, his arms dropping to his sides. "It was just a joke, Dad," he protested, but there was an edge to his voice, a hint of something more.
Dad didn't look back at him. So Zac decided to leave it at that, his smile slipping away as he retreated to the living room. "Fine, fine," he grumbled, throwing himself onto the couch. The leather creaked under his weight, and he grabbed the TV remote, flipping through channels with more force than necessary.
I shook my head, once again confused by Zac's erratic behavior. His sudden absence had been as puzzling as it was relieving. Since our encounter, I had a feeling he was up to something, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. The tension between us had been thick, but without any overt signs of his usual bullying, I had almost managed to convince myself it was all in my head.
I had been occupied with Henry, and now even with dad, which had been surprisingly satisfying. I found myself craving the dominance they exuded, the way they made me feel small yet powerful in their presence. But Zac was a wild card, always pushing boundaries, and the way he spoke to me today was a stark reminder of that.
I decided to ignore Zac for a while longer and approached the kitchen, willing the tension to dissipate. "Hey, Dad," I said softly, "Need any help with dinner?"
Dad turned around, his expression a mask of normalcy, but I could see the cogs turning in his head. The air was thick with unspoken words, a silent symphony of doubt and curiosity playing between us. Yet, he managed to pull together a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sure, Dylan. How about you make the salad dressing?"
I nodded, stepping closer to him, feeling the warmth of the stove against my legs as I took the bowl from the counter. This was it, the moment where everything could either go back to normal and it felt like a bubble of anticipation was ready to burst inside my chest.
As I whisked the ingredients together, the tang of the vinegar and the bite of the mustard filled the air, mixing with the sweetness of the honey. The simple task was almost meditative, allowing me to gather my thoughts. But I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off, a discordant note in the melody of our typical routine.
My father's silence was deafening, his usual boisterous self replaced by a contemplative calm that was as unnerving as it was comforting. I felt his eyes on me, a warm presence that didn't feel like scrutiny but something closer to... curiosity? I knew he wasn't mad—his demeanor was too relaxed for that—but the unspoken tension was a tightrope I didn't dare to cross.
As I chopped the last of the cucumbers, the knife's blade slicing through the cool, crisp vegetable with a satisfying crunch, I decided to be bold. I took a deep breath and leaned closer to Dad, speaking in a hushed tone that was barely low enaugh for Zac not to overhear over the drone of the TV. "I enjoyed it."
It took along moment for Dad to respond, his eyes lingering on me before returning to the burgers sizzling on the grill. "I know, Dylan," he finally said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the kitchen. "It wasn't hard to see that you enjoyed it." His admission was as surprising as it was confusing.
He paused, the spatula in his hand hovering over the grill. "But you should know, I'm not that kind of man. I don't usually go for... this." He gestured between us, the word 'this' hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. "I have principles, and sleeping with my own son is not one of them."
My heart sank a little at his words, the warmth of his admission from the night before replaced by a cold reality. But before I could say anything, he continued, his gaze never leaving the burgers. "But I can't deny that last night had been... intense." His voice was gruff, as if the words were being dragged from his throat. "I don't know what came over me, but I won't lie. I liked it, too."
I looked up at him, surprised and hopeful. Was he trying to convey that he didn't feel guilty or disgusted by my lust? That he didn't mind crossing a line that most men would never dare to approach? The possibility was intoxicating, my heart racing at the thought. I swallowed hard, before asking the question that had been burning in my mind. "What does that mean?"
Dad's hand paused on the spatula, his eyes flicking up to meet mine briefly before returning to the burgers. "It means that while I may not be into guys the way you are, Dylan, I've had my fair share of... experiences in the past." He cleared his throat, the silence stretching between us like a tightened rubber band. "Back in college, when I was playing football, sometimes the stress got to be too much, you know?"
I nodded, my curiosity piqued. I'd never heard him speak so candidly about his sexual past before. The thought of him with other men was strange, but it also brought a new dimension to our relationship that was thrilling.
"Yeah," I murmured, "I know college can be a wild time."
Dad nodded, flipping the burgers with a practiced ease. "Back in those days, we had a neighbor in the dorms, a small guy, not much to look at. I never really paid him any mind. But one night, after a girl had left me high and dry, I stumbled back to the room, mad and half-drunk. I was so worked up, I didn't even realize I'd gone to the wrong door until it was already open."
He paused, the sizzle of the meat on the grill filling the silence. "There he was, just sitting on his bed, looking at me with those wide, innocent eyes. I don't even know why I went in, but something about him was... tempting." Dad's voice grew more rugged, a hint of nostalgia tinting his words. "And in that moment, with my rage and frustration boiling over, he offered me something I didn't even know I wanted."
He turned to face me fully, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. "To say the least, I fucked him, Dylan. In a way that was eerily similar to how we... connected last night." His gaze searched my face, looking for a reaction, a sign that I understood the gravity of what he was telling me. "And as it happened, with each thrust, each moan, I could feel the stress of that night melting away. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before."
Dad took a deep breath, his chest expanding with the memory. "Last night, when you sat next to me, watching that ridiculous show," he said, referring to the reality TV series we'd been watching, "I could feel it all coming back." His hand paused as he placed the burgers onto a platter, the juices sizzling onto the countertop.
He took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. "The show, it was so hot. I couldn't help but get turned on. And when you started playing with the remote, your hand brushing against my thigh... I tried to ignore it, I really did." His gaze was intense, as if daring me to look away from the raw honesty in his eyes.
"But when I glanced at you, and you looked up at me with that... that expression," he said, searching for the right words, "I could see that you were feeling it too. And the way you leaned into me, like you were asking for it without saying a word." His voice grew gruffer, his jaw clenching as he remembered the sensation of my body pressing against him. "I wanted to resist, Dylan. You're my son, and I know it's wrong. But you didn't let me."
My cheeks flushed at the memory of my hand sliding up his thigh, the heat of his skin burning through his shorts. "I know, Dad," I whispered, not knowing what to say.
"Look, Dylan," he said, turning to face me fully, "I'm not mad. We're both adults, and we both knew what we were doing." He paused, his eyes searching mine for understanding. "All I want is for things to stay normal between us."
The knot in my stomach began to unravel at his words. It wasn't the green light that my dirty mind had hoped for, but at least it wasn't a rejection. "That's all I want too, Dad," I said, keeping my voice steady.
He nodded, his eyes searching mine, looking for any hint of doubt or regret. And in that moment, I knew that I had to be the one to bridge the gap between us. I had to make the first move, to show him that I was okay with what happened. So, I took a step closer, reaching up to lay a hand on his thick forearm. "But if you ever need... relief again," I began, trying to keep the smirk from my face, "you know where to find me."
The tension in the kitchen snapped, and Dad's expression softened into a small smile. He looked down at my hand on his arm, the muscles beneath his skin flexing slightly. "Dylan," he began, his voice a gentle rumble, "it's too early for those jokes just yet." But the way his eyes crinkled at the corners told me that he was amused, that he didn't take my words as a declaration of intent.... Even tho I knew deep down that they were.
I stepped back, feigning innocence. "Oh, come on, Dad," I said with a playful grin, "you know I'm just messing with you." But the way my voice caught on the last few words, the way my eyes lingered on his bicep, it was clear that there was a hint of truth in my jest.
Dad chuckled, the tension in the room dissipating like a storm cloud evaporating under the warm sun. "You're something else, Dylan," he said with a shake of his head. He turned back to the burgers, the spatula clanging against the metal grill as he scooped them onto plates. "But you're my son," he added, his tone firm yet gentle. "And I don't want to mess with that."
"Alright," I said taking a step back, allowing him space as he finished up dinner., "If we are done here, I'll go set the table then."
The clinking of plates and silverware filled the room as I set the table, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling out of control. Last night had been intense, a blend of passion and taboo that had left me feeling both satisfied and conflicted.
I know I haven't been able to give up the idea yet, especially after the unexpected victory with Dad last night. But the way he talked today made me realize that pushing my luck might not be the best move. So, I figured it's time to focus on Zac again. After all, his smirks and innuendos couldn't be ignored. Plus, there's always a thrill in taming the wild beast, and Zac was definitely that.
With dinner ready, I called out to him, my voice casual despite the racing thoughts in my head. "Zac, come and sit down. Dinner's ready."
He sauntered in, his heavy footsteps echoing in the dining room. His eyes scanned the table, taking in the plates of burgers and piles of fries with a nod of approval. He took a seat opposite me, his muscular frame seemingly dominating the space.
As we sat down for dinner, the tension from earlier had dissipated into a tentative normalcy. We talked about Zac's football season, his successes and the upcoming games. His muscles rippled as he spoke, his excitement palpable as he recounted the tales of victory. Zac took a bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully before speaking up again. "You know, Dylan, you're pretty good at playing housewife," he said with a smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Would you mind driving me to the games? The team parties after a win, and I can't drink and drive."
"Zac," Dad began, his voice a low rumble that held a hint of a warning, "you know I don't appreciate that kind of talk in this house." He wiped his hands on the apron, the muscles in his arms flexing.
I couldn't help but smirk at Zac's challenge, recognizing the playful glint in his eye. "Don't worry, Dad," I said jokingly, cutting him off. "I've got his number. I can handle his 'idiot' side just as good as anyone." The air quotes around 'idiot' were unnecessary, but the playful jab seemed to lighten the mood.
Dad raised an eyebrow at me. He knew all too well that my relationship with Zac was a tapestry of love, annoyance, and a strange kind of competitive banter. "You two are unbelievable," he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. He was trying to hide a smile, and failing miserably. "I swear, the amount of energy you waste fighting could power this whole town."
He took a bite of his burger, chewing slowly as if savoring the momentary peace. But I could see the glint in his eye, the subtle twitch of his lip that told me he wasn't entirely put out by our exchange. It was his way of saying, 'I'm too tired to deal with this right now, but I still love you both'.
As we ate, the conversation flowed more freely. Zac talked about his latest conquests with the same bravado he talked about his football games, and Dad listened with a mix of amusement and exasperation. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, remembering the way Zac had used me.
But I knew what I had to do. If I wanted to keep this game going, to explore the darker side of my desires with the two men I lusted after, I had to play it cool. So, I forced a casual tone and said, "A real womanizer."
Zac chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a hint of victory. He leaned back in his chair, his massive chest puffed out. "What can I say? Chicks dig the muscles." He took a swig of his beer, winking at me over the rim.
I feigned a roll of my eyes, hiding the thrill that shot through me. "I'm surprised you can even fit in that chair with that ego of yours," I quipped, smiling sweetly.
Zac grinned, the kind of grin that made you want to either kiss him or smack him. "It's all about the right... workout routine," he said, his eyes flicking down to his crotch before meeting mine again. The innuendo wasn't lost on me, but I played it cool.
"I'm sure it is," I replied. The thought of him, all sweaty and pumped up, was more than a little tempting. "But maybe you should save some of that charm for the actual games, huh?"
Dad let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. "You two are something else." He took a swig of his beer and set the bottle down with a thunk. "You know what?" He pushed his chair back from the table, the legs scraping against the floor. "I've had enough of this testosterone-filled banter. I'm going to let you two handle the dishes tonight." He grabbed his plate and stood up, walking towards the sink. "I need a break."
Zac and I watched him go, his broad shoulders disappearing around the corner and up the stairs. The silence that followed was thick, like a heavy blanket that had been thrown over the room. It was a stark contrast to the energy that had been pulsing through the air just moments before.
Zac took another bite of his burger, his eyes on me as he chewed. "So," he said with a swagger, "I guess, since you are the housewife of the family, you will do the dishes?"
"Oh, really?" I retorted, raising an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I'm going to clean up after you?" I took a fry and dangled it in front of him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've got better things to do with my time."
Zac swiped the fry from my fingers, popping it into his mouth with a smug grin. "Well, someone's gotta do it, and it sure as hell isn't going to be me," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I've got more important things to focus on."
"Yeah, like what? Finding the next brainless cheerleader to drool over your muscles?" I retorted, my own smile playing at the corners of my lips.
Zac's grin grew wider, his teeth flashing in the warm kitchen light. "It's not my fault if they can't resist," he said, flexing his bicep. "And let's not forget, you're not exactly immune to the charms of a muscular man... You know, like that time with Jason?"
The mention of Jason sent a jolt through me, my cheeks growing hot. It was true; I had been caught with him, my mouth wrapped around his thick cock... The humiliation still stung, but the memory of the pleasure was undeniable. "That was different," I protested weakly.
"Was it, though?" Zac leaned in closer, his muscular frame seemingly taking up more space in the small kitchen. "Just because you've got brains doesn't mean you're not a cock-hungry little slut, Dylan." His voice was teasing, but the words hit home, making my cheeks burn even hotter.
I rolled my eyes, trying to play it off, but the memory of Jason's cock filling me was vivid in my mind. "I'm not a slut," I said, my voice a little too high-pitched. "I'm just... exploring my options."
Zac chuckled, the sound low and deep in his chest. "Exploring, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, his eyes raking over my body. "Well, I'd say since you're so similar to a woman, maybe it's only fair that you take care of the dishes tonight."
The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a tease. I knew what he was getting at, and the thought of him seeing me in such a submissive role only stoked the fire inside me. But I had to keep my cool. "Alright," I said with a sigh, "I'll do the dishes." I didn't want to let him think he'd won that easily. "But only because I don't want Dad to come down to a mess. You know he's got enough on his plate."
Zac's smile grew, knowing he'd scored a point. He stood up, his chair scraping the floor as he picked up his plate. "Good boy," he said, tossing his plate into the sink with a clatter. "I'll go watch the game, let you get to your womanly duties." He sauntered over towards the armchair, his muscular frame moving with a feline grace that seemed to ooze confidence.
I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing. I knew he was baiting me, trying to get a rise out of me. But I was determined to play it cool. I picked up the plate and began scraping the remnants into the trash. It's not that I was opposed to the idea of serving him, it's just that I didn't want to make it too easy for him to push my buttons.
With a clatter of silverware, I loaded the dishwasher, each item slotting into place with a satisfying click. The scent of greasy food filled the air, but it was quickly replaced by the minty freshness of the dish soap as I started to wash the pots and pans. The warm water cascaded over my hands as I scrubbed, my mind wandering to Zac's rough teasing.
The past few days had been a blur of football games and late nights for him, but it seemed that Zac had decided that it was time to resume his teasing today.
Since catching me with Jason, he had taken every opportunity to remind me of my predilection for muscular men. It was his way of keeping me in check, ensuring that I knew he was in the same category, and that he could give me what I craved. And, as much as I hated to admit it, his teasing had a certain allure to it. It was a dance we had been doing for a while, a push and pull that kept our relationship interesting, if not entirely healthy.
As I scrubbed the last pan, I couldn't help but feel a tingle of anticipation in my stomach. The last time he had tried to make me submit to him, I had wanted him so badly. But even in that moment, as his hands had claimed me, I had held back and acted as if I wasn’t dying for it. I knew that giving in too easily would only feed his ego, making him more of an asshole than he already was... I knew I wanted him, but only on my own terms.
So, with the kitchen spotless, I dried my hands and put on a smile before heading into the living room. Zac was sprawled out on the armchair, the TV bellowing out the latest football highlights. He looked up as I entered, a smug look on his face. "Finally done playing Cinderella?"
Ignoring the jab, I plopped down on the couch opposite him, the cushions enveloping me in their plush embrace. "You're welcome for not leaving you to dine in a pigsty," I said sweetly, crossing my legs andtook out my phone.
Zac's eyes flickered over me, a predatory glint in his gaze that sent a shiver down my spine. He knew I was playing along, but the power play was far from over. "Yeah, you're a real gem," he drawled, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.
Ignoring him, I scrolled through my phone, the light from the screen casting a soft glow on my face as I pretended to be engrossed in social media updates. We were both waiting for the other to make the first move, to acknowledge the elephant in the room—our unresolved sexual dance.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Zac shifting in his seat, his gaze flicking towards me every so often. I knew what he was thinking: should he push things further, or wait?
A smirk tugged at my lips. Since he had figured out my secret attraction to big, buff guys, the knowledge had clearly made him more into the whole thing. And I couldn't deny that the thrill of it was getting to me aswell.
As I scrolled through my feed, my eyes glazed over the mundane updates and selfies. The tension in the room was palpable, thick like the smell of the dinner we had just shared. I knew he was waiting for me to crack, to drop the act and beg for his attention. But I had a better idea.
I waited, letting the minutes tick by as the TV blared in the background. The sound of the game was a comforting white noise, the cheers and jeers of the virtual crowd echoing off the walls of the silent room. I felt his gaze on me, heavy and expectant, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking up.
Finally, Zac couldn't take it anymore. "So, you're not even going to ask how my game went?" he said, breaking the silence like a twig under a heavy boot.
For a second, I was confused by Zac's question. Why was he pushing for attention now? Usually, he'd just brag about his football prowess without waiting for anyone to ask. But the tone of his voice, the way his eyes searched my face—something was definitely off. It was as if he was trying to force a conversation... In that split second, I decided to feign disinterest and take some time to figure out what was really on his mind.
"It went great, right? You're always so amazing," I said, not looking up from my phone, my voice dripping with false sweetness.
Zac rolled his eyes but leaned in, his muscular forearms resting on his thick thighs.
"You can't even fake some interest for your brother's football career?" He said, his voice laced with feigned hurt. "I mean, I know you're all about the books and shit, but come on."
I looked up from my phone, my eyes locking with his. "Oh, you mean like how you pretend to care about what I'm interested in?" I countered, raising an eyebrow. "You don't exactly sit down for a heart-to-heart about my latest science project."
Zac's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait. "I'm just saying, you could pretend to care," he said, his voice a mix of challenge and playfulness.
I set my phone down on the couch cushion, folding my arms across my chest. "Okay, Zac," I said, my voice firm. "What do you really want?"
His smirk faltered for a second before recovering. "What are you talking about?" he asked, feigning innocence.
"Don't play dumb with me, Zac," I said, sitting up straighter. "You wouldn't be acting like this if you wouldn't want something out of it."
He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching for any signs of weakness. "Alright, fine," he admitted, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "But what makes you think I want something from you?"
"Because you're Zac," I said, my voice steady. "And every time you act like this, there's always an ulterior motive."
The smugness on his face grew, his muscles rippling as he leaned back into the chair, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Maybe I just miss my little brother," he said, his tone playful yet filled with a hint of something more.
I rolled my eyes, "Spit it put, Zac. What do you want?"
Zac's smile grew even more charming, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, little bro, I've got a game tomorrow night and Dad's working late. Henry's got a hot date with some gym bunny. So, it looks like I might need a chauffeur."
I was taken aback, but not from Zac's usual arrogance or his blatant request for a ride to his game. It was the casual mention of Henry having a date that stung like a slap across the face. My heart skipped a beat, and a sudden feeling of loneliness crept up on me. Henry had a date? With a gym bunny? And he hadn't told me? Why did it feel like a betrayal?
For some reason, the thought of my middle brother going out with someone else made my stomach twist in an uncomfortable knot. I tried to play it cool, but the sting was undeniable. "Oh, really?" I said, trying to keep my voice casual. "So, what's the plan? You want me to drop you off and then come back to watch the game?"
"No figh tonight?" Zac's voice was smooth, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a knowing smile. "I'm surprised you're not throwing a fit about playing taxi for me."
I couldn't hide the surprise from my face. He had noticed my lack of protest, and he was using it against me. "I'm just being considerate," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. Inside, though, my mind was racing.
Why did it bother me so much that Henry had a date? Was it just because he hadn't told me, or was there more to it?
Zac's eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk never leaving his face. He knew he had hit a nerve, but he wasn't about to let up. "Considerate, huh?" He leaned back into the chair, his biceps bulging as he crossed his arms. "That's a first."
The room was filled with the electric hum. Zac was like a shark scenting blood in the water, and my confusion over Henry's date was the chum he needed to keep the game going.
"You know what, Dylan," Zac began, his tone mockingly sympathetic, "if you're feeling lonely, I'm sure I could find someone for you to hang out with at the game."
I scoffed, trying to keep my emotions in check. "I'm not lonely," I said, my voice a little too sharp. "You can put that nice-guy act away, I know you better than that. Just because I'm willing to help doesn't mean I'm desperate for company."
Zac's smirk grew, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was enjoying this way too much. "Oh, I know you're not lonely," he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I just thought maybe you could use some... entertainment."
"I said, I'm not lonely," I repeated firmly, my voice not giving away the tumult of emotions I was feeling inside. "And if you're just going to be a dick about it, I can simply leave right now and you can find someone else to drive your sorry ass to your game."
Zac's smirk didn't waver, but he nodded. "Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's not tomorrow, but the day after, around 6 pm. You're going to drive me to the game, and then you can sit in the stands like a good little fan."
I bit my lip, . "Fine... But I'm not watching your game," I said, trying to sound as if the thought of sitting through a sports match was the most tedious thing in the world.
Zac's smirk grew into a full-blown grin, his teeth flashing white. "Oh, come on," he said, flexing his biceps. "You'll miss out on watching the star quarterback in action." His muscles bulged as he sat up straighter to show off, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut.
My mouth watered at the sight of his massive arms, but I didn't let it show. "You're so full of yourself," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "I have better things to do than watch you throw a ball around." I paused, watching his expression for any signs of annoyance or disappointment. "But if you ask nicely, maybe I'll stay and watch."
Zac's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Well, since you put it that way," he said, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head, making his defined abs pop out under his shirt. "I guess I'll just have to oversee your behavior tonight and make sure you're not causing trouble. So, will you stay and watch the game?"
I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his overconfidence, but the idea of watching him play, his powerful body moving with precision and skill, was surprisingly appealing. "Maybe," I said, drawing out the word.
Zac's grin grew wider, his eyes sparkling with victory. "See, I knew you couldn't resist," he said, his voice cocky and full of himself. He leaned back into the chair, his muscular frame seemingly expanding to fill the space. "You're going to be the best little cheerleader out there."
I bit my tongue, knowing that arguing would only give him more ammo. Instead, I picked up the TV remote and turned up the volume, feigning disinterest in his words. Inside, however, I couldn't help but feel a thrill at the thought of watching him play, his sweat-slicked body moving with power and grace. It was a sight I hadn't seen in a while, and despite my reservations about our complicated relationship, I found myself looking forward to it.
The rest of the evening passed between occasional silence and some comments. Zac's muscular frame was impossible to ignore for me, and I found myself imagining what he'd look like under those football pads, his skin glistening with sweat and passion. His presence was enough to stop me from thinking about Henry's date, at least for that evening...
