Beautiful Sin - Chapter 3
Spicy BL/MM/GAY Stepbrother Reverse Harem Romance
Haru
Aiden’s warm hand around my arm sent electricity shooting through my body, making parts of me spring to attention that had no business doing so at the breakfast table. Seriously? Even after my extended “self-love” session in the shower, where I’d definitely not been thinking about those same fingers sliding elsewhere, tracing patterns on my skin, pressing into me until I—
God, being nineteen was like living with a hormone factory programmed to malfunction specifically around tall, gorgeous stepbrothers. Especially ones who insisted on touching you with hands that felt like they were made of pure sin. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt, each individual finger a point of searing contact that I felt all the way to my core.
I jerked my arm away, my face burning hotter than the coffee Reo was perpetually brewing. “Fine, fine. I’ll have breakfast,” I muttered, trying to sound annoyed rather than flustered. The only way to handle Aiden was to give him what he wanted—in this case, watching me eat like I was some rare bird that might forget how to peck at seeds. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, making my skin prickle with uncomfortable awareness.
Taking a deliberate step back—because space was definitely what I needed right now, preferably enough to dilute the intoxicating scent of Aiden’s cologne that seemed to follow me like a sensual ghost—I lifted my gaze to meet his. Big mistake. Those hazel-green eyes could probably get state secrets out of trained spies, all golden flecks and intensity that made my stomach perform acrobatics worthy of Olympic gold. “But you don’t have to drive me,” I insisted, proud that my voice didn’t shake despite the riot happening in my chest. “It’s not far, and biking doesn’t take long.”
Before he could deploy another one of those looks that made my knees forget their job description—the one where his eyes softened at the corners and his lips curved just so—I turned and dropped into the seat beside Isaac. I could feel Aiden’s gaze following me like a physical touch as he took his place across the table, a warm caress that made the fine hairs on my arms stand at attention.
“My, my,” Reo’s amused voice cut through the tension, dripping with that knowing tone that made me want to crawl under the table and die. “Isn’t it interesting how that old shirt of Aiden’s seems to command everyone’s attention this morning?” He took another sip of his ridiculously expensive coffee, dark eyes dancing with mischief over the rim of his mug. The bastard was enjoying this far too much.
I glanced down at the shirt—one of Aiden’s ancient hand-me-downs that practically swallowed me whole—and tugged self-consciously at the collar. Which, naturally, only made it slip further off my shoulder, exposing more skin to the suddenly too-warm air of the kitchen. Perfect. Just perfect. The fabric was worn soft from years of use, carrying faint traces of Aiden’s scent despite countless washes. Wearing it was like being wrapped in his embrace, a thought that sent another wave of heat crawling up my neck.
I lifted my gaze, only to catch Noah staring at me with an unusually dark expression, his eyes fixed on my exposed shoulder before trailing up to my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. His jaw was clenched tight, perfect posture even more rigid than usual, the muscle at his temple jumping visibly. Great. My sloppy appearance must be offending his perfectionist sensibilities again. The man probably ironed his underwear; of course my disheveled state would bother him.
“Your shirt is...” He trailed off, jaw tightening even further, his knuckles white around his fork.
“Falling off?” I supplied helpfully, trying to adjust it and failing miserably. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you inherit clothes from giants.” The word “inherit” felt wrong on my tongue—too familial, too brotherly for the decidedly un-brotherly thoughts I’d been having about the shirt’s original owner.
Mason leaned over, his movement bringing a waft of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive that contrasted sharply with the lingering scent of alcohol from the bar. His fingers brushed my shoulder as he adjusted the collar, his touch lingering just a second too long, warm against my skin. The contact sent an unexpected shiver down my spine, one I desperately hoped no one noticed. “Looks good on you,” he murmured, closer than necessary, his breath warm against my ear.
“Aww, look at our little Haru swimming in big brother’s clothes,” Isaac sang out, grinning wickedly around a mouthful of French toast. “If you’re trying to start a new fashion trend, I’d call it ‘Drowning in Denim.’ Or maybe ‘Help, My Shirt Ate Me’?” His teasing was the normal kind, free from whatever strange tension seemed to be affecting the others this morning.
“I’m not that small,” I protested, shrugging away from Mason’s helping hands, though the movement only made the collar slip again. My cheeks burned as Isaac pretended to wipe away a tear, his expression comically mournful.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Noah muttered darkly from across the table, his eyes still fixed on me with that intense look that made me want to check if I had breakfast on my face or possibly a third eye sprouting from my forehead. His gaze felt like a physical weight, pressing against my skin.
“And at least I don’t look like a walking thrift store reject,” I shot back at Isaac, trying to ignore Noah’s unsettling stare by focusing on the safer target.
“Ouch! He bites!” Isaac clutched his chest dramatically, staggering back in his chair like I’d physically wounded him. “But seriously, bro, we need to feed you more. I can practically hear those clothes plotting their escape.” He reached over to ruffle my hair, a gesture I tolerated from him in a way I wouldn’t from the others. Isaac’s touch was simple, brotherly, without the undercurrents that seemed to complicate every interaction in this house lately.
“Now, now,” Reo interrupted, his knowing smirk growing wider as his gaze flicked between Aiden’s white-knuckled grip on his mug and Mason’s hovering hands. “I think our little Shrine Maiden looks perfectly fine in oversized clothes. Wouldn’t you agree, Aiden?” The question seemed innocent enough, but the gleam in Reo’s eyes suggested otherwise. He was poking the bear, and the bear in question was currently looking like he might snap his coffee mug in half.
The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees as Aiden’s eyes narrowed at Mason’s hand, still suspiciously close to my shoulder. The intensity of his gaze made me shiver despite the kitchen’s warmth, my body responding to his attention in ways that were entirely inappropriate for breakfast—or any meal, really, given our relationship.
Seriously, what was with everyone this morning? Was there some full moon effect I didn’t know about that made all my brothers act weird? Must be a caffeine thing. Or maybe they’d all collectively lost their minds. Whatever it was, it was making the already cramped kitchen feel like it was shrinking by the second, the air thick with something I couldn’t quite name.
“Eat more,” Aiden finally said, pushing his own plate toward me. That familiar worry line appeared between his brows—the one that always made guilt twist in my stomach like a living thing. “You’re too thin.” The words were simple, but the concern behind them was layered with history, with years of him taking care of me, watching over me, being more parent than brother.
The mother hen routine that had become Aiden’s default setting whenever food was involved. I picked at the extra French toast he’d given me, trying not to sigh. I knew where this came from, of course. The memory rose unbidden, sharp and clear despite the years.
I blamed his overprotective streak on that incident from five years ago. The one where I’d collapsed at school and scared everyone half to death. The doctors had thrown around words like ‘malnourished’ and ‘depression’ like confetti at a particularly grim party. I mean, what did they expect? Our parents had just died, and I was fourteen—an age where everything felt like the end of the world even without actual tragedy involved. Food had been the last thing on my mind back then, grief sitting heavy in my stomach, taking up all the space.
The incident had sent Aiden into full-blown protective overdrive. Social Services had descended like vultures in sensible shoes, poking their noses into every corner of our lives. Poor Aiden had been stretched thinner than our grocery budget back then, trying to convince them he could handle being guardian to two minors while building his real estate career and juggling more part-time jobs than a circus performer. The dark circles under his eyes had become a permanent fixture, his smile growing rarer by the day.
Then came That Day—the one that still featured in my nightmares. The social worker had arrived with her clipboard of doom, ready to drag me away. I’d gone full octopus, clinging to Aiden like my life depended on it. Which, in my teenage mind, it absolutely did. The stress had been too much, and I’d pulled my signature move—passing out right there on the doorstep. Nothing says ‘I’m totally fine’ like face-planting into unconsciousness.
I remembered waking up in the hospital, Aiden’s face hovering above mine, pale and drawn with worry. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he’d whispered, his voice rough with emotion. He’d stayed by my bed all night, his hand holding mine, anchoring me in a world that felt like it was falling apart. That was the moment something shifted in our relationship—when he went from being my stepbrother to being my protector, my guardian, my everything.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Reo’s voice cut through my brooding, dragging me back to the present. “The one where you space out and look like a sad anime character.” His tone was teasing, but I caught the flicker of genuine concern beneath it. For all his sarcasm and knowing smirks, Reo had always been able to read me better than anyone.
I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at my French toast like it had personally offended me, possibly by insulting my ancestors. “I do not look like an anime character.” The denial was automatic, though I knew it was a losing battle. With my half-Japanese features and tendency toward dramatic expressions, the comparison was inevitable.
“You kind of do,” Isaac chimed in helpfully, mouth full of eggs, a smudge of syrup decorating his chin. “Especially with that whole ‘delicate flower’ thing you’ve got going on.” He gestured vaguely at my face with his fork, nearly taking Noah’s eye out in the process.
“The word you’re looking for is ‘Shrine Maiden,’” Reo corrected with a smirk that made me want to dump his precious coffee over his head. “It’s in his genes, apparently. Mom said our great-grandmother had the same look—petite, pretty, and prone to attracting stalkers.” He took another sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim with those knowing eyes that missed nothing.
Noah actually paused his methodical breakfast consumption at that, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. “Stalkers?” The single word contained more sharp edges than seemed possible, his usual precise diction giving way to something harder, almost protective.
“Oh yeah,” Reo was clearly enjoying himself now, settling back in his chair like a storyteller preparing for his grand performance. “Some guy tried to kidnap her, claimed she’d put a spell on him with her Shrine Maiden powers.” He gestured dramatically, nearly spilling his precious coffee. “Said he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think of anything but her. Poor bastard probably just needed therapy, but back then they called it ‘bewitchment.’”
Isaac burst out laughing, nearly choking on his breakfast, his eyes watering as he coughed and sputtered. “So that’s why half the city’s male population keeps stalking Haru! They probably think he’s got magical powers or something,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively once he’d recovered, his expression comically lascivious. “Though I doubt it’s his spiritual energy they’re after.”
“It’s not funny,” I muttered, stabbing my eggs with more force than necessary, imagining they were Reo’s smug face. It wasn’t my fault I’d inherited Mom’s delicate features and ended up looking like some kind of accidental honey trap. The number of ‘accidental’ bumps and dropped items around me at work was getting ridiculous. Just last week, a customer had managed to spill three separate drinks in my vicinity, each time requiring me to bend over and help clean up while he stared with all the subtlety of a foghorn.
Mason, who’d been doing his best impression of a zombie until now, cracked open an eye. The honey-gold color was startling against his sleep-deprived pallor, surprisingly alert for someone who’d crawled in at dawn. “You need to start dating,” he announced, like he was delivering profound wisdom, though his gaze lingered on me a beat longer than necessary, trailing down my neck to where Aiden’s shirt gaped open. “Or at least get laid. That’ll keep the stalkers away.”
I nearly inhaled my French toast, trying desperately not to think about exactly who I’d like to get laid with. Especially not when said person was sitting right across from me, looking unfairly gorgeous even while frowning, his hazel-green eyes darkening at Mason’s suggestion. Heat crawled up my neck, settling in my cheeks like a permanent stain. “Excuse me?” My voice came out higher than intended, closer to a squeak than the indignant protest I’d been aiming for.
“He’s right,” Isaac nodded sagely, as if he were dispensing life-changing advice rather than making me wish for a spontaneous sinkhole to open beneath my chair. “Most of us were dating and losing our V-card by sixteen or seventeen. You’re falling behind, little bro. Time to find yourself a nice girl... or whatever.” He waved his fork vaguely, encompassing the wide spectrum of possibilities with a gesture that sent egg flying across the table.
Oh god, were we really having this conversation? At breakfast? I desperately looked for an escape route, but unless I wanted to crawl under the table—tempting—or make a break for the door—even more tempting—I was trapped. The walls of our kitchen suddenly felt too close, the air too thick with embarrassment and something else, something charged and uncomfortable. Across from me, I caught Reo hiding a knowing smirk behind his coffee mug. Bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing, stirring the pot like the chaos demon he was.
“Aiden was already dating and sleeping with that hot cheerleader at sixteen,” Noah added, his usually precise movements faltering slightly as he glanced my way, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. “Jane, wasn’t it? The one with the legs that went on for days.”
My head snapped up at that, an unexpected pang of something hot and uncomfortable twisting in my stomach. Sixteen? That meant... that meant Aiden had already been experienced when I first met him. The image of a younger Aiden with some faceless, leggy blonde made my chest tight, a sensation too close to jealousy for comfort. Which was ridiculous—I had no claim on Aiden’s past or present. He was my stepbrother, for god’s sake. My stupidly attractive, frustratingly perfect stepbrother who I absolutely should not be imagining with anyone, least of all me.
“Can we not discuss my ancient history?” Aiden’s voice cut through the chaos, tight with something I couldn’t identify. His eyes locked onto mine across the table, dark and intense enough to make my throat go dry. There was something in his gaze that made my pulse quicken, a heat that had no place in a brotherly exchange.
“Just trying to help Haru understand it’s normal,” Mason said, his tone casual though his eyes were intense as they flickered over me, lingering on the exposed line of my collarbone. “Maybe he just needs the right... motivation.” The way he said “motivation” made it sound like something else entirely, something that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
Reo snorted into his coffee, the sound drawing my attention away from Mason’s unsettling gaze. “Oh, I’m sure motivation isn’t the problem.” His knowing smirk made me want to dump his coffee over his head, possibly followed by the entire pot. “Our little Shrine Maiden probably has plenty of interested parties.” His eyes flicked meaningfully to where Aiden sat, then to Mason, then back to me, a silent communication I desperately hoped no one else caught.
“He’s fine exactly as he is,” Aiden stated flatly, his grip on his mug turning his knuckles white. The ceramic looked dangerously close to shattering in his grasp, his forearm muscles tense beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his dress shirt.
The way he said it—like he was stating an absolute truth—made my face heat up again. Damn it. What was it about his voice that turned me into a human tomato? One sentence from him and I was back to being a blushing mess, my body betraying me at every turn. The worst part was how his defense made something warm unfurl in my chest, a dangerous hope I couldn’t afford to nurture.
I was going to murder Reo. Slowly. With his own fancy coffee beans. Right after I figured out why everyone was acting so weird this morning. The kitchen felt like a pressure cooker, tensions simmering just below the surface, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. Even Isaac seemed to sense it, his usual chatter subdued as he glanced between his brothers.
An awkward silence fell over the table, broken only by the sound of Noah’s methodical chewing and Isaac attempting to build a fortress out of his remaining French toast. I focused on my plate, willing my face to return to a normal human color instead of emergency stop sign red. The eggs were actually good, Reo’s culinary skills turning even our budget groceries into something worth eating. I concentrated on the taste, the texture, anything to avoid looking up and meeting any of my brothers’ gazes.
“Speaking of work,” Mason said, looking more alert now, his posture straightening as he leaned forward slightly. “My boss asked about you again, Haru. Still interested in picking up shifts at the bar?” His expression was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something in his voice—anticipation, maybe, or something more complicated.
My heart leaped at the opportunity. Working at Mason’s bar would mean serious tips—the kind that could fatten up my savings account faster than my current jobs combined. The kind that could get me out of this apartment and away from the daily torture of living with Aiden, of wanting something I couldn’t have. I opened my mouth to say yes, but Aiden’s temperature drop was practically arctic, the atmosphere around him chilling so rapidly I half expected frost to form on his coffee mug.
“I wasn’t aware you were interested in working at that bar.” Aiden’s voice could have frozen Hell over. Twice. Each word was precise, controlled, but the tension beneath them was palpable, like a storm brewing just below the surface.
I could feel the weight of his disapproval from across the table, pressing against me like a physical force. But for once, I held my ground. Independence was my ticket out of this emotional purgatory, my chance at a normal life where I didn’t spend every day fighting inappropriate feelings for my stepbrother. “The pay is really good,” I mumbled, suddenly finding my French toast fascinating, tracing patterns in the syrup with my fork.
Mason, bless him, jumped to my defense. “He’d only work with me, Aiden. Bob already promised to keep our shifts matched. Plus, it’s just until midnight, and you know I’d watch out for him.” His tone was reasonable, placating, though something flashed in his eyes when he glanced at me—something almost... possessive? No, that couldn’t be right. Mason was just being protective, the way all my brothers were.
“Like a hawk,” Noah added dryly, “Along with every other person in that bar, I’m sure.” His fork scraped against his plate, the sound sharp in the tense silence. “That place is a meat market on weekends.”
Reo snorted into his coffee, the sound drawing my attention. “Well, he does have that Shrine Maiden appeal. Might boost business.” He gestured toward me with his mug, his expression infuriatingly smug. “Put him in a tight t-shirt and watch the tips roll in.”
“That’s not helping,” I hissed at him, kicking his shin under the table. He didn’t even flinch, the bastard, just grinned wider.
“Just stating facts,” Reo shrugged, clearly enjoying the show, his dark eyes dancing with unholy amusement. “Though I seem to recall a certain someone else working bars during college...” His meaningful look at Aiden made me curious, a new piece of information I hadn’t known. The image of Aiden behind a bar, mixing drinks with those capable hands, made my mouth go dry.
“That was different,” Aiden’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. His expression had closed off, becoming the stern big brother face I both resented and secretly found ridiculously attractive.
“How?” I challenged, feeling braver than usual. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe I was just tired of being treated like spun glass, like some delicate object that needed to be wrapped in cotton wool and kept on a high shelf. “You did it. Mason does it. Why can’t I?” The words came out sharper than intended, years of frustration bubbling to the surface.
The look Aiden gave me could have melted steel. Those hazel-green eyes burned with an intensity that made my breath catch, pinning me in place more effectively than any physical restraint. “We’ll discuss this later.” The words were final, brooking no argument, his tone making it clear the conversation was over.
Which was how I found myself practically bolting from the table fifteen minutes later, muttering a hasty “Itte kimasu.” The Japanese phrase slipped out automatically, a habit from childhood that persisted despite years in America.
“Itte rashai,” came the chorus of replies, followed by Reo’s too-amused, “Don’t forget your prince charming is driving you!” His emphasis on “prince charming” made me want to turn around and throttle him, but that would mean staying in the kitchen longer, something my frayed nerves couldn’t handle.
The morning air hit my face like a blessing, cooling my heated cheeks as I made my escape. The apartment building’s concrete steps were cracked and worn, but I took them two at a time, desperate for space and oxygen that wasn’t saturated with tension and Aiden’s cologne. Of course, said escape involved being trapped in a car with Aiden, which was like jumping from the frying pan into a very attractive fire. Still, anything was better than enduring more of Reo’s knowing looks and Mason’s lingering glances.
I slid into the passenger seat of Aiden’s sensible sedan, immediately fascinated by the dashboard like it was displaying secret government codes instead of just the time. The car dipped slightly as Aiden got in, his presence filling the small space like a physical thing, making the air feel thick and charged. Why did he have to smell so good? It should be illegal to smell that good before nine in the morning—a mixture of expensive cologne, coffee, and something uniquely him that made my head spin.
The engine purred to life, and we pulled away from the apartment. The drive was quiet, the usual morning traffic giving me an excuse not to make conversation. I stared out the window, watching the city slide by in a blur of concrete and glass, focusing on the pedestrians and storefronts rather than the man beside me. The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy with things unsaid.
Ten minutes later, Aiden pulled into the convenience store parking lot, choosing a spot away from the other cars. The engine died with a soft purr, leaving us in a silence broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine and the distant sounds of traffic.
He switched off the engine but I didn’t move to get out. I could feel his eyes on me, that intense gaze that made my skin prickle with awareness, like every nerve ending was suddenly alert and waiting. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t—
I looked.
“What?” I meant it to sound annoyed, defensive. Instead, it came out breathless, barely more than a whisper. Fantastic. So much for maintaining any semblance of dignity.
His hand came up, and suddenly those fingers I’d definitely not been thinking about in the shower were threading through my hair, his thumb brushing my cheek in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, and completely destroying what was left of my sanity. His palm was warm against my skin, calloused from years of practical work despite his white-collar job. Those hands had built bookshelves for my room, had taught me to change a tire, had held me when I cried after nightmares—and now they were touching me like I was something precious, something valuable.
My heart wasn’t just racing; it was running a marathon, its frantic rhythm surely audible in the quiet car. I wanted to lean into his touch, to close my eyes and pretend this meant what I wanted it to mean, that this wasn’t just brotherly concern but something more, something forbidden and wonderful. Instead, I forced myself to stay still, caught between fight or flight or... something else entirely, something that involved closing the distance between us in ways I shouldn’t even be thinking about.
“Aiden...” His name escaped like a prayer or a plea. I wasn’t sure which. My voice sounded strange to my own ears, too soft, too vulnerable.
“Do you need money that badly?” The question was soft, concerned, but there was something else in his voice. Something that made my stomach flip, a tension that hadn’t been there before. His eyes searched mine, those hazel-green depths filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.
I licked my lips—a nervous habit that I really needed to break, especially when his eyes tracked the movement like that, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a heartbeat before returning to my eyes. “That’s not… I mean…” I took a breath, trying to gather my scattered thoughts, which was nearly impossible with him so close, with his scent filling my lungs and his hand still warm against my face. “I just want to be independent. I can’t keep relying on you forever.”
“Why not?”
The simple question knocked the air from my lungs, leaving me momentarily speechless. Because if I keep depending on you, I’ll never be able to move on. Because every time you touch me like this, I forget you’re my stepbrother. Because I’m in love with you, and it’s killing me to live in the same house, to see you every day and know I can never have what I want.
“I’m nineteen now,” I managed instead, pulling away from his touch before I did something stupid like lean into it, like turn my face and press my lips against his palm. “I need to stand on my own.” The words sounded hollow even to my own ears, a pale reflection of the truth I couldn’t speak.
“By working at a bar?” There was an edge to his voice now, a hardness that contrasted sharply with the gentleness of his touch. His jaw was set, that stubborn line I knew all too well appearing.
“By earning my own money,” I corrected, then added without thinking, “So I can move—”
“Move?” The word came out sharp, almost angry. His hand shot out, gripping my arm with unexpected intensity, his fingers digging into my flesh. “You’re planning to move out?” The question was laden with something that sounded almost like panic, his eyes widening slightly.
Shit. Shit. I hadn’t meant to let that slip, not yet, not before I had concrete plans. “I didn’t— That’s not—” I winced as his grip tightened further. “Aiden, you’re hurting me.”
He released me instantly, like my skin had burned him, horror flashing across his face. “Sorry,” he breathed, looking genuinely distressed. “I didn’t mean to— Are you really thinking of leaving?” The raw emotion in his voice made my chest ache, guilt twisting inside me like a living thing.
For a moment, I almost told him the truth—that I needed to leave because staying was slowly breaking me, that living under the same roof as him while harboring these feelings was a special kind of torture. But the words stuck in my throat, trapped behind years of practiced silence.
“It’s nothing,” I lied, staring determinedly at the dashboard again, tracing the pattern of the leather with my eyes. “I have to go. I’ll be late.” The excuse was flimsy but necessary, an escape route from a conversation I wasn’t ready to have.
I scrambled out of the car before he could stop me, before I could say something else I’d regret. Before I could give in to the urge to tell him exactly why I needed to put some distance between us. The morning air was cool against my flushed skin, a welcome relief from the charged atmosphere of the car.
My heart was still doing its best drum solo impression as I rushed into the convenience store, nearly colliding with my boss. Dan was a middle-aged man with perpetually rumpled clothes and kind eyes that missed nothing, his expression curious as he took in my flustered state.
“Morning, Haru,” Dan greeted, eyebrows raised. “Did you run here? Your face is completely red.” His tone was light, but I caught the concern beneath it, the way his eyes flickered to the parking lot where Aiden’s car was still idling.
Yeah, no kidding. Try sitting in a confined space with the guy you’re in love with while he touches your face and looks at you like... like you’re something precious and forbidden all at once. Like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. Like he’s fighting the same battle I am.
No, that was wishful thinking. Aiden was just being Aiden—protective, caring, the perfect big brother. The problem was me and my inappropriate feelings, not him.
“Morning, Dan,” I managed, heading for the staff room before he could ask any more questions, before he could see the confusion and longing that I was sure was written all over my face. “Just... excited about work.”
Right. Because that was totally believable. At least the morning couldn’t get any more complicated.
I really needed to stop tempting fate like that.