Page 33 of Best Wrong Thing

I flutter my lashes. “Don’t do what?”

“We’re not meant to be flirting.”

“Yeah. The trouble is, you’re too sexy. And you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“You’re trouble.”

I grin. “You’ve only just realised that?”

He rolls his eyes. “If only I’d figured it out before?—”

I’m desperate to finish his sentence, but I don’t. “Would you have made a different decision?”

He purses his lips. “Probably not.”

His reply gives me the warm fuzzies. “You’re going to make me hot and bothered.”

He makes a strangled sound.

“You know where I live if you ever change your mind about this whole stepbrother thing being an issue.”

“I won’t.”

“Shame.” I jog forward and loop my arm through Mum’s.

I look over my shoulder. Jacob is staring at my arse, his expression filled with lust. I wink. His face goes red, and he averts his gaze. It might have been wrong to tease him, but fuck, he’s gorgeous when he’s ruffled.

Chapter 9

Jacob

What am I doing on the deserted towpath of the Leeds-Liverpool canal on a Sunday morning? I could lie and assert that all of Archer’s talk about jogging yesterday inspired me to take it up. Bullshit. I’m here, hoping I’ll casually—or not so casually—bump into him while he’s hot and sweaty from running, with his T-shirt sticking to his chest. I hum and savour the mental image.

I shouldn’t be here.

I thought I’d got over my lust for Archer until yesterday. Every time we touched was electrifying. I enjoyed talking to him, even when he made me choke. He’s made it clear—repeatedly—that he’s still interested in me. Would it hurt to indulge my desire?

He’s my stepbrother.

Biologically, that might not be an issue, but socially, it’s taboo. And while Archer doesn’t seem to give a shit what anyone thinks, I do. Yet despite that, I’m here, stretching my legs, glancing up and down the towpath, waiting until he’ll jog around the corner.

Time drags on. I amble away from the centre of Leeds. If nothing else, I enjoy the pretty views, the fresh morning air, and the peaceful twitter of birds. I’ve never walked along thetowpath, which is overhung by trees. The farther away I get from the city, the denser the foliage becomes, and more paths cut through the trees.

Did Archer take a different route today, or did he decide to lie in, as it’s Sunday? I shouldn’t be here. What do I think’s going to happen if I bump into him? I turn around and walk towards Leeds at a faster pace.

Swift footsteps pound behind me. I ignore them. Archer isn’t the only person who’ll go jogging on the towpath.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. My heart leaps into my throat.

Archer passes me, turns to face me, and jogs on the spot. His face is pink, his hair damp and pushed back. A V of sweat has formed on his grey T-shirt. His tight shorts show off his powerful thighs. My mouth waters.

He grins. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Fancy that.”

“You weren’t hoping to meet me, were you?”

I lift my chin. “Why would you think that?”