Page 10

Chapter Nine

Kai

I wake up to the smell of coffee, bacon, and “Titi Me Preguntó” by Bad Bunny blasting from outside my room. I groan, tossing the black cover over my face. “Tokyo.” My hand scans the empty spot of my bed, and when I find my phone, I bring it to my face to check the time. 2pm I knocked the fuck out once I got back in; the need to bury my cock into Tokyo was too overwhelming. Plus, I needed to sleep.

With Tokyo back home, we’re either always partying to avoid being alone, I’m at the shop pretending to be with Stacy, or she’s at the club working. But we don’t spend too much time alone. For the past three months, we’ve tried our best to pretend our hunger and our need doesn’t exist. That’s what Ghostfacepussykilla is for. But to be quite honest, I’m not sure if it’s made the need for her any better because it sure as hell hasn’t curbed it at all.

My hand moves down to my erection that still smells like her, I bet. I didn’t bother showering and didn’t bother with Stacy. Unlike what I make Tokyo believe, for the last three months, it’s only been her cunt I’ve been fucking. I can’t even fathom being inside Stacy when everything I’ve ever wanted is right here in the palm of my hand. But I don’t trust Tokyo. I don’t trust that she won’t run again, and to keep that from happening, I need to find out what she’s running from in the first place.

My eyes drift to the stick-and-poke tattoo. As I focus on the faded lines, the memory comes in hot.

“Stay still,” Tokyo says as she continues to poke the ink into my skin. The sting is nothing compared to the rush of being this close to her. I watch her, the way the pink curtain bangs fall to the sides, her platinum blonde hair in a messy bun, and the pink ends curling messily.

“Ta-da.”

I look down at the smiley face that matches her own and smile. “I dig it.”

“You better, because we’re matching now.”

I raise my eyebrows as I take her in. I shouldn’t feel this way. Not about her. But I couldn’t help it. Tokyo was not only beautiful, but her personality was everything. She was sarcastic, kind, but fuck, did she have the biggest issue with letting me in and accepting I’d be here for her. It’s been a year since she entered our lives.

“Wanna come to the meet tonight?” I ask her, watching as she bites the inside of her cheek, pretending to contemplate my invitation. But she smiles, her dimples deepening. “Duh.”

I smile, pushing her computer chair back to give her space to rise, which is a mistake. I watch as she stands, her black dress riding high on her thick thighs. Her scent—vanilla and sandalwood—drifts toward me, and it takes everything in me not to grab her. And just when things couldn’t be weirder, she notices and trips on her own feet as she tries to put distance between us.

But I catch her, right as she’s about to fall. “Told you I’d be here to catch you.”

Our eyes remain frozen on each other, and she gulps. “Thanks,” she manages to say, my hand lingering on her waist as I help steady her. I rise to my feet, not wanting to let her go but also needing to feel more. Standing next to her, I’m too close. Too tempted.

“You good?”

She nods, and once again, we just remain frozen in place. We always have these small moments... so intimate... so full of longing and yet so fucking twisted.

The vibration of my phone pulls me out of the trance. I look at the screen. Stacy. A call I send to voicemail as I reluctantly get out of bed. Dragging my feet, I make it to the door, wearing nothing but my black basketball shorts. As I step into the hall and make my way to the living room, the smell of bacon and coffee hits me stronger, now mingling with her vanilla perfume.

That’s when I see her in the middle of the living room, a cup of coffee in hand, listening to “Half Mast” by Empire of the Sun. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms in front of my chest as I watch her move through the space. Her back is to me, her platinum-blonde hair cascading down her back, the pink ends curling softly. She’s shuffling—quick, precise steps that glide across the floor, her feet moving in rapid patterns, creating an almost hypnotic rhythm. One leg lifts into an L position, her body shifting effortlessly, and then the other follows, the motions seamless and fluid.

The neon-pink tips of her hair glint in the sunlight streaming through the curtains, catching the light with every sway of her steps. Her movements are controlled, yet wild, like she’s channeling the music into her body and letting it take over. She moves like she owns the space, a queen ruling her chaos.

I smile, admiring her. She doesn’t notice me yet and that makes the moment even more intoxicating. My girl is in her element, dancing in nothing but booty shorts, a large band tee, and knee-high black socks. The music shifts, and she spins, finally spotting me standing there.

“You have a thing for watching,” she says, her voice teasing, but her eyes are sharp, like she’s trying to read my thoughts.

Cocking my head slightly, I lean the side of my head against the wall, letting a smirk play on my lips. “Can’t help it. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you dancing.” The truth slips out easily because there’s no need to deny it. It’s not weird for a brother to admire his sister doing something she loves, right? That’s all this is—just admiration. But I guess that would be the lie. Tokyo’s eyes widen, her thin bleached, pierced eyebrows furrowing. She looks surprised, like I’ve caught her off guard. She tilts her head, her mouth opening as if to respond, but then she closes it, too stunned to speak.

I push away from the wall, turning toward the bathroom. “There’s a meet tomorrow night, if you want to race. I’ll let you take Blue.” I say, referencing my car. She doesn’t say anything at first, but I can picture her standing there, her long acrylic nails twirling my ring that still sits on her thumb.

Just as I reach the bathroom and turn the doorknob, her voice cuts through the silence. “I have a shift, so depending on the time... I can show you how to actually drive that thing.”

A chuckle escapes me, and I turn to look at her. One hand rests on her waist while the other lifts her coffee cup to her lips. The casual confidence she carries makes my chest tighten. “Remember who taught you how to shift, little sister. You might be good at dancing, but the shift...” I tap my chest, grinning. “All me, baby.” I add a wink before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

For a moment, I rest my back against the door, letting the cool surface ground me as my heart pounds. Her footsteps are light but deliberate as they approach, stopping just outside. The air feels heavy, as though she’s waiting for me to say something, to open the door, to give her a reason to stay. I want to. God, I want to. The urge to pour my heart out, to beg her not to run, overwhelms me.

But then the memory of her leaving floods back, the void she created when she walked away. That ache drowns out everything else. I cling to it, the pain like a second skin, bleeding from a wound that refuses to heal.

Dragging my feet, I step away from the door and turn on the faucet. The steam rises, fogging the mirror, as I strip down and step under the scalding spray. The water stings against my skin, but it’s not enough to drown out the sound of her footsteps retreating down the hall.

And it’s not enough to drown out the thought of how much I wish they’d turned back instead.