Page 4 of Puck My Stepbrother (Pucked and Possessed #2)

LEVI

Q uinn had a hard-on, and I don’t mean your average, run-of-the-mill stiffy.

I think a term like “raging boner” would be more appropriate.

He probably didn’t notice, but my eyes shifted downward now and then, catching every glimpse I could of the powerful erection straining against his jeans.

And I also noticed him trying to cover it with his hands.

Who was he trying to kid?

I’m not telling you this to make fun of him, just so you know. When I saw the tent he’d practically pitched in his jeans, I felt hot all over. Tingles danced across my skin. I would’ve licked my lips if that wouldn’t have been crossing a line (at least for the moment).

I dreamed of what the cock beneath those jeans looked like. I imagined taking it in my hand and stroking it. And why shouldn’t I? He was one of those guys who’d always looked incredible but seemed to get a little hotter with each passing year, like the guy version of a fine wine.

I hadn’t seen him in a few years, so he looked that much better when I saw him at the house.

A total babe, in fact. Think of how your favorite meal tastes even better when you haven’t eaten it in ages.

Each time I saw him, something stirred inside me.

I wanted to touch him, kiss him. Seeing him in the upstairs hall, fighting back a hard-on, made all of those desires that much harder to resist.

But I wouldn’t have to fight those urges forever. I’d told Quinn that I get what I want, and I meant it. I just had to make some adjustments in order to reach that end.

The next morning, I went downstairs to make breakfast and found Quinn hovering over a cereal bowl. Never too early in the morning for me to work my magic, you know. I grabbed a bowl, cracked a couple of eggs into it, and beat them before pouring the egg mixture into a skillet.

“You know, I should apologize,” I said.

“For what?”

“Our little misunderstanding the other day.”

He looked up from his cereal like I’d said the craziest thing on earth. He didn’t answer, just like he’d stayed mostly quiet at the dinner table. Only he didn’t pretend-ignore me now. This was something different. What was it? Embarrassment at having a major-league boner in front of me?

Whatever it was, I’d be happy to ease his anxiety.

“You mean about the bedroom?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

“Wait, does this mean you’re giving me my room back?”

“Well, no.”

He threw his spoon down, making a clanking noise.

I didn’t budge.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You’re fucking impossible, Levi.”

“How do you figure?”

“First you said you were sorry for taking my room from me, and now you’re refusing to give it back?”

“Whoa, whoa, wait, hold on. I never said I was sorry for taking your room.”

“Yes, you did. Just a second ago, you said you were sorry for taking it. Jesus, have you got amnesia or something?”

“No, I didn’t say I was sorry for taking your room. I said I was sorry for the misunderstanding.”

He paused. His natural follow-up question would be some variant of, Is there a difference?

“Look,” I said. “I don’t think you understand how this works.”

“No, I don’t think I do. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“You were promised that room, and I get that. I also wanted the room because it was better than the other ones. Because I didn’t know you wanted it, and you hadn’t moved your stuff in yet, I took it.”

And, would you believe it, my stepbrother-to-be sat there wide-eyed, like he couldn’t believe what I’d said. You know, like he totally didn’t get the magic that was Levi Dunn.

That was okay, though. He’d understand the lay of the land soon enough.

“Come on,” I said, “don’t give me that look. You’ve got to understand that I wanted that room. And I get what I want. I take what I want if I have to.”

Instead of flashing me that look again, he returned to his cereal.

Back at the stove, I finished cooking my eggs, scraped them onto a plate, and added a piece of toast before sitting down beside him.

I inched up nice and close, practically hovering over him.

He didn’t shift away from me even an inch, like he didn’t mind me getting in his bubble.

That was good. I would’ve expected it from the guy who’d sported a massive boner just from seeing me in a towel.

But would he act on his urges?

That was the million-dollar question.

“Nobody got hurt,” I said, “and no damage done. You’ve got to look at it that way.”

“Nobody got hurt, okay, fine.” He struggled not to roll his eyes. “But that’s not exactly the way to start on the right foot with someone.”

I shrugged, making sure he understood that guys like me not only got what we wanted, but we didn’t compromise, either. It didn’t have to be all bad, though. He’d see that soon enough.

“Hey, I bet you’ve still got a better bedroom here than you did at your old place,” I said. “And besides, I think I can make it up to you…somehow.”

I might as well have punctuated that sentence with a wink and smile, but I didn’t.

My stepbrother-to-be, he of the raging boner, would get the picture.

At least, I sure hoped he would. Quinn paused and stared at the kitchen wall, saying nothing to address that comment.

If his boner last night had told me anything, it was that he’d react strongly when I became more direct.

“So you’re going to Larkin University too, huh?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you taking?”

“English and Creative Writing double major. I want to get into an MFA program once I finish my undergrad.”

“What’s an MFA?”

“Master of Fine Arts. I would get a master’s degree in Creative Writing.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool.” I nodded, trying to show him how much I was digging it. “So, what do you do with an MFA in Creative Writing? Write books or something?”

“You can do lots of things with that degree. Teaching, editing, and yeah, writing books is definitely something people use it for.”

“I think it’s cool that you’re still writing stories like I remember you doing back in school.”

I stared deep into his hazel eyes, hoping to place him under my spell.

It’d worked well enough yesterday, when I wasn’t even trying.

The only difference now was that I wouldn’t see his erection under the kitchen table.

But it would be there. I knew damn well it would.

I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining it.

An erection like the one he’d had—and the boner he was hiding under the kitchen table—meant he liked guys. And not just a little. A lot . I’d always sort of figured he liked guys. Don’t ask me what told me that. I’m not sure. It wasn’t a stereotype, but a vibe, I guess.

Again, he didn’t shrink away from me, so that was good news. I knew he totally wanted me, even if he wouldn’t say it in words, so I only needed to finish the job.

“So you’re working on a young adult romance, right?” I asked.

“That’s just a short story I’m working on for fun. I’m between drafts of a bigger project I think can really be something.”

“A novel?”

“Yeah. I guess you’d call it a genre mashup.”

He sounded so tentative, like he didn’t know how much he wanted to share.

“Do you know what a genre mashup is?” he asked.

I shrugged. Honestly, I didn’t know or care. Well, I wouldn’t have cared if anyone else was talking about it. Quinn saying it changed everything.

“It’s taking two or more different genres and mashing them together until you get something totally new,” he said. “Writing that way can give you some pretty interesting results. Only mine isn’t a mashup exactly. It’s more of a combination or blend.”

He paused again, but I was more than happy to let him continue.

“I’m writing a zombie novel,” he said, “but it’s not what you think. It’s more literary, not your average shoot-’em-in-the-head, Romero-esque zombie novel. It’s supposed to cover some serious themes, but involves the walking dead. If that makes sense.”

I arched my eyebrows. I had no idea what that really meant, but what he’d described actually sounded cool.

“I normally don’t read books outside of school,” I said, “but I would totally read that one.”

“You would?”

“For sure.”

“Why are you…”

I didn’t know how he meant to finish that sentence.

Why was I what ? Why was I being so nice to him?

Was that what he wanted to know? Maybe I was putting on an act, but maybe I wasn’t.

After all, I’m sure he didn’t think my stealing his room out from under him was nice, even though I’d been totally within my rights.

“Tell you what,” I said, “if that thing gets published, I want the first copy. Signed.”

“You’re not expecting me to give you a free one, are you? Oh wait, maybe you expect me to pay you for a copy.”

I laughed out loud and slapped my stepbrother-to-be on the shoulder.

“That’s a good one, Quim,” I said.

“Quinn.”

“Whatever. I’m serious, though. I really want to read it when you’re finished.”

He nodded, not like he agreed, but like he would’ve done whatever was necessary to make me shut up and go away. Only he didn’t understand that I would never disappear now that I knew what I wanted.

Not ever.

Quinn spooned cereal into his mouth and I took a bite of toast, waiting for a reaction and hoping he would give in.

“You know,” I said, “I think us living under the same roof is gonna be a blast. It’ll be like old times.”

That comment drew a reaction from Quinn. He looked up from his cereal at me like I’d completely lost my mind—or had never held a grip on it in the first place.

“You know what else?” I asked. “I’ve never had a brother, but I’ve always wanted one. I’ve always dreamed of what it would be like.”

“What did you dream of?”

“Oh, you’ll see what I mean soon enough. And as for the bedroom situation, my door is always open. I mean that. You come see me there anytime.”

If Quinn didn’t get the message, I’d turn up the heat until he did.