Page 64 of Beautiful Sin
“Don’t you have proteins to count?” I muttered, trying not to focus on how Xander’s thigh was pressed against mine, solid and warm, or how Colt’s arm had somehow ended up along the back of the seat behind my head like the world’s most distracting armrest. Both of them smelled unfairly good, like they’d coordinated their cologne choices specifically to short-circuit my brain. What was this, a conspiracy of designer fragrances?
“Not today.” Wei’s smirk grew impossibly wider. “Got a hot date with my gym membership. But don’t worry, I’ll catch up later to witness whatever chaos you’ve managed to create by then. It’s rare to see all three guardians so… focused.”
Guardians? What was he talking about now? Between “Shrine Maiden,” “Celestial Peach,” “Little Fox,” and now “Guardians,” it was like Wei was speaking in some kind of code only he understood.
“I call shotgun!” Nico announced cheerfully, already bouncing toward the front passenger seat, completely oblivious to the death glare Colt was sending his way. He slid in, immediately pulling out his phone. “I need to finish this level. The boss keeps killing me.”
Jaxson slid into the driver’s seat, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. The intensity in his gaze made my lips tingle with phantom sensations, remembering how thoroughlythey’d been claimed just hours ago. That amber-gold color seemed to glow brighter, like embers catching fire.
“Everyone comfortable?” he asked. His voice carried a hint of strain as he watched the backseat situation through the mirror. The muscle in his jaw twitched, a tell I’d learned to recognize over the years. He was irritated, though whether at the situation or at his brothers’ hands on me, I couldn’t tell.
“Peachy,” I squeaked, suddenly very aware of how my borrowed shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing more thigh than I was comfortable with. Xander’s hand stayed on my knee while Colt’s arm behind my head somehow dropped even lower until it was definitely touching my shoulders.
“Seat belt,” Colt reminded me, his voice oddly rough. Before I could reach for it, his hands were already there, pulling the strap across my chest. The back of his fingers brushed against the worn letters on my shirt, grazing my chest in a way that couldn’t possibly be accidental. I swear I heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “torture.”
That strange warmth flared again at his touch, sending tingles racing across my skin.
“I can do my own seat belt,” I protested weakly, my voice betraying me by coming out breathier than intended.
“Clearly,” Colt murmured, his deep voice entirely too close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Just like you can dress yourself so… appropriately for shopping.”
I tugged at the hem of my—Jaxson’s—shirt again, heat crawling up my neck and settling in my cheeks. “It was the only clean thing?—”
“We know,” three voices chorused, with varying degrees of strain.
“Oh cool, is that Jaxson’s old workout shirt?” Nico piped up from the front, still focused on his game. “The one where some ofthe middle letters wore off? I always thought it was funny how it now says?—”
“Nico,” three voices cut him off simultaneously, with enough force to make him actually look up from his game.
“What? I’m just saying it’s like one of those inappropriate t-shirts you see at—ARGH! This boss is impossible!”
In the rearview mirror, Jaxson’s eyes darkened as they lingered on where Colt’s hands were still hovering near my chest. The look in them made my stomach flip, memories of last night flashing through my mind with vivid clarity. “Everyone ready?”
Ready for what?I wanted to ask.A heart attack? Because being trapped between two unfairly attractive stepbrothers while the one I actually want to be next to keeps giving me those looks through the mirror is definitely not good for my cardiac health.
This was going to be a long ride.
The engine purred to life, a low rumble that I felt more than heard, and Jaxson pulled out of our parking spot with his usual smooth precision. Or at least, it would have been smooth if he hadn’t been constantly glancing in the rearview mirror instead of watching where he was going.
“Left, left, LEFT!” Nico suddenly shouted, making everyone jump. “Oh, sorry, talking to my character. This dungeon is really tricky to navigate.”
The first turn had me sliding against Colt, his arm tightening around my shoulders like a very expensive, cologne-scented seat belt. The solid warmth of his chest against my side was both comforting and terrifying. That electric warmth flared where our bodies touched, different from what I felt with Jaxson but equally powerful.
The second turn sent me into Xander’s side, his hand somehow ending up higher on my thigh in the process, hisfingers warm through the thin fabric of my shorts. Another kind of warmth flowed from his touch—smoother, more subtle, but just as intense.
“You know,” Nico commented without looking up, “if you’re having trouble with the car’s handling, I know a great mechanic from this game I play. Though I guess real cars don’t have power-ups or—NO, NO, NO! I was so close!”
If being sandwiched between two unreasonably attractive stepbrothers wasn’t bad enough, being sandwiched between them in a moving vehicle was pure torture. Every turn sent me sliding against one or both of them, and their “helpful” hands seemed to find new and interesting places to “stabilize” me. Xander’s fingers kept creeping higher on my thigh, while Colt’s hand had somehow slipped to my waist, his thumb tracing small circles against my ribs.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as a red light had me practically falling into Xander’s lap, my face inches from his neck. I could smell his cologne from here, something woodsy and expensive that made my head spin.
“Don’t apologize.” Xander’s voice held a hint of something that made my stomach flip, something dark and hungry that reminded me too much of how Jaxson had looked at me last night. “I don’t mind catching you.”
“You wouldn’t need catching if you’d let me put the seat belt on properly,” I grumbled, trying to readjust without accidentally elbowing anyone in their unfairly toned abs. The movement only served to press me more firmly against Colt, whose arm tightened around me in response.
“The seat belt is fine.” Colt’s arm tightened slightly on me. “You’re just… small.”
“I’m not”—the car took a turn, and I slid against Colt’s side, my cheek pressed against his shoulder—“small.”
