Page 105 of Reckless Obsession

“It’s really good,” I say, managing something close to a normal voice. “I’ve missed your cooking so much.”

She laughs, pleased in that satisfied way of hers. “Well, you don’t come here nearly enough. I know it’s because Jamie never stays home for long, but you’re always welcome here. You know that, don’t you?”

Her eyes suddenly light up, moving past me towards the doorway.

“Oh, speaking of the devil.”

I turn.

Jamie saunters into the dining room like he owns it, which honestly makes sense because he moves through every space like it’s already his.

A smile pulls at my mouth before I can supervise it.

“Wassup, baldhead,” he says, as if he was born specifically to be my cross to bear, then ruffles my hair with maximum aggression before darting just out of reach, knowing I was about to introduce his face to my fist.

I flip him off. “You’re going to pay for that.”

He ignores me completely.

He bends down to hug my mother, and I watch him go just the tiniest bit shy when she smiles at him and says something kind. It happens every time. It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I will never stop weaponising it.

He kisses Regina on the cheek, then daps Tristan.

Tristan smiles.

Naturally. Easily. Without apparent effort.

God, that’s annoying.

Not because it’s Jamie—that’s his brother; there’s context. I understand the concept of context. I’m just sitting here, aggressively aware that Tristan hasn’t looked at me once since I arrived and apparently has a perfectly functioning smile stored somewhere in that controlled, infuriating body of his, which I am not currently receiving.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

“I’m starving,” Jamie announces, dropping into the seat beside Tristan.

“Uh-uh.” Regina is already reaching for the serving dish. “You’re always hungry. Just like your father.”

“Would you blame him, though?” My mother leans forward. “I’d be starving constantly if I played basketball like Jamie. Have you seen the way he moves on the court? He’s a force. And the way he throws? Perfectly, every single time.”

I swear Jamie lights up as if someone plugged him into a power source.

While our mothers fall into conversation, I slip my phone from my lap and unlock it beneath the table. Jamie catches the movement immediately because, unfortunately, we share the same flavor of chaos.

Dude, stop crushing on my mom.

He stuffs an indecent amount of turkey into his mouth, then pulls out his phone like a criminal trying not to get caught.

A second later, his grin turns unbearably smug.

I do NOT have a crush on her.

Fuck you, Maksim.

You blush at everything she says.

He glances up at me, eyes narrowed, then types again.