~Two
1226 Words
Dear Diary, I'm f****d.
I lay on my bed, propping a pillow under my chest as I scribbled in my journal. The only things that were ever there for me were this diary and Lydia. And right now, Lydia was hours away, probably making out with Raymond while I was here, trapped in this nightmare.
I'd thought—hoped—that seeing Tyler again would kill whatever I'd been feeling. That reality would be disappointing compared to the memory.
I was so, so wrong.
Every time our eyes met, that same spark ignited between us. The chemistry hadn't faded. If anything, it had gotten stronger, more dangerous. Like a live wire I couldn't stop touching even though I knew it would burn me.
We'd pretended it was the first time we'd ever seen each other when Mom came outside. Acted like strangers meeting for the first time.
"Tyler, dear, meet Florence—your sister," Mom had said, beaming like this was the best moment of her life.
"Your sister. Your sister."
The words echoed in my head on repeat, but they didn't match what my body was doing. My heart had fluttered. My skin had gotten hot. All while Tyler stared at me with those grey eyes that knew exactly what I looked like falling apart underneath him.
"Florence, meet your brother," Mom continued, linking her arm through mine. Then she'd laughed and added, "He's hot just like his father."
"Mom!" I'd practically yelled, mortified.
She'd just laughed and pulled me toward the house.
He is your brother, Florence. Your brother.
But my heart kept pounding harder every time I glanced at him. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach—the traitorous kind that didn't care about biology or family trees.
Tyler had smiled through the whole thing. Not the panicked, what-the-f**k smile I was probably wearing. Just this knowing, almost amused expression. Like he could read every thought racing through my head and found it entertaining.
Dinner had been torture.
We'd sat across from each other at this massive dining table, picking at expensive food I couldn't taste. Stealing glances. Making brief eye contact that sent heat flooding through me before I'd look away like a coward.
Our parents had chatted about their day, completely oblivious to the tension thick enough to choke on.
And now I was here, hiding in my room like a teenager with a crush instead of a college student who should know better.
*We have to talk about this,* I wrote in my diary. *If we don't, things are going to get more awkward. Our parents will notice. We need to put this behind us and forget it ever happened. We're siblings now. This can't happen again.*
I closed the journal, determination settling in my chest.
Right. I'd go to his room. We'd have an adult conversation. Establish boundaries. Move on.
Easy, yeah? So I thought
I stood up, smoothed down my shirt, and headed for the door before I could talk myself out of it.
The hallway was quiet—too quiet. Our parents had gone to bed early, exhausted from traveling. Which meant Tyler and I were alone on this floor.
My steps slowed as I approached his door, which was directly across from mine. Of course it was.
I took a deep breath and raised my hand to knock.
The moment my knuckles touched the wood, the door swung open. Unlocked.
I hesitated. "Tyler?"
No answer.
Against my better judgment, I pushed the door wider and stepped inside, closing it softly behind me. "Hello? Tyler, are you in here?"
Still nothing.
His room was huge, bigger than mine and just as luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows, modern furniture, a king-sized bed. But what caught my attention were the photos on the walls. Professional shots of Tyler in different athletic poses. Swimming, running, and playing basketball. He was an athlete. A serious one, judging by the trophies on his shelves.
I moved closer to his bed, where his phone sat face-up, the screen still glowing.
My breath caught.
It was open to social media account. And he had been looking at a photo of me from two months ago, sitting on the campus lawn in a sundress, laughing at something Lydia had said.
He'd been looking at my pictures.
A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. Part of me—the stupid, hopeful part—felt ridiculously excited about that. He'd been thinking about me too.
"Ahem."
I jolted, nearly dropping his phone. My hands fumbled as I tossed it back onto the bed and spun around.
Then I froze.
Tyler stood in the bathroom doorway, backlit by the light behind him. Water dripped from his blonde hair, which he was pushing back with one hand.
He was completely naked.
"Oh my god—" The words died in my throat.
I should look away. I should turn around, apologize, run out of the room. But my eyes were glued to him, taking in every inch of his body like I was trying to memorize it.
And f**k, there was a lot to memorize.
His body was even better than I remembered. Toned abs, strong shoulders, water still glistening on his tan skin. And lower—
*f**k. This isn't good.*
I had a photographic memory. Which meant this image was going to be burned into my brain forever. I'd be replaying this moment for weeks, months. Probably while touching myself and hating myself for it.
"See something you like?" Tyler's voice was low, amused. He made no move to cover himself.
My face burned. "I—you—I knocked, but the door was open, and I thought—"
"You thought you'd come into my room uninvited?" He took a step forward, and I took one back, my legs hitting the edge of his bed.
"I wanted to talk," I managed, trying desperately to keep my eyes on his face. "About... about this. Us. We need to—"
"Talk?" He raised an eyebrow, still moving closer. "Is that really what you came here for, Florence?"
"Yes," I said, but my voice shook. "We have to set boundaries. Forget what happened. We're—"
"Step-siblings," he finished, stopping just inches away from me. Close enough that I could smell his body wash—clean and masculine and intoxicating. "I know what we are."
"Then you know this.." I gestured vaguely between us, ".can't happen."
"This?" His eyes dropped to my lips. "What exactly is 'this'?"
"Tyler..." Noticing all his movements and intentions. His deep stares, close contact. I had to stop him.
"You're right," he said softly. "We should forget that night ever happened. Pretend we never touched each other. Pretend those wild amazing moments we had." His gaze traveled slowly down my body, then back up.
"Think you can do that?"
Was he baiting me?
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could feel was the heat radiating from his body, the memory of his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine.
"Yes," I whispered in a shaking voice like my words were laced with doubts "I can."
"Liar."
And then his hand was on my face, tilting my chin up, and I knew I was about to make the worst decision of my life.
Again.
And I didn't plan on stopping him.
- Writer
