REVENGE KISS: FALLING FOR MY BAD BOY STEP BROTHER

CHAPTER 003: An unexpected Kiss at the Rink

~SAFFRON~

The food in my stomach churns as Jason's intense blue eyes stare at me. I see him more clearly now, and good lord, he's a very beautiful boy. It has only been a few weeks, but he somehow looks more good looking than I remember him to be. I notice now that he has a sexy little cleft in his chin. His dark hair looks fuller now, his defined square jawline sharper with light stubble. Heat floods my face from merely looking at him. From his expression, he recognizes me, and maybe even more surprised than I am.

I force myself to look away from him, hating how seeing him again makes me feel. It's like seeing a crush.

This is so awkward.

I squeeze my temples and lower my head to my food, finding it hard to accept that we're now step siblings.

My mom holds my shoulder, asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I'm fine,” I fake a smile and glance at Jason, and that's when he looks away from me.

“Hi, Jason… How're you?” My mom asks, smiling so radiantly at him, but he doesn't answer. He just surveys the dinner. “It's good to see you again,” she continues.

“I’m sure it is,” Damn, his voice. It's so deep and uniquely his.

Jason had replied, avoiding looking at my mom. His expression is tight as he turns to his father. “I think I'll skip dinner,” he says.

“Sit,” Fred says coldly, and I see Jason's lips twitch as he works his jaw before sitting in the chair opposite mine. He adjusts in his chair and his eyes lift briefly to meet mine across the table.

“Did you tell him we were moving in today?” I hear my mom whispering to Fred

Everything fades except him when his eyes find me again, staring. It makes me so uncomfortable, my insides twisting—the thought of having kissed my new step brother.

“And you are?” Jason asks me with a taunting grin, tilting his head to the side.

I swallow. My lips form an answer when I hear Fred's voice.

“That's your new step sister, Saffron.”

The words hit him like a punch, and he slumps back in his chair. His face falls, as if his worst fear has been confirmed.

Looking at me, Fred says, “Saffron, this is my son, Jason.”

“Hi, Jason,” I say as politely as I can.

His jaw clenches when he looks at me. We break eye contact and he looks between my mom and his father, "She's exactly my type," he says, voice tight.

A shallow breath escapes me. My mom seems offended by his words, glancing at Fred, who looks completely embarrassed and probably fed up with his son's attitude. Jason flashes his brows at me, biting from an apple he took from the fruits on the table.

I'm supposed to feel utterly disgusted, but I'm not. As shocking as it sounds, I'm thrilled. Intrigued by him.

“Dad, can I go now? I have practice tomorrow, and I'm really tired.” He fakes a yawn.

Fred waves him off tiredly.

Jason stands, eating the apple as he walks away without glancing back once. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the next few days, I barely see Jason in the mansion. When I do see him around, he behaves like I’m a ghost—never glancing in my direction. I do the same, never acknowledging his presence.

Today feels different though, not because we’re alone in the house, but because he keeps looking at me in the dining room while he drinks from a bottle of water he took from the fridge. Even as he throws the empty bottle in the trash can in the kitchen, his eyes don’t leave me. I am the one who has to look away, looking back only when he isn’t looking.

He’s wearing black sports shorts slightly above his knees, his nice strong masculine legs in a pair of sports shoes. His toned, powerful arms flex in his gray sleeveless T-shirt while he walks back to the fridge. I eye his arm tattoo.

Those tattoos that make me wonder how much freedom his father gives him even when it looks like Fred still has control of him. Maybe the absence of a mother will do that to you.

Jason takes two bottles of water from the fridge and when I notice he is going to look in my direction again, I look away, eating my food. He then disappears from my sight.

From the look of things, he’s heading to practice. And if things weren’t weird between us, I would have asked nicely to go with him because I’m bored and lonely in this big house. And being out for a while wouldn't kill. Maybe if he lets me apologize for assaulting him with a kiss, things might be different between us. Yeah, I should do that—apologize to him.

I rush from my seat to find him, searching the garage first because that's where he is likely to be. I walk past five luxurious cars and see him approaching the door of his big black Jeep. He spots me immediately, and his face turns stoic.

“Hey…” I say, and he rolls his eyes, looking away from me. “Nice car,” I add.

“You wouldn’t be the first.” He says.

Rude.

He opens the door of his Jeep, searching inside for something I can’t quite tell.

“It looks like you’re busy,” I continue.

He keeps me quiet. After a while, he straightens and puts something in his pocket, his eyes unflinching from me as he says, “I’m never too busy for a second kiss, if that's why you're here.”

“That’s gross.” I cringe my face, and he scoffs. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Good. Because you shouldn’t be here...” he looks around, adding “at all.” I frown at him and he walks to the trunk of his Jeep, opening it.

What a jerk. As if I begged to be here in the first place. I wouldn’t even be here, in this house, if not because of my mother.

“Listen…” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “I’m really, really sorry about… that kiss. Can we please just pretend like it never happened and start afresh?”

“Never,” he chokes out.

“Ne—never?” I stutter, surprised by his response. “What do you mean by never?” I ask, approaching him, glancing at some hockey equipment in his trunk.

“I hate pretending,” he says, turning to face me. “And I’ll never forget that kiss.” His eyes drop to my lips, and he looks like he's going to kiss me any second from now. I take a step back. He chuckles, saying “Relax, you'll have to crawl on your knees for me to kiss you"

“You’re disgusting,” I say, swallowing a lump in my throat. Why do I suddenly feel so hot?

Jason beams at me. “I’ll do better in pleasing you.” He says, and then takes a hockey stick from the trunk, checking it out.

“You play hockey?” I blurt out.

He arches an eyebrow and waves his hockey stick at me. “Does this look like a golf club?”

I roll my eyes, and he places it back in his trunk.

“Can I come with you to your—?”

“No.”

He answers before I can finish, and it stings.

“I promise I won’t ask questions.”

“I would prefer you stop talking.” He closes the trunk of his jeep.

I’ll take that as a yes. “Is that a yes?”

He doesn’t answer. He enters his Jeep and starts the engine.

Whoa… he’s really not going to change his mind. This is why I dislike hockey players. They have so much pride over nothing. Just take him for example.

“You know—”

I bite back any derogatory comments when he winds down the window and looks at me, his eye brows knitted together.

“Get in,” he orders.

“Okay.” I smile and enter the front passenger seat of his Jeep. He drives us away from the mansion and then speeds off when we leave the estate.

Every now and then, I glance at Jason’s sharp jawline in profile while he drives because why not.

We pull into the parking lot of the ice rink. Jason swings the Jeep into a spot marked for players. The place is alive with activity—a few guys in hoodies lingering outside with duffel bags, and the faint sound of skates scraping the ice.

Glancing at his phone, Jason curses under his breath as he steps out of the car. “s**t, I’m late.”

I step out too, feeling a bit out of place in my casual jeans and halter top. Jason gives me one bottle of water, and grabs his hockey stick from the trunk quickly, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder.

“Go find a seat in the stands,” he says, nodding toward the entrance without really looking at me. I turn to look and see there are a few people present—parents, friends, girlfriends, whatever.

I follow him inside. Jason disappears to a locker room to change while I climb up a few rows and settle in, pulling out my phone to kill time. Soon enough, his team is out on the ice, sticks clacking, coaches barking orders.

Practice kicks off and Jason is fully immersed. Helmet on, C on the front of his jersey, number 87 flashing at the back of his jersey as he powers across the ice. He is so intense, focused, and surprisingly happy. He's like a different person out there. More than once, our eyes lock. The first time is when he pauses for a water break, glancing up at the stands where I’m seated. Then during a scrimmage, right after he scores, his gaze flicking to me like he is checking if I’d seen it. Heat creeps up my neck each time, and I look away, pretending to be fascinated by the zamboni in the corner.

I text Kate to distract myself. After a while, practice wraps up with a final whistle. The guys skate off, helmets coming off, faces flushed and sweaty. Jason hangs back, talking to his coach near the bench.

That’s when one of his teammates saunters over to the stands, zeroing in on me like I have a neon sign over my head. He is short but built, with a cocky swagger.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he starts, leaning on the railing. I drink from the bottle of water Jason gave me. “Saw you roll up with our captain. You his girl or something?”

I force a polite smile but keep my eyes on my phone, ignoring him.

He chuckles, not taking the hint. “At least tell me your name? I’m Matthew.”

“Saffron,” I mutter, hoping he’ll buzz off.

But he keeps going, flirting shamelessly. Compliments on my eyes, tossing out lines about showing me around town.

Matthew suddenly stops talking when his eyes shift past me. “Um… talk you some other time, Saffron.” He bolts just as Jason approaches, towel around his neck, hair damp and tousled from the helmet. He looks like a hot mess.

Jason drops his bag on the floor, eyeing me. “What was that about?” he asks, his voice low, mixed with annoyance?

“Nothing,” I say, rising up to my feet and shoving my phone in my pocket. “He was being friendly.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but then his face changes, like he’d seen a ghost. His jaw tightens, eyes widening just a fraction, fixed on something behind me. I turn, following his gaze, and there she is, a stunning girl weaving through the exiting crowd. She is petite like me, and unlike my long wavy dark brown hair, hers is auburn hair cascading in perfect waves. She has curves that turn heads, and a pretty smile. She is heading straight for us, her eyes locked on Jason.

Jason turns to me quickly, his expression urgent, almost desperate. “I have to kiss you right now," he says.

"What?" I blink.

“Hold your breath,” he says, and before I can process what is happening, his hands cup my cheeks—warm, calloused palms from hockey gloves—and his soft lips crash against mine.