Chapter 49: Good thing
Chapter 48
Nolan
"Quick, he’s coming." Ciel hisses, shoving me toward the laundry machine like some kind of deranged director setting the stage.
"This is ridiculous," I grumble, already regretting agreeing to this.
Ciel doesn’t answer. He just tilts his head, those golden eyes scanning me like I’m a mannequin he’s dressing for a window display. Calculating.
Then—before I can demand an explanation—he pinches my nipples through my shirt.
"Ow!" I yelp, jerking back, clutching my chest.
He grins like a lunatic. "Perfect." And then he’s gone, slipping out of the room with that infuriatingly smug bounce in his step.
I groan, looking down at myself. Great. I look like a slut. A literal slut. The thin tank top Ciel shoved on me clings too tight, nipples standing out like neon signs. My pants ride so low I’m terrified if I bend even slightly, my ass crack will greet the entire household.
I rub at my chest, but that just makes them sting more. I feel like a cheap hooker waiting for a client.
Footsteps echo down the hall. Heavy, confident. Him.
And like the pathetic pawn I’ve apparently agreed to be, I find myself scurrying too, heart hammering, positioning myself by the door.
Jack pushes it open, brow furrowed, distracted, carrying a bundle of laundry in his arms. I don’t give myself time to think—I bump into him on purpose.
Hard.
The impact makes him grunt, steadying me with one strong arm, the laundry shifting precariously in his hold.
"Watch it, doggy," he mutters, irritation rough in his tone. But then his eyes drop.
To me.
To my chest.
Heat floods my face so fast I want to die on the spot, sink straight through the floorboards and vanish.
But outwardly? I act cool. Calm. Untouchable.
I brace for it—for some crude joke, some sharp little tease to make my embarrassment even worse. But nothing comes. No smirk. No jab.
Something worse happens.
He doesn’t tease me at all.
"Right... sorry," I mutter, stepping out of his grasp before my voice can betray the way my pulse is hammering.
"Hmm."His noncommittal sound follows, low and unreadable.
I reach for the basket in his arms, needing to do something, anything, to ground myself.
"Let me," I say, tugging the laundry away from him before he can argue.
"Yeah, I guess I’ll leave you to it." His voice is casual, too casual—but his eyes drag over me in one slow, obvious sweep before he turns.
That look burns.
He walks out without another word.
The moment the door clicks shut, my knees give out. I drop to the cold tile, basket half-forgotten at my side, and bury my face in my hands.
My chest heaves, shame and heat tangled together, impossible to separate. I can still feel the weight of his gaze like fingerprints on my skin, like he stripped me bare without even touching me.
I want to crawl out of my own body.
And worse than the humiliation, worse than the way my pulse won’t slow ,was the flash of something traitorous inside me.
Want.
*
Okay, so the laundry incident was embarrassing.
Jack has been avoiding me ever since.
Which is odd—because usually he’s the one crawling under my skin, tossing smirks and barbs like it’s his full-time job. The silence is worse. At least when he’s teasing me, I know where I stand.
I shift the basket higher on my hip as I move through the house, dropping folded stacks in Ciel’s room first, then making my way to Jack’s.
I don’t think. I just push the door open, because that’s what I’ve always done—barge in, scold him for leaving shirts on the floor, mutter about how he owns exactly three pairs of shorts and refuses to branch out.
The room smells faintly of him, heading straight to his wardrobe, setting the pile on the low shelf, and begin folding. It’s the same rotation: joggers, t-shirts, hoodies, shorts. Practical, lazy. Predictable.
Except—my hand brushes over something else. A dress shirt. Crisp, dark. Suit pants folded neatly on the hanger beside it.
I pause.
For some reason, the sight knocks the air out of me.
I picture Jack in this. Not slouched in joggers, not swaggering in a tank top. But straight-backed, buttoned up, the kind of man who could walk into a boardroom or a gala and own it.
Sharp jaw, collar crisp against his throat, broad shoulders filling out the cut of the jacket.
I swallow, hard. My ears burn.
Would he look good like this? Of course he would. He’d look devastating.
I hesitate, fingers still pressed against the fabric. I wonder—stupidly, recklessly—what he would look like if I picked it out for him. If he’d wear it because I suggested it.
My chest tightens.
"What the hell am I even thinking..." I mutter under my breath, snapping the wardrobe shut a little too fast, like I’ve been caught in a crime.
I leave Jack’s room, and find Ciel standing arms folded looking at me.
"Yeah," I say.
"Yeah," he mocks, his golden eyes narrowing.
I grit my teeth, walking past him, hoping I can slip away. Fat chance.
"Well... what happened in the laundry room?" he asks, voice too casual to be casual.
I freeze mid-step. Of course. I should’ve known I wouldn’t escape.
I glance around, half-hoping Jack will materialize and save me, half-praying he won’t.
"Don’t worry," Ciel says, answering the thought I never spoke. "He’s with Lanny by the pool."
Shit.
I clear my throat, try for nonchalance. "Nothing happened."
"Nothing." He repeats, slowly, like he’s tasting the word.
"Yes, nothing." I snap, shifting the basket higher against my chest.
Ciel exhales, long and heavy, shoulders slumping.
This is... weird.
No—genuinely weird.
Ciel looks disappointed. Not because I kept something from him. But because nothing happened.
He’s actually pushing me toward Jack.
It’s such an odd complex of emotions I’ve been going through.
On one hand, I want to scream—because this is insane, right? He’s my best friend, the one person I’ve always sworn to protect. And he’s asking me to cross a line that feels irreversible.
On the other hand...
I can’t lie to myself anymore. The way Jack looks at me, the way my pulse jumps every time he gets too close it’s not just imagination.
That’s the part that twists me up the most.
Because I don’t know if it’s permission, or a trap.
I don’t know if Ciel is testing me, manipulating me, or if he really does trust me that much.
Who am I kidding, if Ciel told me to stab myself I would ask how deep?
If Ciel wants me to fuck Jack, I will fuck Jack, it should be a good thing that I want to right?