Chapter 1

The AC was doing its job, but I still felt sticky. I had already switched into my lightest oversized tee and the shortest sleep shorts I owned, yet I kept shifting on the couch like the cushions were conspiring against me. Everyone else was out celebrating the team's win. Me? The captain's live-in stepdaughter for the season. Home alone with takeout menus and game reels. Typical.

I scrolled my phone without really looking at anything. My head kept drifting to places it had no business going. Victor stepping out of the shower, hair still wet and stuck to his forehead, that low voice saying my name like it already knew the temperature of the room. And Jax—louder, rougher, the kind of laugh that always felt like a dare.

Different kind of trouble. Same problem: both of them took up way too much space in my private thoughts.

It felt like forever before the front door finally opened. Beer bottles clinked. The smell of sweat and win followed them in. They hadn't even changed—just the team polos stretched tight across chests and shoulders that looked unfair under normal lighting. Victor's height made the doorway look smaller. Jax was right behind him.

I swallowed and tried not to stare at the way the fabric pulled. Failed a little.

"There she is,"Victor said, voice low and pleased. He set the beer down and came straight for the couch. Jax dropped onto my other side like he belonged there. Suddenly the three of us were packed into a space that had felt fine five minutes ago. Real body heat poured off them. The kind that made the AC feel pointless.

We cracked bottles. Watched the highlights. Talked shit about the other team's defense. Normal enough. Until the boredom hit and Jax grabbed the controller.

"One game,"he said. "Loser takes a punishment. Keep it light."

Victor raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. I should have. Instead I heard myself say, "Fine. But if I win, you two are on dish duty for a week."

I did not win.

Jax took the first round easy. He set the controller down, turned toward me with that same on-court grin, and said the punishment was a tickle attack. Harmless. Stupid.

Except his hand didn't stay on my ribs. It slipped under the hem of my T-shirt, warm fingers dragging across the skin of my waist. Just a brush. Accidental, maybe.

I froze.

Victor watched. That deep laugh rumbled out of him. He didn't stop it. Didn't even look surprised.

My brain went straight into private chaos. Fuck, his hand is so warm. I should shove it off. Why am I just sitting here? Heat bloomed low in my stomach and kept going. I could feel my pulse in places that had no business reacting to a "tickle."

Jax pulled his hand back, still grinning, and reached for his beer like nothing happened. Victor's arm settled across the back of the couch behind me. Casual.

Except his forearm brushed my shoulder every time he shifted, and the solid heat of him soaked straight through the thin cotton. I sat rigid, trying to pretend I wasn't suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of skin that shirt covered.

We played another round. Then another. The laughter got looser. The space between us got smaller. Jax's knee pressed against mine. Victor's fingers occasionally tapped my shoulder when he wanted my attention.

I kept losing.Not entirely by accident either. Every time someone "punished"me it stayed just on the edge of play—another brush under the shirt, a hand that stayed on my thigh a beat too long while reaching for the remote.

My body was a complete traitor. The shorts felt damp between my legs. I shifted, trying to ease the pressure without making it obvious, and only succeeded in pressing my thigh harder against Jax's. He glanced over, eyes a little darker than the joke of the game deserved.

This is so messed up, I told myself. You're sitting between your stepdad and his teammate getting quietly worked up over a stupid drinking game. Mom's husband. And you're just… letting it happen.

But I didn't move away.

Victor's hand slid from my shoulder down to the outside of my arm, thumb stroking once, slow. "You okay, baby girl?"he asked, soft enough that only I could hear it under the sound of the replay. The nickname hit harder than it should have. My stomach flipped. Lower.

"Fine,"I managed. My voice came out thinner than I wanted.

Jax laughed, low and knowing. "She's just mad she's losing. Next round's gonna cost her a shirt if she keeps playing like that."

The words landed in the heated air between us and stayed there.

I stared at the screen without seeing it. My pulse was everywhere—throat, wrists, the place between my thighs that felt swollen and obvious.

Another round started. Controllers clicked. Beer bottles clinked. The apartment felt smaller, warmer, charged. I told myself I was only staying for the game. That the heat was just the AC struggling. That the quiet, secret wetness was nothing.

I lost again.

Jax set his controller down slowly this time. Victor's arm was still around me. The next punishment was already hanging in the air, heavier than any of the ones before it.

Take off a piece of clothing.

I sat there between them, heart slamming, shorts damp, and realized with a private, guilty little thrill that I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to stop it.