Unwritten Law (Steele Brothers 1)

The two messages Reed’s sent me since then have gone unanswered, even though I’ve desperately wanted to see him again. My right hand is no replacement for Reed’s.

It might’ve been the fact it’d been six months since I’d had sex with anyone, or maybe it’s because it was my first time with a guy, but I swear I’ve never come so hard in my life.

I want a repeat but have refrained for two reasons. He thinks I’m Anders, and he’s after friendship, not a fuck buddy situation, and that’s all I could offer right now. Even though I’ve always known I’m attracted to males as well as females, I don’t know if I could see myself with a guy long-term. Maybe it’s my Anders hang-up about us needing to be different to one another, or maybe I have the old-school mentality that life equals marriage, babies, and a family, because that’s the thing you do. If someone were to ask me why that’s the thing to do though, I don’t think I’d be able to find an answer. To populate the earth? Think we have enough people doing that already, and it’s not always for the good of humanity.

My issue is, if I don’t even know what I want in a partner, I’m certainly not going to go around announcing to my entire family I like dick, only to end up with women for the rest of my life. It’s easier to keep my preferences quiet until I can work out exactly what they are on my own.

But a hand—pun totally intended—from Reed would be okay with me. If he was into it. Which he won’t be if he finds out Anders isn’t me. No, that I’m not Anders. Fuck, I’m even confusing myself.

After I take the kids through the routine, I get them to pair off and spar, while I stand at the front of the class and watch their technique and make sure they’re not goofing off or actually hitting each other.

“You’re a great teacher,” Reed says beside me as he watches too.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

“No, seriously. They listen to you. They respect you.”

“Probably because they see me as one of them. I have the maturity of a fifteen-year-old.”

“I think it has more to do with the fact you look badass and have a black belt,” Reed says.

I look badass? Awesome. “Might also be that I’m teaching them something they can use in the future. They see value in it.”

He mock gasps. “Are you saying the English I teach these kids is not usable?”

“Have you seen how these lot communicate with each other? With the OMGs and the WTFs. What happened to good old-fashioned what the fuck?”

Reed glances at our class who keep continuing what they’re doing and ignore me. “Okay, seriously, how did you not get a reaction to that?”

I lean in. “I’m magic.”

Davis snorts in the front row, and when I cock my brow at him, the smile drops from his face.

“See. Magic.”

“I don’t know whether to be in awe of you or hate you right now.”

“You’ll get the hang of it. You’re new to it, right?”

“God, is it that obvious?”

Fuck. I’m not supposed to know anything about this guy. “No, you look young, is all.”

“I can’t be any younger than you.”

“Did Anders tell you we were twenty-three?” What am I saying? I know I didn’t tell him that.

“Does he lie about his age often?”

“Always.”

“He never said how old, actually.”

“Twenty-eight. He’s ten minutes older.”

Reed’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I never would’ve guessed you guys were nearly thirty.”

I scowl. “Hey, cut it with that thirty shit.”

“Sorry,” Reed says and tries not to smile. He fails.

“Is this your first teaching job?”

“I’ve been subbing the last six months since graduating, but a spot opened up with Carindale, so I moved from the Sunny Coast, and here I am.”

“So, you’re twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four. I did the four-year English degree and then the extra year to get my teaching qualifications.”

Davis starts to get sloppy in his attacks, and his partner—a quiet girl whose name I can never remember—is hitting harder to retaliate, and if he doesn’t cut it out soon, he’s going to cop a knife-strike to his face.

“Davis,” I snap. “Watch your form.”

The wiseass salutes me.

I lean in and whisper to Reed. “I know we’re not supposed to have favourites, but if I was allowed …” I tip my head in Davis’s direction.

“I haven’t had a class with him yet,” he whispers back, “but I was warned he was disruptive and acts out a lot.”

“That’s why I like the kid. Reminds me of me.” If I didn’t know for a fact I wasn’t Davis’s dad—having been thirteen when he was born—I’d have to wonder. I swear the kid is me when I was his age. Even down to his dark hair, brown eyes, and lanky form he hasn’t quite grown into yet.