Sinful cravings for my hockey step brother

Viana's POV I closed my locker softly, tracing my fingers along the frame one last time. That memory was the reason I didn’t waste time on distractions, why I stayed focused even when the world tried to shove boys like Alvin Monroe into my orbit. Death had taught me something school couldn’t: every second mattered. And maybe that was why, deep down, I was grateful Mom and I had left our old town behind. A fresh start, a transfer, a chance to rebuild without shadows trailing us. A new place with new rules and less chances of any form of mistakes. At least, that was the plan but unfortunately it went badly fast. ********* I should’ve known something was up the moment Mom lit candles at the dinner table. She only did that for birthdays, special events or bad news. No one had died recently unless cousin Anny finally drank herself to death and it was close to winter season a time where we rarely had birthdays of people we cared about. Not that we didn't care about the rest, just not

Viana's pov It was Emily, a friendly, amused glint in her eyes. She’d not only pointed me in the right direction but had walked me to my class, chatting easily the whole way about the best coffee on campus, which professors to avoid, and the unspoken rule of never wearing the school’s red color on game day unless you wanted to be spontaneously drafted onto a cheerleading squad. That five-minute walk had blossomed into a full-blown campus tour and then a coffee run. By the end of the day, she’d decided we were friends, and I was too grateful to argue. “So,” she said now, stealing a tomato from my salad even though she had a boatload of food right in front of her. “How’s life with the chosen one treating you? I heard the walls in your house are vibrating with divine energy this morning.” I groaned, dropping my forehead to the table. “You heard that?” “Honey, everyone on this side of campus heard that, well at least some of us. The news hasn't reached the rest of the masses ca

Viana's pov. A hush fell over the room, all the other girls pretending not to watch but clearly waiting for my reaction. I forced myself to shut my locker with a sharp click, keeping my face calm. “Good thing I know how to draw lines, then.” Her smile faltered for a beat, then returned sharper. “We’ll see.” I walked out before I said something I’d regret. ******* By the time I slid into my literature class, I was still simmering. The universe must have had a twisted sense of humor, because the professor announced group projects—partners assigned at random. My partner? Alvin Monroe. Of course. He strolled in five minutes late, hockey bag slung over one shoulder like he owned the place. When he dropped into the chair next to me, I could practically hear the collective sighs of half the class. “Looks like we’re partners, step-sis,” he murmured, lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “Don’t call me that.” I shot him a glare. “What? You don’t like labels?” He leaned

VIANA. I stood in front of my mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, my arms folded across my chest as I stared at my reflection like it might suddenly give me answers. It didn’t. I turned slightly to the side, then back again, tugging at the hem of my plain blue shirt which I wore with a pair of blue jeans. Again. That was always my default—jeans and shirts. It always felt safe and comfortable for me, but tonight wasn’t supposed to be a normal night, and the more I thought about it, the more my chest tightened with confusion. “What do I even wear to something like this?” I muttered to myself. I sighed and dropped onto the edge of my bed, running a hand through my hair. I missed the old days—the days when Mom used to pick out my clothes for special occasions. Back then, I didn’t have to think too hard. She always seemed to know what fit me, what worked, what made me look… right. Now, it was just me and a closet full of clothes that suddenly felt very wrong. I glanced back

VIANA. The first thing I did when I heard my name was tuck my phone deep into my back and close the zipper. I saw a shadow fall across the floor in front of my shoes just as I turned around in surprise. For a second, my brain lagged behind my eyes. The face staring back at me felt familiar, like a half-remembered dream. Then it clicked. “It's him,” I breathed. Of course it was him. The guy from Alvin’s rink display earlier today. My mood dropped instantly, like someone had flipped a switch inside me. I didn’t bother hiding it. My expression soured on its own. He noticed. He let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had expected this reaction. “Hi.” He quickly added before I could respond. “Yeah… I had a feeling you’d look at me like that.” I crossed my arms. “What do you want?” I needed him to go straight to the point. I had no energy for fake politeness. He raised his hands slightly, in surrender. “First, I wanted to say I’m sorry. About earlier. I didn’