“I want to take you to lunch. That's it. Just lunch. Please, Abi. I don't want this … this thing to fucking ruin what we have.”
Anger surged inside of me, hot and bright, like sunlight through a magnifying glass, its lens focused right between Flor's perfect green eyes.
“This thing?” I choked before he had a chance to retract his statement. I could see him getting angry right back at me. Why, I'm not sure, but that only served to piss me off further. “This thing means everything to me!” I screamed at him, embarrassed that Theo and Addi were here to witness yet another epic confrontation between the two of us. If I'm going to move on, put myself together, I have to make sure I have no regrets. Right now, I still had dozens – at least. “Don't diminish my feelings, Flor. Don't you dare.”
I hated the way his eyes slid to the side while the muscles in his jaw clenched angrily.
After several seconds of standing there, wrapped in tension and hurting, Flor moved forward suddenly and grabbed me. One hand went around my waist, the other behind my knees, and he picked me up in his arms, my boots dangling from his fingers.
“Lunch,” he said as he started down the stairs. “That's all I'm asking.”
“I'm going to freaking end you,” Addi said, following after us.
When we hit the bottom of the stairs, I finally woke up enough from my momentary daze to remember to be angry. Flor's hard chest pressing against me, his hands on my skin … Goddamn it.
Passersby gave us some funny looks as people streamed in and out of the shoe store beneath my apartment, but nobody said anything, giving our little group a wide berth as they streamed by. I think – but I'm not sure – that Theo was filming the whole scene with his iPhone.
“You want me to call the police?” Addi asked me as Flor set me down and I stood there in my socks on the pavement, my skirt rumpled, my head swimming.
Flor looked straight back at me as I steeled myself and took a deep breath.
I held out my hand for my boots.
“Lunch,” I told him firmly, glancing sideways at Addi as if to say I've got this. “Just lunch. This is your last chance for redemption, Florian Harper Riley.”
Flor and I decided to walk the mile to Toshi's Ramen. The air was cool, but the sun was out and its golden fingers felt warm against my spine. I kept my arms crossed over my chest and second-guessed my decision for nearly the entire walk.
Being with Flor now was … odd. A good portion of my life had been spent by his side, but my feelings had always been a secret. Well, if not entirely a secret at least unspoken, unconfirmed. Now that he knew how I felt, it was just weird. I was standing next to the guy I loved, who said he loved me back, but yet we couldn't be together. I wondered absently if I were given the chance, if Flor said yes to this but our parents balked, would I choose a romantic relationship with him over my own father? Over the man who was gruff and frustrating at times, but who'd taken care of a baby in the wake of his own heartbreak, who'd done a pretty damn good job at it, too? Besides, even if it really did come down to a Flor or Father sort of a thing, I knew I wouldn't just be ruining my relationship with my dad. This could ruin Flor and his mom, his mom and my dad. There were any number of reasons that Florian was right about this.
But why then did it feel so wrong?
“I'm sorry you cried,” he told me, lighting up a cigarette as we walked. I kept my gaze straight ahead and didn't bother to look over at him. “If I'd known you were going to come home and be upset all night, I never would've let you leave.”
“What? And give up a night of passion with Rhonda? What a sacrifice that would've been.” I was being a snarky brat, I knew, but I couldn't stop the words from coming out of my mouth. My emotions were in too much of a turmoil to allow for any form of self-control. Florian squeezed his fists at his sides, but he didn't deny the accusation. After I'd left, after I'd poured my heart out for him, had he taken Rhonda into his room and filled her the way I only wanted him to fill me?
Jesus.
My imagination spun with unwanted images of Florian and Rhonda having sex, any details I needed filled in and supplied by the many memories I had of catching my brother in the act. I could distinctly remember the first time I came home and heard strange sounds coming from upstairs. At only thirteen, and a fairly innocent thirteen at that, it had never occurred to me what those sounds might've entailed. I'd raced up the stairs, my heart thumping as it usually did whenever I was presented with a chance to see my stepbrother, and found Flor's door cracked. Sneaking quietly along the hallway, I'd peeped inside and found a girl with dark hair on her back, Flor on top of her, their bodies moving in ways that haunted me for months to come. It's not that I hadn't known what sex was, but I'd never seen the actual act before.
The feeling of heartache I'd had that day returned a hundred times over as I reached a hand up and clutched at my chest. I'd been in love with him and, according to him, that was just after he'd realized he was in love with me, just after that barefoot hangout session on the roof, a bottle of champagne sitting between us on the shingles. Instead of waiting for me, he'd followed his dick to greener pastures. Anger washed over me, doused only by yesterday's memory of Flor's words. And you wanted me to what? Wait around for you to grow up, like some kind of freak predator? Why did he have to make so much damn sense?
“All I'm saying is, I don't want you to waste your life pining after me, Abi.”
Wow. Now if that didn't sound pathetic, I don't know what did.
“I'm not wasting my life,” I assured him as we neared the ramen shop. “I have friends and a life outside of you, Flor. I've had boyfriends, when you haven't bothered to step in and screw things up that is.”
“Don't forget the ones you've dated behind my back. You know, like my best friend from elementary school.”
I ignored the comment and continued as if he hadn't spoken, anger lacing his words and heightening the growing tension between us.
“Just because I've always … ” I couldn't say the word love, not in the bright sunshine like this. I felt too exposed. I rephrased my words. “Just because I care about you, because I wanted to see what a relationship between us would be like, that doesn't mean I'm just wasting away pining after you. Yeah, last night was rough for me. You basically told me it's never going to happen. I left knowing you and Rhonda were going to spend the night together. Not to mention the fact that you said she wanted to get engaged.”
“She does,” Flor said, his voice freakishly calm. I kept my gaze away from him, on the green hills in the distance, covered in trees, on the people riding bikes, on the students walking quickly with backpacks over their shoulders. I needed to look at anything and everything but those eyes. “I was serious when I said that. Rhonda spent most of her life in foster care, and all she wants is a family. She wants to have children soon.”
“You're only twenty-one,” I said, wondering if I sounded as terrified as I felt. No. I didn't want Flor to be a dad, didn't want to see another woman swollen with a baby that I desperately wished would be mine (not anytime soon, obviously, but eventually). “Isn't it a little early to start a family?”
Flor shrugged. I could see his muscular shoulders moving from the corner of my eye. He was actually considering this? Commitment phobic Flor, the guy who had a new girl every week and then some, he was actually thinking about settling down with a woman he'd known for a few months? I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. I hadn't been worried about Rhonda. Maybe I should've been?
“Max was asking after you, too.”
I felt my lips purse. Max. The boy I used to substitute for Flor. It was sad, but true.
“Tell Max that … ” I almost told Flor that he could tell his friend to shove it, but then I changed my mind. I hadn't actually seen Max doing anything with that girl. For all I knew, he was just flirting. Besides, the thought of being alone right now was more than I could bear. I immediately regretted what'd happened between me and Dorian. Of course, even when he wasn't actually
involved, Flor could still find a way to mess up my relationships for me. “That I'll call him. In fact, I'll send him a text as soon as we're done here.”
“After he cheated on you?” Flor asked, voice low and dark, nothing at all like the warm sunshine-y day around us. He opened the door to Toshi's and ushered me in, brooding behind me in line while I examined the simple menu hanging behind the counter. I didn't bother to say anything in response to Flor's words. It might've been a little childish of me, but I knew that by dating Max again, Flor would suffer. If I had to see him have kids with Rhonda, I wanted him to know that I was sleeping with his best friend.
“How are you folks doing today?” the guy behind the counter asked as we moved up in line.
“My sister's dating a guy who cheats on her,” Flor said blandly and I felt my cheeks flush.
“Dude, that's a bummer,” the guy said, still smiling. I glanced around, hoping nobody else had heard. Only Flor would ever dare blurt something like that to a random stranger. I finally looked over at him and found his know-it-all asshole face firmly locked in place.
“My brother's dating a drag queen,” I blurted and then in a conspiratorial whisper, I leaned forward and whispered, “and he doesn't believe that makes him gay. He's a little homophobic unfortunately, afraid to admit his true feelings.” Flor gave me a look that could kill, his sharp green eyes stabbing me straight through my innocent, wide-eyed blue ones.
The man behind the counter took it all in stride.
“Righteous, man. To each his own, you know what I mean? Well, maybe some good food'll put you both in a better mood. Can I start you with some gyoza?”
“Two orders,” Flor said as I resisted the urge to punch him in that muscular arm of his. “Two sodas, two bowls of the original shoyu ramen.” I almost hated him for knowing exactly what I wanted. Why did he have to do that? To remember my favorite dessert, how I liked my coffee, to give me a locket with a picture of us holding sparklers on the Fourth of July. Why, why, why?
I moved away and let Flor pay, finding us an empty table outside. It'd be easier to talk if nobody was around to bother us, and I had a feeling we'd need the privacy.
When he joined me, Flor said nothing about our bitchy exchange at the counter and sat across from me in one of the black metal chairs, leaning back and hooking his chin on his hand. He was looking right at me again, his pupils narrowing in the ray of sunshine that fell across his face, like a cat or something.
I curled my fingers around the metal arms of my chair and squeezed.
“I hate that we're sitting here like this,” he told me, staying in that same position, his muscles stiff and his expression unyielding. It was like sitting in a spotlight for me, like I could feel his gaze diving beneath my clothes, caressing my bare flesh, examining the erratic beat of my heart. Every nerve in me was raw, like my emotions had finally worn away some of that protective covering I'd so carefully placed around myself.
“You mean fighting with each other?” I asked and forced a smile. I made my hands squeeze tighter in an effort to keep my expression stoic. “Isn't that what we've always done? Bicker? Exchange witty repartee?”
“Things are different now,” Flor said, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his jaw tightened and finally, blissfully, he looked away from me. “Before, we always fought about nothing and this … ”
“You sneaking into my room to read my diary wasn't nothing, Flor.” I tried to keep my tone light. It was like the sunshine around us demanded it. “Scaring away each and every guy I've ever had a crush on wasn't nothing. Dragging me out of that party when I was fifteen … That was something.”
He kept his gaze averted long enough that I was starting to wonder whether he was actually listening or if he'd let his mind spin away into some alternate universe where he didn't have to deal with a taboo attraction to his stepsister, where he and Rhonda could get married at age twenty-one and have beautiful babies together.
When he looked back at me, I could tell that wasn't true. Whatever was going through his mind right now wasn't about Rhonda – it was about me. I stared into his eyes, noting the rings of color in his irises, darker at the center and fanning out to a lighter shade on the edges. It wasn't normal to have eyes that beautiful, or for someone to notice them so much. In fact, when I thought about it, really thought about it, I realized I could scarcely remember the colors of my friends' eyes. It just wasn't something that stood out as much as you'd think.
“Why bring me here?” I asked him, sagging back in my chair, my hands still keeping their death grip on the arms of the chair. “I feel like we've already said everything we need to say to each other. Where else is there to go from here?”
“I can't see you like this, Abi,” he said, his voice taking on that husky tone that he seemed to reserve specially for me. “Dating Max even though he's a piece of shit, crying all night because of something I said, waiting and wishing and hoping.”
I pursed my lips.
“I already told you, Flor, that my life won't end because you turned me down.” I wanted to look away, but I knew I couldn't. If I did, I'd probably cry again and where would that get me? Pitied? I didn't want my stepbrother to pity me; I wanted him to love me. “I gave it my best, saw it through, and now here we are. I'm allowed time to grieve and frankly, it shouldn't be any of your business how I go about doing that.”
“It's fucking about me,” Flor said, leaning forward. Underneath the table, I felt his foot bump mine and memories assaulted me, memories of sitting side by side at the dinner table passing notes. “I think that gives me a whole hell of a lot of rights.”
I sighed. The same old stubborn, know-it-all jerk was sitting across me and still, my heart thumped painfully, the broken shattered pieces grating against one another as I looked back, willing this to be the end, knowing I'd promised myself that very same thing hundreds of times before. Why can't I get over you?
“How did you think this would work anyway?” he asked me, his eyes taking in my disheveled appearance with a much more discerning eye than I'd like. Asshole. Even rumpled and wrinkled and broken in two, I still felt his gaze hot and scorching. It made me wish I had some style like Addi, something that I could hide behind and feel confident about. Instead, here I sat with a tattoo my brother had picked out for me, a nose ring I'd gotten because half the girls he'd gone out with in high school had had them, and a belly button ring so I could show him my stomach every time I changed out the jewelry, noticing even then that his eyes lingered. It was like I was made up of bits and pieces of Flor, and I hated that. “That we'd go on dates? That nobody would think anything when they saw us together?”
I raised one eyebrow.
“Flor, what do you think a date is? It's going out and doing something with someone because, at first, you're trying to get to know them and later, because you simply like being with them. We've been to the movies, to the park, we've been camping together, we go out to eat all the time … nothing would've changed between us.”
“Not in public,” Flor said, leaning forward, the table suddenly shrinking in my view, disappearing and bringing us closer together as if by magic. I knew it was all an illusion, just my heated brain and my hormones and my emotions closing in on me. I resisted the urge to scoot back, but felt his hot breath on my cheek. “That's why I asked you before, do you know what you're saying? Things would get even weirder between us because, in the bedroom, you'd be mine.”
I sucked in a deep breath, felt his lips feather across mine.
“You'd be naked in front of me, beneath me. Us being together wouldn't just mean more walks in the park and restaurant nights on weekends, but it would mean my lips on yours, my body inside yours, my hands on your skin.”
I jerked back then, suddenly, like he'd burned me. The same way he'd done all those years ago when he'd backed away from our first kiss like I was on fire, like I was dangerous.
Being with Flor would mean him holding me, would mean watching A Christmas Story with him e
nough times that I'd have all the words memorized, would mean him loving me fully and completely and without restraint. Why didn't he understand me? It wasn't just about sex, but I wasn't scared of that either. The first sexual feelings I'd ever had, that had confused me and made me feel strange inside, those had been for him. When I was with Max, the only man I'd ever had sex with, I imagined Flor.
“What if I gave you a chance to see what you were really asking?” he said, maintaining his position leaning over the tabletop. I let my eyes linger on his lip rings, on the scar that graced his chin, on the smoothness of his jaw. “What if we spent one night together? Just one?”
My heart thrummed in my chest like it was an instrument, like it was my cello, clutched close to me and singing out its notes for only me to hear.
“What about Rhonda?” I asked, thinking of the girl he was dating, that he'd brought home for dinner, that I hadn't taken seriously but should've.
“She doesn't have to know.”
And there it was. My frustration, my anger, my rage, all boiling over and spilling into my lap.
I stood up just as one of the waiters approached with our order.
I backed up a step as he set it down on the table and disappeared into the restaurant like we were a blaze he'd rather not get burned by. I knew my eyes sparked with rage and my hands trembled, knew Flor could see my expression flickering across my features as he rose from his chair and glared straight back at me. From an early age I'd known he used sex to get over other feelings, to numb pain. He used girls and he tossed them aside because why? Because of me? I wasn't going to let him do it again. I pictured Rhonda sitting in his studio, winking at me, telling me there was nothing wrong with nice guys, smiling at me as I came out of his house in a teary rage.
No.
If he wanted Rhonda, he was going to have to earn her.
“I hate you sometimes,” I told him, and I hoped he could feel the truth in my words.
Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 39
