by Lexi Ryan
“Well, shit. How did you not know before now?”
That’s a fair question. The thing is, Dad and Becky have only been together since September, and during that same period of time I’ve avoided coming back here at all costs. I talked my way out of Thanksgiving, and the weekend I left college for Christmas, I spent with Mom. I volunteered over spring break, so that was an easy out. Maybe if I had a Facebook profile, I would have seen pictures, but aside from a private and anonymous Tumblr account, I don’t do social media anymore. Jewel spitting in my coffee was nothing compared to the hellfire she and her minions brought down on my Facebook wall after my drunken blackout sex with Isaac.
“I just didn’t know,” I say. “It’s lame, and it probably proves how self-centered I’ve been about everything, but I never really cared about who my stepbrother was. Even when Dad suggested I stay with him, he was irrelevant. A means to an end.”
“But then you made out with him and he rocked your world.”
Wincing, I start walking again, and Willow follows. “You should have seen the way he was looking at me last night, Willow. I wasn’t Easy Gee-Gee. I was a girl he seriously couldn’t take his eyes off—a girl he wanted to talk to. I liked it. And maybe I’m to blame for how fast things went last night. I was a little buzzed and said some inappropriate things that may have put ideas in his head.”
“You, inappropriate? Never!”
I roll my eyes. “But then this morning, Becky introduced her son to her new stepdaughter and . . . there we were.”
“Oh my God, what did he say? Does Becky know? How insane is all of this?” She stops again and squeezes my hand as her eyes go wide. “Holy fuckballs, your dad is going to castrate him.”
“He didn’t let on to Becky, and I don’t think either one of us will make the mistake of telling Dad. Chris is pissed at me for lying about who I was, but I think his primary concern is that our mistake doesn’t ruin his mom’s wedding.”
The clouds shift in the breeze and block the moon.
“So is he as nice as Becky says? Disney princess material?”
I arch a brow. “Right now, he’s pissed and not hiding it that well. Even if he gets over it, I don’t see how I can stay with him this summer.”
“Because you’re worried you’ll fuck each other’s brains out?”
I snort and elbow her in the side. “Because he doesn’t remember that night.”
“Well, you don’t want him to, so that works out, right?”
“He doesn’t remember me yet. He will sooner or later.”
“Maybe,” she says. She watches a red Ferrari drive by before turning her attention to me again. “Or maybe not. Maybe a night that was life-altering for you was just another night to him.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t mean it like that.”
“You think he just rushes in to save the day for idiot girls all the time?”
“Maybe,” she says. “I mean, the way you talked about him, it kind of sounds like that’s the kind of guy he is, right? Robbie told me he broke up a fight last night—probably saved my man from a cracked skull. Chris is the sexy male version of the Disney princess.”
Sometimes that memory of hers bites me in the ass. “I thought he was Mary Poppins.”
“I think we can agree that he’s practically perfect in a Disney princess way.”
“I suppose. But what am I supposed to do about this summer? How can I live with him when he . . .?”
Willow waits, watching me, and when I don’t finish, she asks, “When he what? When he was the only decent guy in your entire high school? When he put a stop to something that was—”
“Okay. Enough. I just feel stuck. This isn’t what I signed on for.”
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about staying here.”
“Even if Dad would let me, you know I wouldn’t do that.” I shudder. “I ran into Jewel yesterday, and the bitch spit in my coffee. No, three days here is bad enough.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” She leads me around the final cul-de-sac, and we head back toward Dad’s. “So what’s the worst that happens? He remembers that night, and then what?” She dips her head to meet my eyes. “Do you still like him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He was a childhood crush.”
“Hmm. Is that all? Sounds like you were pretty quick to stick your tongue down his throat last night.”
“I told you I was thirsty.”
“Mm-hmm. Is the problem that you two have a history he doesn’t remember, or is it that you like him and you’re afraid he won’t like you when he has that history put in front of him?”
I shake my head. “I have a shrink already, hotshot. Stop that shit.”
She grins. “I’m just saying that I think he makes you feel vulnerable, and maybe that’s good for you.”
“And I’m just saying that nothing good happens when I find myself confronted with that night.”
“Don’t confuse him for the other guys around here,” Willow says. “We’re talking about Chris. The guy. The hero.”
The sound of the cicadas fills the summer night air as I process her response to my mess.
“Do you think I should tell him?” I finally ask.
“I think that would be the easier way to handle it, rather than spending your whole summer waiting for him to find out. Bring the past to light on your terms.”
“And spend the summer having my roommate think I’m a dirty, dirty slut.”
“Would you stop saying slut like it’s a bad thing? One, you’re not, and two, if you were I would totally support your right to be.” She sighs. “I wish you could stay with me.”
“You want me to stay with you in London?” I wrinkle my nose. “And, like, change diapers and stuff?”
She chuckles. “Obviously not the job of your dreams. I’m just saying I wish I could help. I don’t want you to feel stuck, but since I can’t, those are your choices. Tell him and rip off the Band-Aid—let him know that he was once a superstar hero. Or wait until it comes out on its own, and maybe it won’t.”
We’ve circled back and find ourselves at the end of Dad’s drive as he’s pulling in. He stops at the mailbox and rolls down his window.
Becky leans across him from the passenger seat and grins. “Dash was looking for you. He said you left dinner before he had a chance to catch up with you.”
“You kind of rushed out of there,” Dad says. “Is everything all right?”
From cocktails to dessert, I was there for more than two hours. I didn’t feel like I rushed out at all. “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired.”
“Are you girls going out tonight?” Becky asks. “Chris was headed to the Bull. He’s getting together with some of his friends. I’m sure you’re welcome to join him.”
I’m sure he’d love that.
Willow and I exchange a look.
“No, I don’t think so,” Willow says before I can speak. “I only get to see her for a couple of days before I leave for London, so I think we’re going to stay in.”
God, I love this girl.
Chapter Ten
Grace
It’s not even eleven p.m., and the house is quiet. Dad’s retired, but he’s an early riser by nature. He’ll never change his schedule.
I’ve never been much of a morning person. It’s all I can do to fall asleep after midnight, and never before. So I’m in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when Chris comes in the front door. He’s quiet, holding the knob as he closes it so it doesn’t pop in the latch. This isn’t a kid who’s coming in late and trying not to get in trouble. This is a guy who doesn’t want to wake his mom up because he doesn’t want her to be tired on her special day. That says so much about him—the way he wrapped his mom in a hug this morning spoke volumes, and so does this simple act of consideration.
Grace, you’re pathetic. He’s no saint.
He slides the deadbolt home before turning into the open-concept living area and spotting me. “Hey,” h
e whispers, lifting a hand. He toes off his shoes and pads through the living room to join me in the dining area just off the kitchen.
I wish I’d gone to bed. Forcing my eyes to close when sleep is still miles away would be better than another conversation with Chris. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to be reminded how much what we did last night makes me feel like a fuckup in a way that’s all too familiar. Then again, maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me either. Maybe he’s coming this way for a snack or something.
“Can we talk?”
No such luck.
Without waiting for my answer, he pulls out a chair and spins it around. Straddling it to face me, he rests his arms on the back.
“Sure.” I attempt my best poker face.
He meets my eyes, and maybe I’m fooling myself, but it seems like some of his anger is gone and replaced by regret. I preferred the anger. I don’t want to be something he regrets. I don’t want to be the dirty mistake. “Why are you trying to get out of living with me this summer?”
I blink at him. So much for the poker face. “After last night, do you really think we’re fit to be roommates?”
He lifts his hands, his palms turning up. “Why not?”
Because just looking into your eyes makes me feel vulnerable. Because seeing you every day will be a constant reminder that I’ll never be good enough. “You actually want me to live with you?”
He shrugs. “That’s the plan, right? We’ll be fine. Last night was a speed bump at worst.”
I’m staying with Chris. My brief conversation with my father was the perfect reminder that it’s really my best option. But Chris isn’t stuck like I am, and I can’t wrap my brain around why he wouldn’t insist I find another arrangement for the summer.
I straighten and let my jaw go slack, pretending to have an epiphany. “Ooooh, I get it.” I nod. “You think that since I was easy last night, I’ll be down to fuck whenever it suits you.”
As I expected, his eyes go wide and he pulls in a sharp breath. “Of course not. Jesus, Grace, I’m not—”
“I know.” I roll my eyes. What I just suggested is the opposite of who Chris is, which is exactly why I said it.
He shakes his head. “I want you to stay with me so our parents can spend their summer in Europe. I have no agenda beyond that.”
“What about last night?”
“Last night was . . .” He takes a breath and seems to search for the word. I can think of a few. Hot, sexy, panty-melting, a fantasy come to life, but I don’t think they’re the ones he’s looking for. He lands on “complicated.”
I roll my eyes.
“You don’t agree?”
“No, complicated pretty much covers it.”
“So let’s figure it out. We’re adults. I believe we can put it behind us and move forward like it never happened.” He flashes his dimples, and fuck me, those dimples could be my downfall. “I mean, we’re about to become brother and sister, right? Come on, let’s talk this out. Your dad is gonna notice that you’re pissed at me.”
Of all the things I once imagined Chris Montgomery saying to me, “We’re about to become brother and sister” never crossed my mind. Life is so weird. “I’m not pissed at you.”
He grunts. “Seriously? If you want me to buy that then maybe you should at least change your tone of voice.”
I scoff. “What’s wrong with my tone?”
“You sound like you want to chop off my balls.”
“I suffer from resting bitch voice.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
I arch a brow. “Oh, it’s a thing. Trust me.” I point to my mouth. “Can’t you hear it?”
“You said something tonight about not wanting me to remember you from high school. Is that why you’re trying to get out of this? Was it something I did in high school? I know I could be a real jackass back then.”
I snort. “Hardly.” Not at all. Except for those five seconds that broke my heart. I sigh. Memory Lane is not my favorite street in town, so why do I keep hanging out there?
“Ah, so I obviously made some sort of impression.” His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Just tell me. If we’re going to live together this summer, it’s better that you tell me up-front if I’ve been a jerk. I can handle it.”
“I’m not pissed, just surprised you don’t remember me.” Again, I force a smile. I’m not the kind of girl who regularly forces smiles. I know this is a world that says girls should smile, but I say fuck them. It’s not my job to make other people comfortable. When I want to smile, I smile. When I don’t, I don’t. And yet ever since my plane landed in Champagne, I’ve been forcing smiles right and left.
“I’m sorry,” Chris says. “I was really caught up in my own world back then.”
I arch a brow. Leave it to Chris to be all cerebral about his adolescent shortcomings. “Don’t be hard on yourself. Guys like you usually are, especially in high school.”
“Guys like me?”
I skim my eyes over his face and down to his broad shoulders. “Gorgeous, charming, the world handed to them on a silver platter.”
Chris grimaces and grips the back of the chair. “Yeah, you clearly got the wrong impression of me. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. If it helps, I’m sure that you were awesome and it’s my loss that I didn’t pay more attention to you.”
His kindness and sincerity make me want to rub every bit of my nastiness in his face. It’s unfair because he doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t have him looking at me with so much compassion—as if he’s thinking maybe we can be friends. I can’t have that. It’s too hard to protect your heart from a friend. “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you? You ask a girl to go out, she says yes. You tell her a joke, she laughs. You ask her to drop her panties, and they’re on the floor before you can finish the sentence.”
His eyes go wide, and he releases the back of the chair. “Wow. That’s an awful lot of hostility there for a girl who’s supposedly not pissed.”
“I’m not being hostile. Just stating facts. Do you deny it?”
“I’m not in the habit of asking girls to take off their panties just because.”
“You should try it. I think you’d discover it’s like an untapped superpower.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Did we mess around in high school? Is that what this is about?”
I have to stop. I’m antagonizing him, and that’s only going to make him more curious about the past. But that’s just it. Half of me hopes he never remembers and the other half wants to shake the memory out of him. He’s going to be in my life for as long as Becky is, and I want the revelation done and over with. Except at the same time, I don’t want there to be any revelation at all.
I’m a hot mess.
“I promise we didn’t mess around,” I mutter.
“Can we call a truce, then?” He offers me a hand, then adds, “This isn’t just about the wedding tomorrow—though to be fair, it would be nice if you weren’t shooting daggers at me with your eyes as we walked down the aisle.”
“Right,” I say. “You get to be my babysitter all summer long.”
A wrinkle pops up between his eyebrows as he frowns. “If it’s any consolation, I think your father’s being ridiculous. Mom said she tried to talk him into letting you stay here. Maybe if she—”
I exhale heavily. “No. It’s fine.” I’m being a bitch, and that’s not fair to him. He doesn’t remember our shared history, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know that he broke my heart or understand how. And why would he? I was just a girl who needed so desperately to believe that the good guys saw her for more than a pair of tits and the things she could do with her mouth, and he was just a guy who saw the long line of guys who hadn’t seen her for any more than that. “I’d rather stay with you than stay here,” I admit. “Not that Dad would let me have that choice anyway, but there it is.”
“You’re sure? You’ll let your dad know that you’re good with the plan? I’m really worried
Mom’s going to make him cancel.”
I’m a little lightheaded as the blood drains from my face. “She wants to cancel?”
“For us.” He drags a hand through his hair. “We haven’t done a very good job hiding our animosity, and she told me tonight that she wants to cancel the trip so we don’t have to live together this summer. I don’t want her to miss this chance.”
If they cancel, not only am I stuck in Champagne—an idea that makes bile surge into my throat—but Dad and Becky lose their honeymoon. Not even I am self-centered enough to want that. “I want them to go to Europe. Please don’t let her cancel.”
“We agree, then?”
“Yes. If you’re okay with me staying with you, I’m okay with staying with you.” I nod. It’s one summer. I’ll keep to myself, and then Chris and I will part ways. I’ll go back to Carson, and we’ll never have to see each other again. “I’m sure.”
He eyes my bowl of Lucky Charms. “Healthy bedtime snack.”
Grinning, I slide a heaping spoonful into my mouth. “Mmm,” I hum around it. “Magically delicious.”
Chapter Eleven
Chris
I came into this conversation determined to get her on board with staying in my apartment, and I should feel victorious right now. Instead, I’m feeling royally fucked.
Grace grins at me as she swallows her bite of sugary cereal. In my gut, something unwelcome and unexpected stirs. Lust is never far away where she’s concerned. In my brain, warning signals blare.
Mom asks me favors about once every five years, if that. She’s done everything for me. She raised me on her own and put every penny of child support into a college fund. When money was tight, she always found a way to pay the expensive uniform fees for my sports, and even when she worked two jobs, she never missed a game. I’ve never had the opportunity to do anything for her in return, so the second she asked me if I could take Grace in for the summer, I said yes.
