Revenge 3

by JJ Knight

  “I’ll dial the number for you,” she’d say, calling my bluff.

  We settled into our life together, and eventually I made some friends at school. By the time I was eleven, I was just a normal girl, like the other girls at my school. And then, one day, I was the girl whose father was going to jail.

  Kids who weren’t even my friends wanted to talk to me about it. I couldn’t see the fascination, at all. I didn’t even know him. He was just the guy who sent me a birthday card, usually a month late.

  I thought I’d never see my half-sister again. After my father’s sentencing, she moved across the country to live with her mother.

  But that didn’t work out so well.

  My grandmother got the call. Being the kind-hearted person she is, she said yes. She said yes to having a drug-dealing seventeen-year-old girl come live with her, even though my half-sister wasn’t a blood relation to anyone in the family except me.

  Nan sent her money for the bus, but she spent it all and hitch-hiked her way to us. She turned up at three in the morning, all skinny and twitchy, her face covered in black makeup—black eyeliner, black lipstick.

  I showed her around the house, still optimistic about having a sister. I showed her the pretty pink towels we’d bought for the bathroom. The next day, the new towels were filthy, covered in her black makeup.

  For the next two years, she did nothing but destroy everything good in my life.

  I hated her for a thousand reasons. At the top of the list was the money she stole from Nan, and sleeping with one of my favorite teachers.

  I still don’t know which of those things was the worst. I hated how proud she was of upsetting me.

  Now I’m sitting in a car with her. She’s my roommate. For the third time in my life, I’m living with her, and I’ve never hated her more. A suspicious part of me thinks she planned this. Amanda swears it’s just a coincidence, but I don’t know.

  Now she and I are alone together, driving to the grocery store to buy food for dinner. She’s driving. She’s a careful driver, checking over her shoulder twice before changing lanes.

  The girl I knew wouldn’t check over her shoulder.

  I don’t know this Riley.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asks me.

  I look down at the grocery list in my hands. “I’ve never cooked these before. Artichokes. I’ve only had the ones that come in jars.”

  She tucks her long, brown hair behind her ear and glances over at me. I’m shocked by how many of her movements mirror my own. The way she turns her wrist—the way her eyes flick up, then down, then up again with a hint of a smile—she reminds me of myself.

  Her brown eyes are a mirror of mine. Dylan’s eyes are dark brown and rich like mahogany. Riley’s eyes have more amber and gold, just like our father’s, and like mine.

  “Artichokes?” Her eyebrows raise. “It’s been nine years, Jess. Don’t you have a little more you want to know?”

  “Sure,” I say, my voice hard. “Let’s make small talk. Why don’t you start by telling me about this amazing career you have?”

  The traffic light ahead turns yellow and she pushes the brakes hard to stop, rather than blowing through the intersection.

  “I wouldn’t say my career is amazing, but being a pharmaceutical rep definitely has its benefits. The pay is good. This car I’m driving is completely paid off. Can you believe that? It’s only two years old.”

  I turn and stare at her with wide eyes. “Pharmaceutical rep? You mean… you sell drugs?”

  “Not drugs. Medicine. And I don’t sell it directly.” She laughs. “Jess, I don’t deal heart pills and dick pills out of the back of my car. I visit medical centers and talk to doctors and specialists about the benefits of certain brand-name pharmaceutical.”

  “No shit.” I fold and unfold the grocery list in my hand. Is she lying to me? The way our other roommate, Amanda, talked about Riley, I could have sworn she was a call girl or something like that.

  “We’ve got some new cancer treatments that are really promising. I feel lucky that I get to do some good in the world.”

  “I’m confused. Amanda said you were on a vacation. And that you go to lots of fancy places.” I bite my lower lip for a minute, wondering if I should come right out and ask her. If this pharmaceutical job is just a cover story, she can drop the act with me.

  “I do travel for work,” she says.

  “Arielle—I mean, Riley, you don’t have to lie to me about what you really do.”

  She laughs and drums her hands on the steering wheel. “Did Amanda put you up to this? She’s always playing this joke. She tries to make people think I’m a high-priced call girl. Amanda is fucking insane. But I don’t have to tell you. You’ve figured that out by now, right?”

  I turn and stare out the window at the traffic. “Yup. That Amanda. She’s a real joker.”

  “What about you? You’ve got a new job in sales and marketing? I could give you some sales tips.”

  “I’m just an intern.” I look down at the grocery list in my hand. I’ve touched it so much, the ink is smearing under the oils from my fingers.

  She puts on the car’s turn signal and drives carefully into the parking area for a big grocery store.

  “I’m really glad the new roommate is you,” she says.

  I try to say I’m glad as well, but the words won’t come out. I’m not glad my lying half-sister is back in my life.

  We walk into the store, and my eyes go to a community corkboard near the door. There are several postings by people looking for roommates. When Riley’s not looking, I tear off a few phone numbers.

  Chapter 9

  After we finish buying groceries for tonight’s dinner, Riley asks me to go for a late lunch with her.

  I haven’t eaten anything today, but I tell her I’m not hungry.

  She doesn’t take no for an answer and drives us to a taco place anyway.

  The waiter keeps looking back and forth between us. Finally, he asks, “Sisters?”

  “Yes,” Riley says.

  “Half-sisters,” I say.

  After he walks away, she frowns at me. “Why do you have to be like that, Jess? It’s just like when we were kids. I still remember the day you told me to call Nan by her real name. You couldn’t stand me calling her Nan, because she wasn’t my real grandmother.”

  I stare at her in shock. “What are you talking about? I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did.” She grabs the basket of nacho chips and pulls the chips over to her side of the table.

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Just because you don’t remember, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  I roll my eyes. This is just like her. I can’t believe Amanda thinks Riley’s going to apologize to me. She’ll never say she’s sorry, because she isn’t sorry. Everything Riley does is someone else’s fault.

  We get our meals and eat in silence.

  She pulls out her phone and sends messages the whole time.

  When the bill comes, she sets out money for half, then stares at me.

  As soon as I reach for my wallet, she laughs and pulls the bill over to her side. “I’m paying,” she says. “I have an expense account.”

  “Good for you,” I say.

  We leave the restaurant and drive back to the house without another word exchanged.

  I hang out in my bedroom until seven o’clock.

  I come out and find Riley and Amanda in the kitchen. Amanda must have every pot and pan in the house out and in use. You’d think she was catering a party of twenty.

  The two of them seem to be managing just fine without me, so I take a seat on one of the stools and watch.

  Amanda hands me a drink with crushed ice and bits of green leaves. “Mojito,” she says.

  I take a sip. It’s way too sweet, but I drink it anyway.

  Amanda starts chopping onions and explaining what she’s doing, in a fake TV voice. Riley joins in at her side, telling me abou
t how to caramelize onions.

  They obviously think they’re funny.

  The mojito must be strong, because after a few minutes of their cooking show, I’m smiling. I find myself warming up to them. By the time they get to rubbing the spices on the chicken breasts, I’m laughing pretty hard.

  The doorbell rings, and the two of them start screaming with excitement.

  “The rock star is here!” Amanda yells.

  I wag my finger at them. “You two behave yourselves, or I’ll never invite him over again.”

  They exchange a look that tells me tonight is going to be a disaster.

  I march to the front door and yank it open. “You don’t have to stay long,” I say to Dylan.

  He doesn’t answer, but slowly looks me up and down.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” he says.

  His voice is sweet and gritty, like burnt sugar. His dark eyes make my legs feel weak. And when I look at his mouth, it doesn’t seem possible that I’ve kissed him—that his perfect mouth would ever touch mine.

  He’s standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back. Since he left here early this morning, he’s shaved and changed clothes. He’s wearing a black leather jacket, which makes him look even bigger, and rugged. The way he’s hunching forward, he looks like someone who might start trouble—like he might pick a fight with another guy, just for fun.

  “You’re early,” I say.

  “You’re drunk. And you don’t know what time it is. I’m late, but I brought you these.”

  He pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. They’re red roses, and they’re so beautiful. I stare at the flowers, barely able to take them from his hand. I could just cry, they’re so romantic.

  “And these are for your roommates.” He pulls out another bouquet. This one is a mix of pink and yellow roses. “I was going to get wine, but fuck wine.”

  I take the second handful of roses and repeat after him, “Yeah, fuck wine.”

  He picks up a paper bag from the step and comes into the house. The bag is full of bottles and the contents clink together as he follows me in.

  He walks through to the kitchen with confidence. I trail along behind him. “How did your songwriting go?”

  “How do you think?” He sets the paper bag on the counter and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “I hope you have salt and limes.”

  Amanda squeals and claps her hands. “Body shots! Oh my god, we have to do body shots.”

  Riley doesn’t say anything. She just stands in the kitchen, holding a bucket of ice, staring at Dylan.

  Amanda reaches out to shake Dylan’s hand and re-introduces herself. Then she introduces him to Riley, who gives him a limp handshake and mumbles something nobody can hear.

  “You look familiar,” Dylan says.

  “She’s my sister,” I say. “Dylan, that’s Riley, and she’s my sister.”

  She looks over at me, her eyes still wide. I give her a look. Yes, Riley, I said sister, not half-sister. If that’s not good enough, she can suck it.

  Dylan makes himself at home in the kitchen, checking under all the pot lids and talking about how good the food smells.

  Now that he mentions the smell, I notice how good everything smells. Even the store-bought buns warming in the oven give off the aroma of fresh baking.

  After a dramatic search for oven mitts, the meal is served.

  We don’t have a dining room, but there’s a table inside the kitchen that the girls have cleared off. The thing has been covered in so much mail and recycling since I moved in, I didn’t even realize it was a table. We sit on folding chairs—the kind you might take camping.

  “This is really nice,” Dylan says, which makes everyone laugh. “No, really. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in ages. This is incredible.”

  We start with the artichokes, and I watch as Dylan pulls the stiff leaves off and dips them in the sauce. He’s obviously had them before. I watch him and do the same as he does. I make the mistake of putting the whole leaf in my mouth, and I struggle to chew the tough husk.

  The four of us are evenly spaced around the small, square table. Dylan is to my left. He shifts his chair over so our knees are touching. He leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don’t eat the whole leaf.”

  My roommates get up to grab some things they forgot to bring over. We’re on our own for a moment. I use my fingers to pull the green mess from my mouth and hide it in my napkin.

  Dylan smirks, but doesn’t laugh at me for eating the artichoke wrong. I get the feeling he’s laughing with me. I glance over at the red roses in the center of the table and get an aching in my chest.

  “Let me show you,” he says. He pulls a leaf from his artichoke, dabs it in the sauce and holds it to my mouth. He bares his teeth and makes a biting motion. “Use your teeth and pull off the edible part at the bottom. Open your mouth.”

  I open my mouth and let him put the leaf partway in.

  He whispers, “Now bite down gently. Not too hard. A little biting is sexy, but too much will leave a mark.”

  I get the giggles as I’m biting down.

  “Now hang on with your teeth,” he says, flashing his eyes at me suggestively. He pulls the leaf away, leaving the soft bit and the sauce in my mouth.

  I chew, enjoying the artichoke now that I don’t have the tough plant to deal with.

  “Hang on,” he says, reaching up to wipe my mouth with his thumb.

  He catches a bit of dip from the corner and brings his thumb to rest on the middle of my mouth.

  “Now suck it,” he says.

  I open my mouth and suck the tip of his thumb.

  He closes his eyes for a second, his dark eyelashes resting near the tops of his cheeks. When he opens his eyes, the look he gives me is so intimate, I start to blush immediately. I pull my head back, letting go of his thumb.

  “Thanks for the lesson,” I say.

  He rubs his knee against mine under the table.

  “I enjoy teaching you things.” His voice is so deep and soulful, it makes me feel raw. My chest aches, and my body is yearning for him. An intense heat builds within me, so powerful it scares me.

  Chapter 10

  The four of us finish dinner, and have strawberries and whipped cream for dessert.

  Dylan keeps flirting with me, looking into my eyes as he licks the cream off his strawberries. He steals kisses when my roommates aren’t looking. And when he isn’t kissing me, he’s rubbing his knee against mine.

  Amanda notices the body contact and makes a joke about me sitting on his lap.

  “I’d love a lap dance,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

  I bat my eyelashes his way. “I totally would, but I’m too full from dinner. I’d break your lap, and that chair.”

  “I’m not too full,” Amanda says.

  Riley smacks her across her upper chest. “No!” she says, like Amanda’s a bad dog. Then they both start giggling like maniacs and feeding each other strawberries.

  I turn to Dylan. “What’s it like, living on your own, without crazy people?”

  He grabs my chair and pulls me closer, then he leans in and rests his hand on the small of my back. “Not as much fun,” he says.

  He’s got his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. His other hand is still on my back. With him gazing into my eyes, it’s like a closed circuit, and I’m inside his space. My roommates and their voices fade into the background, and it’s only us.

  “I’m glad you came for dinner,” I say.

  His gaze moves down to my lips. I was going to ask him again how his songwriting went today, but I’m too self-conscious to move my mouth. All I can do is smile.

  He says, “I’m glad, too. But I’m surprised we’re already at this stage… meeting each other’s families.”

  I open my mouth to explain that I didn’t know my roommate was family until yesterday, but I swallow my words. I can’t tell Dylan that. Or any of my family history. He’ll think less of me if he knows a
ll that.

  “They’re more like friends,” I say. “I only lived with Riley on and off a few times. Mostly off.”

  “Friends are good, too. They’re the family you choose, which makes them special. Even if sometimes you look around and you don’t remember choosing them. The best friends are the ones who choose you, and don’t take no for an answer. You know they’re in it for the long haul.”

  I smile at what he’s saying. Dylan’s so cute and sexy that sometimes I forget that he’s also smart, and a deep thinker. He has a way of telling me things I know, but in a way that makes me feel comforted, like everything is right in the world.

  “What are your friends like?” I ask.

  “Good.” He turns his head away and looks down at the empty dishes on the table. “We’re all getting older now. Some of them are getting married and having kids. I don’t know about all that.”

  I stare at his profile, trying to imagine his friends. They probably aren’t musicians, since music is a new thing for him.

  He turns back, his expression bright. “One of my friends owns a restaurant. You’d really like him. And his wife would love you. All my friends would love you. They’re good people.”

  I smile and look down at the table. My head is swimming from the mojitos. I don’t know anymore if I actually am allergic to alcohol, or if I’m just a cheap drunk, like Amanda says. I do know that I’m not my regular self. My mind feels weirdly disconnected from the rest of me.

  Why is Dylan saying his friends ‘would’ love me? Why isn’t he saying they ‘will’ love me? It bothers me that his theoretical future doesn’t include me in it.

  I’m pulled out of my thoughts by sounds of arguing. Amanda and Riley are fighting over the bottle of tequila. Amanda wants to keep the party going, but it’s Sunday night. Riley has to work in the morning.

  Damn it. I have to work in the morning, too.

  “Jess, are you feeling okay?” Dylan asks.

  I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. “Totally fine. Just thinking about work tomorrow. In the archives. Ugh. Transferring dusty old files. Shoot me now.”