by Hazel Kelly
After all, I knew kissing me must've crossed her mind at some point because a year after I left for boarding school, I came home for Christmas and saw the proof with my own eyes.
I never should've snooped, but I did a lot of questionable shit back then. I didn't think I was a bad person. I just considered the subject of my morality a flexible one.
And when I got home that day, everyone was out. So I did that thing people always do when they know they're home alone. I called everyone’s name while I pushed open all the doors in the house just to be sure.
Of course, if Jen had been there, I never would've touched her bedroom door.
But as soon as I did, I saw a notebook sticking out from under her pillow. It looked as if she'd left in a hurry but wasn't worried about anyone coming in her room, which meant they'd likely gone somewhere together as a family.
I remember hoping it was the grocery store because I was so fucking sick of cafeteria food I could've forked my own eyes out.
Anyway, without even giving myself a chance to consider doing the right thing, I crossed the room and slid the journal out from under her pillow.
As I flipped through it- because that seemed a lesser offense than starting from the beginning- my eyes mostly caught words that were uninteresting- homework, drama, queen, psycho, sad, hurts, funny.
But then I saw my name. Actually, it wasn't my name. It just said E.
So naturally, I had to keep reading to see if I was E. And I hoped I was. Cause it said "last night I touched myself for the first time like Brandi told me to. But it only felt good when I started thinking about E. Does that make me a bad person? I came and everything. Can I go to hell for that?"
I think my first thought was something derogatory about Brandi, and my second thought was the realization that she fucking wanted me back.
But that's not the most shameful part of the story.
The worst bit is that I slid the journal back under her pillow where it was, stole a pair of her underwear from her underwear drawer, and stroked my dick with them until I came.
Needless to say, I don't think I looked her in the eye a single time over Christmas break.
And it killed me that I couldn't take her aside and tell her that she wasn't going to hell, that an angel like her would never get in.
But that was a long time ago. Shit, I don't even know if "E" was me. But why else would she think it was wrong? Unless some idiot told her masturbation was sinful?
I’d never know.
The point was, I had jerked it to the thought of her more times than I was proud of, and knowing there was a chance she'd thought of me like that kept me in wet dreams for years.
But maybe it wasn't so much wrong as it was inconvenient.
Still, it was too late for anything more to happen.
Our parents had been married for years at this point, and she'd lived under my tyrannical father's roof for longer than I could imagine. Frankly, I'm surprised she'd ever kissed anyone with him as man of the house.
Regardless, it didn't matter how much I still wanted her, how much I still got hot for her smell, her skin, her smile.
Cause she was off limits.
Besides, she deserved someone better than me.
So I needed to put the thought of that kiss out of my mind and remember why the hell I went to so much trouble to stay away from her all those years.
Because I knew what it was like to unravel, to come unhinged, and I'd spent a long ass time pulling my shit together.
I was a grown man now with a killer job, and I knew better than to feel bad about things I once wanted and couldn't have.
And of all the things that qualified to be on that list, Jen was right at the top.
So it didn't matter if her skin was soft. It didn't matter if holding her face in my hands made me feel more right than anything ever had. And it didn't matter if kissing her made me feel sky high.
All that mattered was that she was my guest.
And it was about time I kept my hands to myself.
Chapter 13: Jenny
I watched some kissing montages on my laptop after Ethan left.
I was hoping the sight of other people's passionate kisses might help me stop dwelling on ours.
It didn't work very well, though, so I stopped and went back to practicing my lines.
When I needed a break, I made myself one of the packets of Easy Mac I'd brought with me. I know I should've been braving the big city or at least not eating Easy Mac now that I was a college graduate, but it was so comforting and cheesy and delicious.
Kind of like movie kisses.
After I washed my bowl, I crossed to the door by the bookshelf again and turned the handle. It was still locked.
I was sure there was nothing interesting in there. It was probably gross lacrosse equipment or porno mags or DVDs or something, but the fact that it was locked unsettled me.
Like a mouse in a maze, I knew I'd feel more comfortable if I was able to sniff out every corner of my new habitat, but the locked door was standing in my way.
I tried to imagine what a person living alone needed a locked door for, but I couldn't think of anything.
And then the thought occurred to me that Ethan might have his very own red room of pain and the idea made me feel so completely uncomfortable that I had to talk myself down.
After all, chances were it was just crap.
Still, it must’ve been important crap or it wouldn't need to be kept under lock and key. Right?
What's more, it bothered me that I didn't know what could be so important to him when we were family. Sort of. I mean, I knew we weren’t close, but wouldn’t Marsha have known what was in Greg’s closet?
When I considered his room at our parent's house, it didn’t help.
His space had virtually no personality. Then again, I suppose mine wouldn't have either if it were up to Ed. His days in the military made him a stickler for standards, especially in terms of a people's personal space.
I can still remember the fight he and my mom had after I asked if I could put a Twilight poster on my wall. In the end, it came down to one of those "I don't tell you how to raise your kid" moments.
But Ethan's room was completely bare apart from a few sports trophies and a desk with a picture of his mom on it. And apart from the latter, he never struck me as the sentimental type.
After all, if there had been so much as a passed note or a dirty magazine in his room, I would've found it. Cause not only was I desperate to know more about him, but I had lots of friends over the years that were, too, and I wasn't exactly difficult when they wanted to snoop through his personal space.
And his apartment was just as mysterious, largely on account of that damn door.
Later that night, I found myself glancing at the clock a lot, wondering what Ethan was doing at work.
I assumed he was a good bartender and being good at anything was an attractive quality. I wondered what kind of women flirted with him on the job and if they ever gave him tips that weren't strictly monetary.
I shuddered at the thought.
As luck would have it, I looked at the clock at eleven past eleven and, as always, I decided to make a wish.
But I was torn.
Part of me wanted to wish that things wouldn't be awkward after our kiss.
But I knew wishing away my own awkwardness was damn near impossible from personal experience.
As a result, I decided to wish for the role of Marilyn cause at least then our kiss wouldn’t have been in vain.
A second later, my phone rang.
I paused Catastrophe on my laptop before picking up. "Hi, Mom."
"Hi, Honey. How are you?"
"Fine. Good."
"What do you think of New York so far?"
I smiled. "The size is a little intimidating, but I love the buzz of the place."
"Oh good," she said. "And how did your audition go? It was today, wasn't it?"
“Yeah."
“
I'm sorry I couldn't call sooner, I was covering for Margie tonight so-"
"That's okay. It went really well. They want me to come back in and audition for a speaking part."
"That's fantastic."
"I know. Way more than I was expecting."
"When's the callback?"
"Thursday."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."
"Thanks." I pinched one of the buttons on my pajama top.
"How are you and Ethan getting along?"
I swallowed. "Okay."
"Just okay?"
I shrugged.
"Is he being moody?"
"No.” I took a deep breath. “He's fine. But just so you know, Ed never told him I was coming, and I don't think Ethan ever gave him permission to copy his key. So he was kind of ticked at first."
Silence.
"Mom?"
"I didn’t realize that was the situation. That must’ve been awkward for you."
"Yeah."
"Was Ethan really upset?"
I bit the inside of my cheek. "Honestly, I think he expects that kind of thing from Ed at this point. I wouldn’t bring it up anyway."
"Mmm. I thought Ed was mellowing out, but maybe he's not quite as far along as I thought."
"Everything's fine otherwise. His place is really nice. He's… tidy."
"That's good to hear."
"And I probably won't have to cramp his style for much longer."
"I'm sure you're not cramping his style."
"I'm trying not to.”
"Well, I'll call to check on you soon.”
“Okay.”
“Give Ethan a hug for me."
"Sure," I said.
As if I could stop at a hug.
Chapter 14: Ethan
I liked working at the club early in the week.
It was a different crowd, an arguably cooler crowd than the hoards that nearly busted the door down to get in at the weekend.
I didn’t know if it was cause we got more freelance, hipster types in or what, but for some reason, the people that could party late on Monday and Tuesday seemed a more mellow bunch.
What's more, not only could I actually have some banter with my coworkers while we poured drinks, but people were less likely to be on drugs so I was able to carry on more interesting conversations with the customers.
Once Thursday night rolled around, though, it was too busy to think, much less chat. Most of the time I just shut my brain off and made drinks like a sexy robot would… the sexy part meaning I threw in the occasional wink or compliment depending on who was around.
After all, I wasn't just a bartender. I was a host. Or at least that's what my buddy Ben repeated until he was blue in the face when we first opened the doors.
I met him through Christophe, who used to be a regular at the last place I worked. I don't know how he and Ben met. I didn't understand how any rich people met. It just sort of happened, as if money had a distinct scent or something.
Anyway, he was the one that got me the job, and being head bartender at the most exclusive club in town had changed everything for me. I was earning more money than I could spend, meeting more women than I could fuck, and having more fun than I'd ever had.
I absolutely loved it.
How could I not?
After so many years of rules and regulations and uniforms and watching my language and being in control, it was a huge relief to be around people who were relaxed, people who were just trying to have a good time.
Sure, there were benefits to my strict education. I learned a bit of much needed respect, was able to look after myself, and had a level of personal discipline that was unparalleled… at least, when Jen wasn't around.
But becoming the person I was had a cost, and I’d spent more time feeling oppressed than I would wish on any man.
Still, I was free at last.
All that mattered now was that working in a room full of tipsy people made me forget the raps on the knuckles, the pushups in the mud, the please sir yes sirs I muttered every time I wanted to piss or shit or blow my goddamn nose.
Escaping that environment was all I thought about for years, and I’d done it. And it was just as amazing as I thought it would be.
And then Jen showed up.
Yes, she had a beautiful face, and yes, I was ashamed of how much I liked her laugh and her smell and her spunkiness.
But her presence was a downer, too.
Cause I felt like a success most of the time. But seeing her again reminded me that while I'd come a long way, there was much I hadn't achieved.
After all, there were only two things I ever really wanted so much it hurt, two things I was too chicken to go after.
Jen was one of them.
And the other, well, I didn't see how I was ever going to get that either.
But I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that those two things were only out of reach because I wasn't fucking reaching for them.
Was there something wrong with me? Did other people go around ignoring what they wanted most?
What kind of success did that really make me? After all the effort I put into becoming a man, I was still afraid to go after what I wanted.
What was I so afraid of?
That I’d pursue my goals and get rejected on both counts?
I didn't see how that would make much difference to my life.
Take Jenny, for example. We couldn't be friends. I was too attracted to her, too interested in her, too aware of how her body moved in space.
And we couldn't be proper siblings. We weren't related. Apart from the obligation I felt to look out for her, I didn't have a single other familial feeling about her.
So the question was, could we be more than friends? Do more than kiss?
Was that completely ridiculous?
Frankly, part of me hoped my gag reflex would kick in when I went to kiss her and make it impossible to go through with it.
But that hadn't happened. On the contrary, I had to restrain myself from the urge I felt to pull her hips against me and let her feel the effect her taste had on my body.
What if I'd taken it further?
Would she have stopped me?
Of course, there was a question I needed to ask before I even considered those.
And that question was, how wrong was it to want more with her?
I knew my dad wouldn't be impressed, but I hadn't impressed my dad since I graduated second in my class, and I didn't do that to impress him. I did that to prove to myself that I wasn't the piece of shit he thought I was.
And what could he even do if he found out I'd laid my hands on her?
Beat the shit out of me?
Maybe ten years ago, but he didn't even have all his original parts anymore. The chances of him raising a hand to me were slim. And it wouldn't matter anyway because no one was more interested in protecting Jen than I was.
Hell, I'd been protecting her my whole life.
The only problem was that no one else knew it, including her.
What’s more, I didn't know if she wanted me like that, if she felt anything during that kiss. And while I was happy for other women to consider me a mistake, I didn't want her to look at me that way.
I liked how she looked at me now- with a mixture of curiosity and feigned disapproval, disapproval that I noticed she forgot to feign when I walked around my apartment shirtless.
Plus, I’d always wanted to believe that my coming into her life was no accident, but after all this time, I still didn't know what to make of her. Of us.
And something told me that if I didn't figure it out while she was here, I might never know, might never even see her again.
And that thought made my heart ache because I'd missed her more than I realized.
After all, she was my yellow daisies.
Chapter 15: Jenny
I woke up Thursday morning in a pair of thick socks that didn't belong to me.
Yesterday, it was an extra blanket.
Either I looked really cold when I slept, or Ethan felt guilty about something. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd been curt with me ever since the kiss.
I figured there was something else on his mind, though, because I don't see how I could've offended him during our read through. After all, I kissed him back and didn’t initiate anything more. I merely followed his lead.
And I would've done it again in a heartbeat.
But he didn't offer to help me practice again.
I don't know if he thought once was enough or if he felt weird about kissing me, but I was starting to think it was time to clear the air between us.
I pulled the thick socks off my feet, feeling relieved that I'd painted my toes a bright tangerine color before my trip out here. At least I could rest assured that my feet hadn't offended him- though I had no idea how he put them on without waking me…
Especially considering my audition was today, and I'd woken so many times in the night from nerves.
Of course, I must've slept deeply at some point because I kept dreaming I was the girl in The Notebook kissing Ryan Gosling in the rain over and over again.
Hopefully I wasn't making soft little groaning noises in my sleep whenever he got home. That would be embarrassing.
Speaking of sleepy noises, I could tell by the sound coming from under his door that he was still conked out.
Yesterday, I waited until he woke up naturally again and was bursting for the toilet by the time he stumbled shirtless out of his room.
I was starting to think that was actually his preferred level of dress and that he wasn’t actually doing it to torture me.
Though it still did.
Why did the hottest guy I knew have to be my stepbrother?
Had I been a murdering bandit in a past life? A Spaniard with a blanket full of small pox? Judas himself?
I mean, I'd only kissed him once and already I knew I'd probably compare every man I ever met going forward to him no matter how hard I tried not to.
But it was more than that.
For instance, just watching him fold his laundry at the kitchen table made me feel like I was going to break out in a heat rash. I don’t know if it was my fascination with his military precision or the fact that he was shirtless at the time, but being around him was overloading my senses.
