The Perfect Wrong, page 11
Her eyes flutter shut.
Then they pop open and she reels back.
“Okay—enough! I shouldn’t be here,” she whispers, wheels of doubt spinning behind her eyes.
I don’t answer.
Even if she’s right and we’re playing a dangerous game, the fact that she’s playing at all tells me I’ve got reason to continue.
“My turn, princess. Truth or fucking dare.” I reach for her face and clasp her chin, just firmly enough to tell her I’m not playing around. “How long has it been since your last fuck? Was he any good?”
Her breath stalls.
If she thought she was the only one who gets to ask hard questions tonight, she’s dead wrong.
When Delia moves, she’s shaking her head like mad, slapping my arm.
I don’t let go.
Don’t let up.
Tracing her jawline softly with my thumb, I try to remind her of that dark, forbidden night.
Of all the things I can still do to make her clit sing.
Hell, her whole body, if only she’d stop talking, shed the Miss Innocent act, and let me get her naked and under me.
“Come on. Look who’s asking for classified secrets now,” she says, twisting away from me.
I know I’m on target.
And I think the girl just invented a new shade of embarrassed, blushing like a sunburn. Virgin-red.
Virgin?
Wait.
No fucking way. She can’t possibly be—
My gaze sharpens and I feel drunk from wondering.
Swallowing a growl, I cup her cheek, urging her to look at me before I pop the question.
“Delia, fuck. Are you hinting you’ve never been with a guy before?”
She opens her mouth, but her words catch in her throat.
Shit!
I push her off me, quickly but carefully, hating how radioactive she suddenly feels.
When I’m on my feet again, I almost fall over as my weight shifts.
Goddamn, this is bad.
I need space. Oxygen. Privacy.
Before my dick outruns my heart in the race to short out.
“Delia, what are you doing?” I whisper slowly. “You say you don’t want me; you throw it in my face why we can’t, but then you go and scrunch up in my lap and tell me you’ve never been with a man?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a thousand conflicts invading my head.
She’s bunched up on the cabana chair now, staring while I pace in front of her, trying to process this ludicrous shit.
“It was just a little fun...wasn’t it?” Her voice is barely louder than a mouse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. And I do want to know you, Chris. I just thought a little harmless flirting might—”
“Harmless?” My nostrils flare.
Fuck that.
She looks at me as I circle her, trying to find the right combination of words.
“Flirting doesn’t include having your stepbrother’s hand on your ass, ready to tear your panties off. You know what, I started thinking maybe it was possible, no matter how many times you’ve tried to deny it. Now, I can’t. Not with you. Not in this lifetime. No way in hell.”
I walk to the edge of the pool with its massive white flower tiled on the bottom, wondering if I’m too drunk to drive out of this shitshow again.
Only trouble is, Sexton and the seniors will come down on me like boulders if they find out I’m not staying put.
Orders are orders, and I’ve bent them enough.
Even if these orders get me killed by Cordelia Burr before the cartel henchmen ever find me.
“Chris, don’t be ridiculous!” she yells after me. “We’re just messing around. I’m trying to open up... I never asked you to do anything. Can’t we just be friends?”
“Friends. You think I need friends who tease my cock to hell and back?” I snort at her bitterly. “You’re young and sheltered, Delia, so this may come as a shock. Let me clue you in anyway. I don’t play grabass with friends. I don’t need friends I want to bite, marking them all night. Don’t need any friends who tempt my dick like nobody else when I can’t ever satisfy that craving—and I don’t mean because of the family shit. Fuck that.” I pause, breathing in harshly before I finish. “There’s no goddamn way I can be your first fuck. I’m not screwing you up like that and leaving you hanging, knowing the first man you ever spread your legs for was your own fucking stepbrother.”
I whip around again and start walking, determined not to stop this time until I’m upstairs in my room with the door bolted shut.
“Screwing up? Screwing me up?” She’s got fire on her lips when she chases after me, digging her nails into my shoulder. “What do you think happened the other night? We were this close, Chris.”
She waves her hand in my face, her fingers only a centimeter apart.
“Delia—”
“Nope. You can’t deny it. You’re the first man who ever put his hands down—never mind. But do I look screwed up to you? Do I sound crazy?”
Yes, I don’t say.
But that’s not the point.
It’s my own sanity I’m worried about.
The madman I’m becoming around her.
I don’t know how to even answer that question without breaking her heart.
“We didn’t know. It was a fucked up mistake and nothing more,” I say. “Same for this truth or dare bullshit. Time for me to go, before my dumbass mouth just pisses you off more. Sorry it’s gotta be that way. Good luck on your summer pact.”
I’m moving with my jaw pinched like a vise.
I get about ten steps away when I hear her screaming at me.
“Keep your luck, coward! I’m not the one who needs it. You’re right—knowing you was a mistake.”
True.
And I make one more mistake when I look back and my breath freezes in my lungs.
Tears are streaming down her red cheeks now. Her arms flap erratically at her sides.
The empty glass drops from her hand, an accidental slip or an attempt to throw it at me. Who knows.
It shatters on the pool deck with a sound that rips the evening in half.
Coward, huh?
If she were a dude, I’d already have her on the ground, one hand on her throat.
She’s upset, I remind myself.
She’s just my overly emotional, clueless stepsister I never asked for.
She isn’t used to this and she’s acting out.
Nothing more.
I’m sober enough to run up the long, curling staircase without breaking my neck before I slam the door to my room shut, thank fuck.
I need to sleep this off.
In the morning, I’ll be wherever she isn’t. I’ll scout out every inch of this miserable castle and figure out how we can avoid crossing paths again.
I can fuck chicks with a little crazy.
I could fuck my own stepsister, too.
But I can’t fuck a virgin, no matter how much this animalistic darkness in my soul howls at me to mount her, to claim her, to ruin her for life.
I have a few civilized bones left in my body, thank you very much, and I also have limits.
Delia doesn’t deserve the inevitable poison and heartbreak the minute after I’m spent.
My third rule has always been the most important for good reason.
I don’t do love, and loving her when she gives up her body is all she deserves.
7
Purple Princess (Delia)
Welp, it happened.
I played with fire, and I got burned.
This whole idea was stupid. Idiotic. Devastating.
Worst of all, it’s my own freaking fault.
It takes me a long time to drag myself upstairs after I calm down and find a broom to sweep up the broken glass. I won’t have our housekeepers cleaning up a mess I never should’ve made.
A long hot shower helps take the edge off my nerves.
Then I settle down in front of my computer, desperate for a new idea.
There’s a new message from the professor. Of course, he says the SEAL idea sounds promising.
Yeah, about that...
My stomach knots. I can’t fathom how I’m supposed to do a character study on a man I can’t stand being in the same room with.
Not after that.
Whatever that was.
Sighing, I close the laptop and try to crash for the night, hiding under the blankets, drowning out as much of my life as I can.
I just need time. Maybe a nice distraction like travel. There’s still time before summer ends.
There’s a fog wrapped around my body and soul. A trip could banish the worst of it, and as long as I’m off from school, I have the time.
When you’re the daughter of a man who runs an airline, hopping on a plane is about as easy as boarding a city bus.
All I have to do is ask, and I’ll be holding a first-class ticket to anywhere I’d like.
I’m tempted to hop the red-eye up to Washington or even Alaska for a week. Immersing myself in lush greenery and mountains and endless wild air feels like a great way to forget all about Chris Triton and the infinite ways he’s complicated my life.
But I can’t go there just yet.
Not while the step-prick is still here. His presence in the same house knifes through me, ringing like a silent blaring dog whistle that just won’t shut up and only I can hear.
What the hell is his deal, anyway?
So the whole 'oops, we’re accidentally related' thing isn’t too much for him, but the fact that I’m a virgin is?
God.
I’d have never gone all the way regardless, but if I did...
...shouldn’t most guys want a virgin?
I don’t understand.
And the way he stormed off, pushing me away like I went from gorgeous to ghastly in ten seconds, feels worse than any normal rejection.
He’s so full of himself he could choke on that ego.
Maybe all men are, but I can’t imagine a bigger selfish headcase than this badass freak I’m cursed to share a wall with now.
How can he believe he’ll mess me up forever if we did the unthinkable?
Marnie barely remembers who she slept with her first time, and it hasn’t slowed her down a bit from adding to her serial body count.
Whatever he thinks, I’m the one who suffers from overthinking.
I’m tossing and turning all night.
When I look at my phone around four a.m., I’m sitting up in bed. I listen intently through the quiet, lonely house for any sound of him stirring.
I’m not just restless.
I’m desperate to prove him wrong—to prove to myself just how much I don’t need him or his stupid rejection of a fling that was never happening.
Half an hour later, I hear a subtle chiming sound.
A phone alarm, muted through the wall, and not just in my head.
A minute later, heavy footsteps behind the wall. He’s moving around, probably getting ready for a very early day.
I wait until his door clicks open before I race to mine and fling it open, jumping out in the hall.
He stops in his tracks, staring at me like I’m a ghost.
“What?” he barks coldly, holding the huge black bag of military gear I’ve seen him packing before.
“We’re not done yet,” I say firmly, pushing my hands against his chest. “Look, I don’t care if you don’t want me. That’s not the point. I won’t let you tease me anymore.”
For a second, his face hardens with mixed emotions.
Frustration.
Anger.
Disappointment.
“Good. Then kindly move and let me get on with my morning, sis.”
Damn him.
Something about the way he says that last word sends a chill up my spine.
“Wait!” I grab his arm as he tries to walk past. He doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragging me behind him. “Don’t go yet. I don’t want us to be enemies, Chris. Or even these weird, awkward people who just have to share a house because our parents are—”
“Delia, move,” he snarls, shaking me off.
“Please. It doesn’t have to be like this,” I say, hating how weak my voice sounds.
But he’s moving again with no sign of stopping.
I don’t follow, too weighed down by heavy pieces of my heart.
I’m about to turn and limp back to my room, but he stops at the edge of the stairs and looks back at me, shaking his head slowly.
“Princess, I don’t know what your issues are, but get ’em sorted. I can’t help you. I’m your stepbro in name only. You’re damn sweet, and you’ve got a body guys will kill for. Forget me. Get yourself a boyfriend, and maybe someday, we’ll all laugh about this insanity.”
Every sentence cuts through me like flaming arrows.
I want to race after him, throw myself into his arms.
Knowing it’s the worst idea doesn’t make it any easier to resist.
Still, I keep my feet rooted to the floor, listening numbly as he heads downstairs. The faint thud of the front door falling shut echoes through the house a minute later like a gavel coming down.
Awesome.
Now I’m alone, I’m sexless, and the man who was supposed to give me a paper that could put my name on the map just walked out of my life.
* * *
I’m holed up in the house for the next day, never catching a glimpse of Chris.
Mostly, I’m in my room, escaping into a painted wonderland where no one ever gets a horrible crush on a walking case of heartbreak they’re forced to live with.
It’s a new scene, desolate of people and their crap. A desert sunset I remember vividly from trips with Dad to Utah and Arizona when I was young.
The way the sky layers over the blood-red earth soothes my soul as I bring it back to life. It’s the loud, vibrant colors that make the landscape shine like nothing else.
Aqua-blue sky like the upside-down sea.
Sandstone orange like a Creamsicle.
Purple like royalty.
It’s early afternoon when there’s a tapping at my door.
I rub my eyes and sit up straighter, wondering why these screwed-up sleep schedules always make me so groggy.
Then I remember who it might be.
Oh, boy.
Has he grown a conscience and come to apologize?
“Yeah?” I call as I get up to open my door.
But it’s not Chris.
The instant she hears my voice, Evie pushes her way inside without waiting, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
I swear, sometimes she makes my skin crawl.
“Oh, hey. You’re home early, aren’t you?” I say, blinking in surprise. “What happened to the big getaway?”
“Your father and I decided we had more pressing business,” she says, flashing me a cryptic wink. “He was here last night, wasn’t he?”
I try to play dumb, blank out my expression, but she looks at me sharply, his name written in her eyes. Chris.
“Who? I’m not sure what you’re—”
“Don’t you ever play stupid with me, Cordelia. You think I can’t tell my son’s been sniffing around you since he showed up here for dinner? Winston told me everything.”
Damn.
Big mouth should be our gate guy’s middle name, but I’m floored that he’s telling Evie crap behind Dad’s back. Never mind the fact that whatever he’s telling her is a giant exaggeration.
So what if he was here, anyway?
Why is it any of her business?
He’s not a fifteen-year-old kid, and neither am I.
I can’t help beaming her a sour look.
It takes courage because I know how scary Evie can get when she ramps up, and the way she smiles now like an over-painted mannequin feels like the calm before the storm.
Still, it’s my room and I’m twenty-one years old.
That’s old enough to not have to take any crap from a wicked stepmom.
“You sound upset. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, Evie, but you’ve got the wrong idea.” I stare through her, unflinching. “Chris just dropped by because I asked him to help with my senior paper. I decided to find out what makes a military man tick.”
I look up defiantly, hating that I feel like I’m also trying to convince myself that’s the only thing that happened.
She throws her head back, her eyes narrowed, drumming her deadly lime-green nails on my dresser. They’re sharp enough to do permanent damage, I’m sure.
“So you say. Cordelia, I saw how he looked at you at dinner—and I didn’t like it one bit. I don’t think you understand.” She draws in a sharp breath.
I shake my head because she’s right. I really don’t.
“He’s a stubborn boy, my Christopher. He certainly doesn’t need more problems when it’s already like moving a mountain to bring him home.”
“So, don’t, maybe?” I venture, resting a hand on my hip. “He’s more than old enough to make his own decisions, right?”
She does a double take, her bleach-blond hair whipping against her shoulder.
Then she’s all wild-eyed lightning, lunging for my face, chasing me back against the wall.
Holy crap!
My instinct is to slap her, but honestly, I’m too freaked that this is even happening.
I shove my back against the wall just as she pinches my shoulder, digging her fingers in until I yelp.
“Ow! What do you think you’re—”
“Are you two fucking, missy? Is that why he came back? Because it certainly wasn’t for his dear old mom. Somewhere along the line, my beautiful son stopped giving a single shit about me.”
I’m speechless.
All I can do is shake my head until I’m dizzy.
But she won’t let go.
Her fingers press into bone as she gives me this violent, almost jealous look.
Yikes, what now?
It happens like a gunshot.
I don’t mean to hit her—but my hand flies up, all cold reflex, impacting her cheek so hard her head whips to the side.
Oh, crap.
Oh, crap.
Evie staggers back a few paces, her fingers trembling as she lays them against her burning jawline. She blinks several times before her eyes land on me again, flaring with hatred.
Then they pop open and she reels back.
“Okay—enough! I shouldn’t be here,” she whispers, wheels of doubt spinning behind her eyes.
I don’t answer.
Even if she’s right and we’re playing a dangerous game, the fact that she’s playing at all tells me I’ve got reason to continue.
“My turn, princess. Truth or fucking dare.” I reach for her face and clasp her chin, just firmly enough to tell her I’m not playing around. “How long has it been since your last fuck? Was he any good?”
Her breath stalls.
If she thought she was the only one who gets to ask hard questions tonight, she’s dead wrong.
When Delia moves, she’s shaking her head like mad, slapping my arm.
I don’t let go.
Don’t let up.
Tracing her jawline softly with my thumb, I try to remind her of that dark, forbidden night.
Of all the things I can still do to make her clit sing.
Hell, her whole body, if only she’d stop talking, shed the Miss Innocent act, and let me get her naked and under me.
“Come on. Look who’s asking for classified secrets now,” she says, twisting away from me.
I know I’m on target.
And I think the girl just invented a new shade of embarrassed, blushing like a sunburn. Virgin-red.
Virgin?
Wait.
No fucking way. She can’t possibly be—
My gaze sharpens and I feel drunk from wondering.
Swallowing a growl, I cup her cheek, urging her to look at me before I pop the question.
“Delia, fuck. Are you hinting you’ve never been with a guy before?”
She opens her mouth, but her words catch in her throat.
Shit!
I push her off me, quickly but carefully, hating how radioactive she suddenly feels.
When I’m on my feet again, I almost fall over as my weight shifts.
Goddamn, this is bad.
I need space. Oxygen. Privacy.
Before my dick outruns my heart in the race to short out.
“Delia, what are you doing?” I whisper slowly. “You say you don’t want me; you throw it in my face why we can’t, but then you go and scrunch up in my lap and tell me you’ve never been with a man?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a thousand conflicts invading my head.
She’s bunched up on the cabana chair now, staring while I pace in front of her, trying to process this ludicrous shit.
“It was just a little fun...wasn’t it?” Her voice is barely louder than a mouse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. And I do want to know you, Chris. I just thought a little harmless flirting might—”
“Harmless?” My nostrils flare.
Fuck that.
She looks at me as I circle her, trying to find the right combination of words.
“Flirting doesn’t include having your stepbrother’s hand on your ass, ready to tear your panties off. You know what, I started thinking maybe it was possible, no matter how many times you’ve tried to deny it. Now, I can’t. Not with you. Not in this lifetime. No way in hell.”
I walk to the edge of the pool with its massive white flower tiled on the bottom, wondering if I’m too drunk to drive out of this shitshow again.
Only trouble is, Sexton and the seniors will come down on me like boulders if they find out I’m not staying put.
Orders are orders, and I’ve bent them enough.
Even if these orders get me killed by Cordelia Burr before the cartel henchmen ever find me.
“Chris, don’t be ridiculous!” she yells after me. “We’re just messing around. I’m trying to open up... I never asked you to do anything. Can’t we just be friends?”
“Friends. You think I need friends who tease my cock to hell and back?” I snort at her bitterly. “You’re young and sheltered, Delia, so this may come as a shock. Let me clue you in anyway. I don’t play grabass with friends. I don’t need friends I want to bite, marking them all night. Don’t need any friends who tempt my dick like nobody else when I can’t ever satisfy that craving—and I don’t mean because of the family shit. Fuck that.” I pause, breathing in harshly before I finish. “There’s no goddamn way I can be your first fuck. I’m not screwing you up like that and leaving you hanging, knowing the first man you ever spread your legs for was your own fucking stepbrother.”
I whip around again and start walking, determined not to stop this time until I’m upstairs in my room with the door bolted shut.
“Screwing up? Screwing me up?” She’s got fire on her lips when she chases after me, digging her nails into my shoulder. “What do you think happened the other night? We were this close, Chris.”
She waves her hand in my face, her fingers only a centimeter apart.
“Delia—”
“Nope. You can’t deny it. You’re the first man who ever put his hands down—never mind. But do I look screwed up to you? Do I sound crazy?”
Yes, I don’t say.
But that’s not the point.
It’s my own sanity I’m worried about.
The madman I’m becoming around her.
I don’t know how to even answer that question without breaking her heart.
“We didn’t know. It was a fucked up mistake and nothing more,” I say. “Same for this truth or dare bullshit. Time for me to go, before my dumbass mouth just pisses you off more. Sorry it’s gotta be that way. Good luck on your summer pact.”
I’m moving with my jaw pinched like a vise.
I get about ten steps away when I hear her screaming at me.
“Keep your luck, coward! I’m not the one who needs it. You’re right—knowing you was a mistake.”
True.
And I make one more mistake when I look back and my breath freezes in my lungs.
Tears are streaming down her red cheeks now. Her arms flap erratically at her sides.
The empty glass drops from her hand, an accidental slip or an attempt to throw it at me. Who knows.
It shatters on the pool deck with a sound that rips the evening in half.
Coward, huh?
If she were a dude, I’d already have her on the ground, one hand on her throat.
She’s upset, I remind myself.
She’s just my overly emotional, clueless stepsister I never asked for.
She isn’t used to this and she’s acting out.
Nothing more.
I’m sober enough to run up the long, curling staircase without breaking my neck before I slam the door to my room shut, thank fuck.
I need to sleep this off.
In the morning, I’ll be wherever she isn’t. I’ll scout out every inch of this miserable castle and figure out how we can avoid crossing paths again.
I can fuck chicks with a little crazy.
I could fuck my own stepsister, too.
But I can’t fuck a virgin, no matter how much this animalistic darkness in my soul howls at me to mount her, to claim her, to ruin her for life.
I have a few civilized bones left in my body, thank you very much, and I also have limits.
Delia doesn’t deserve the inevitable poison and heartbreak the minute after I’m spent.
My third rule has always been the most important for good reason.
I don’t do love, and loving her when she gives up her body is all she deserves.
7
Purple Princess (Delia)
Welp, it happened.
I played with fire, and I got burned.
This whole idea was stupid. Idiotic. Devastating.
Worst of all, it’s my own freaking fault.
It takes me a long time to drag myself upstairs after I calm down and find a broom to sweep up the broken glass. I won’t have our housekeepers cleaning up a mess I never should’ve made.
A long hot shower helps take the edge off my nerves.
Then I settle down in front of my computer, desperate for a new idea.
There’s a new message from the professor. Of course, he says the SEAL idea sounds promising.
Yeah, about that...
My stomach knots. I can’t fathom how I’m supposed to do a character study on a man I can’t stand being in the same room with.
Not after that.
Whatever that was.
Sighing, I close the laptop and try to crash for the night, hiding under the blankets, drowning out as much of my life as I can.
I just need time. Maybe a nice distraction like travel. There’s still time before summer ends.
There’s a fog wrapped around my body and soul. A trip could banish the worst of it, and as long as I’m off from school, I have the time.
When you’re the daughter of a man who runs an airline, hopping on a plane is about as easy as boarding a city bus.
All I have to do is ask, and I’ll be holding a first-class ticket to anywhere I’d like.
I’m tempted to hop the red-eye up to Washington or even Alaska for a week. Immersing myself in lush greenery and mountains and endless wild air feels like a great way to forget all about Chris Triton and the infinite ways he’s complicated my life.
But I can’t go there just yet.
Not while the step-prick is still here. His presence in the same house knifes through me, ringing like a silent blaring dog whistle that just won’t shut up and only I can hear.
What the hell is his deal, anyway?
So the whole 'oops, we’re accidentally related' thing isn’t too much for him, but the fact that I’m a virgin is?
God.
I’d have never gone all the way regardless, but if I did...
...shouldn’t most guys want a virgin?
I don’t understand.
And the way he stormed off, pushing me away like I went from gorgeous to ghastly in ten seconds, feels worse than any normal rejection.
He’s so full of himself he could choke on that ego.
Maybe all men are, but I can’t imagine a bigger selfish headcase than this badass freak I’m cursed to share a wall with now.
How can he believe he’ll mess me up forever if we did the unthinkable?
Marnie barely remembers who she slept with her first time, and it hasn’t slowed her down a bit from adding to her serial body count.
Whatever he thinks, I’m the one who suffers from overthinking.
I’m tossing and turning all night.
When I look at my phone around four a.m., I’m sitting up in bed. I listen intently through the quiet, lonely house for any sound of him stirring.
I’m not just restless.
I’m desperate to prove him wrong—to prove to myself just how much I don’t need him or his stupid rejection of a fling that was never happening.
Half an hour later, I hear a subtle chiming sound.
A phone alarm, muted through the wall, and not just in my head.
A minute later, heavy footsteps behind the wall. He’s moving around, probably getting ready for a very early day.
I wait until his door clicks open before I race to mine and fling it open, jumping out in the hall.
He stops in his tracks, staring at me like I’m a ghost.
“What?” he barks coldly, holding the huge black bag of military gear I’ve seen him packing before.
“We’re not done yet,” I say firmly, pushing my hands against his chest. “Look, I don’t care if you don’t want me. That’s not the point. I won’t let you tease me anymore.”
For a second, his face hardens with mixed emotions.
Frustration.
Anger.
Disappointment.
“Good. Then kindly move and let me get on with my morning, sis.”
Damn him.
Something about the way he says that last word sends a chill up my spine.
“Wait!” I grab his arm as he tries to walk past. He doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragging me behind him. “Don’t go yet. I don’t want us to be enemies, Chris. Or even these weird, awkward people who just have to share a house because our parents are—”
“Delia, move,” he snarls, shaking me off.
“Please. It doesn’t have to be like this,” I say, hating how weak my voice sounds.
But he’s moving again with no sign of stopping.
I don’t follow, too weighed down by heavy pieces of my heart.
I’m about to turn and limp back to my room, but he stops at the edge of the stairs and looks back at me, shaking his head slowly.
“Princess, I don’t know what your issues are, but get ’em sorted. I can’t help you. I’m your stepbro in name only. You’re damn sweet, and you’ve got a body guys will kill for. Forget me. Get yourself a boyfriend, and maybe someday, we’ll all laugh about this insanity.”
Every sentence cuts through me like flaming arrows.
I want to race after him, throw myself into his arms.
Knowing it’s the worst idea doesn’t make it any easier to resist.
Still, I keep my feet rooted to the floor, listening numbly as he heads downstairs. The faint thud of the front door falling shut echoes through the house a minute later like a gavel coming down.
Awesome.
Now I’m alone, I’m sexless, and the man who was supposed to give me a paper that could put my name on the map just walked out of my life.
* * *
I’m holed up in the house for the next day, never catching a glimpse of Chris.
Mostly, I’m in my room, escaping into a painted wonderland where no one ever gets a horrible crush on a walking case of heartbreak they’re forced to live with.
It’s a new scene, desolate of people and their crap. A desert sunset I remember vividly from trips with Dad to Utah and Arizona when I was young.
The way the sky layers over the blood-red earth soothes my soul as I bring it back to life. It’s the loud, vibrant colors that make the landscape shine like nothing else.
Aqua-blue sky like the upside-down sea.
Sandstone orange like a Creamsicle.
Purple like royalty.
It’s early afternoon when there’s a tapping at my door.
I rub my eyes and sit up straighter, wondering why these screwed-up sleep schedules always make me so groggy.
Then I remember who it might be.
Oh, boy.
Has he grown a conscience and come to apologize?
“Yeah?” I call as I get up to open my door.
But it’s not Chris.
The instant she hears my voice, Evie pushes her way inside without waiting, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
I swear, sometimes she makes my skin crawl.
“Oh, hey. You’re home early, aren’t you?” I say, blinking in surprise. “What happened to the big getaway?”
“Your father and I decided we had more pressing business,” she says, flashing me a cryptic wink. “He was here last night, wasn’t he?”
I try to play dumb, blank out my expression, but she looks at me sharply, his name written in her eyes. Chris.
“Who? I’m not sure what you’re—”
“Don’t you ever play stupid with me, Cordelia. You think I can’t tell my son’s been sniffing around you since he showed up here for dinner? Winston told me everything.”
Damn.
Big mouth should be our gate guy’s middle name, but I’m floored that he’s telling Evie crap behind Dad’s back. Never mind the fact that whatever he’s telling her is a giant exaggeration.
So what if he was here, anyway?
Why is it any of her business?
He’s not a fifteen-year-old kid, and neither am I.
I can’t help beaming her a sour look.
It takes courage because I know how scary Evie can get when she ramps up, and the way she smiles now like an over-painted mannequin feels like the calm before the storm.
Still, it’s my room and I’m twenty-one years old.
That’s old enough to not have to take any crap from a wicked stepmom.
“You sound upset. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, Evie, but you’ve got the wrong idea.” I stare through her, unflinching. “Chris just dropped by because I asked him to help with my senior paper. I decided to find out what makes a military man tick.”
I look up defiantly, hating that I feel like I’m also trying to convince myself that’s the only thing that happened.
She throws her head back, her eyes narrowed, drumming her deadly lime-green nails on my dresser. They’re sharp enough to do permanent damage, I’m sure.
“So you say. Cordelia, I saw how he looked at you at dinner—and I didn’t like it one bit. I don’t think you understand.” She draws in a sharp breath.
I shake my head because she’s right. I really don’t.
“He’s a stubborn boy, my Christopher. He certainly doesn’t need more problems when it’s already like moving a mountain to bring him home.”
“So, don’t, maybe?” I venture, resting a hand on my hip. “He’s more than old enough to make his own decisions, right?”
She does a double take, her bleach-blond hair whipping against her shoulder.
Then she’s all wild-eyed lightning, lunging for my face, chasing me back against the wall.
Holy crap!
My instinct is to slap her, but honestly, I’m too freaked that this is even happening.
I shove my back against the wall just as she pinches my shoulder, digging her fingers in until I yelp.
“Ow! What do you think you’re—”
“Are you two fucking, missy? Is that why he came back? Because it certainly wasn’t for his dear old mom. Somewhere along the line, my beautiful son stopped giving a single shit about me.”
I’m speechless.
All I can do is shake my head until I’m dizzy.
But she won’t let go.
Her fingers press into bone as she gives me this violent, almost jealous look.
Yikes, what now?
It happens like a gunshot.
I don’t mean to hit her—but my hand flies up, all cold reflex, impacting her cheek so hard her head whips to the side.
Oh, crap.
Oh, crap.
Evie staggers back a few paces, her fingers trembling as she lays them against her burning jawline. She blinks several times before her eyes land on me again, flaring with hatred.
