I don’t think twice about it.
Later, when I open the door to the hallway, I see Parrish’s door is open and he’s seated in a gaming chair near his wall-mounted TV. I watch him for a moment, recognizing the game he’s playing as one of the last ones I live-streamed before shutting down my Twitch channel.
With a tentative knock on the doorjamb, I wait until he lifts a hand to wave me in without even looking. Kim Dracula’s Paparazzi is playing on his open laptop. Taking a seat in the chair beside him, I notice Parrish glance my way with surprise. He didn’t expect the knock to come from me.
I grab the abandoned controller from the arm of the chair, likely left there by Chasm before he headed home—we are technically still grounded, so school night sleepovers are a no-no, even for him.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask as Parrish pushes his headset off and gives me a long, studying sort of look. After a moment, he shrugs his shoulders like it doesn’t matter to him either way.
“Suit yourself,” he says, and I find myself grinning for the first time today. I very quickly head back into my room to grab my own headset, and then connect to the private Discord server he’s on. I immediately recognize both Chasm’s and Maxx’s voices on the other end.
“Are you guys ready to get your asses kicked?” I ask, and there’s a pregnant pause before Maxx’s confident laughter buzzes through the headset.
“Is that you, Little Sister?” Chasm asks as I look up and realize for the first time that Parrish has not one but two OLED TVs mounted to his wall. The controller I’m holding goes to a separate PS5 from the one Parrish is using. I quickly sign into my own PlayStation account and glance over at my stepbrother … and fake boyfriend? Eww. What the hell have I done?
Set up a lovely little romance novel plot, that’s what.
I wrinkle my nose and shake my head to clear the memory of Parrish’s hot mouth slanting across mine, the brilliant sweep of his tongue, the possessive heat of his hands. Good god, Dakota, get it together!
“It’s me,” I confirm as Parrish looks me over with that strange, detached aloofness he so specializes in. It’s all bullshit, of course. I’ve seen it crack into pieces more than once since I got here. I tuck my legs up in the oversized gaming chair, gathering my messy hair into a loose bun at the back of my head. I hand over the controller. “Send friend requests to yourself and your friends.”
“Maxine says hi,” X tells me, and I hear my sister cheering for me in the background. She despises playing videogames, but she’s always happy to watch a loved one play and provide moral support. “Glad you’re here,” he adds as Chasm cackles gleefully.
“Okay, I cannot fucking wait to wipe the floor with you.”
“You can try,” I warn him as Parrish hands the controller back, and the boys accept my requests.
It might only be digital friendship, as meaningless as a teardrop in a rainstorm, but it makes me feel better anyway.
Parrish creates a match and invites the rest of us in.
He puts himself and his friends on one team and leaves me with a bunch of randos on the other.
Doesn’t matter.
Within five minutes, I find Chas and blow his head off.
“Holy fucking shit, Little Sister!” he calls out as I laugh and notice Parrish peeking at my screen to get a read on my location. Knowing what he’s planning, I make my own preparations, setting up a trap for him that goes off the instant his character enters the room.
“And it’s over!” I cry out as Parrish curses and throws his remote on the floor.
Fifteen minutes in, and it’s down to me and Maxx.
“I’ll admit,” I say, crossing my legs as I mash buttons absentmindedly—still kicking ass, I might add. “Out of the three of you, I didn’t expect Maxx to be the toughest one to kill.” With my left hand, I reach out and snatch a piece from Parrish’s package of red licorice, letting it hang from my mouth as I continue searching the battlefield for Maxx’s green-skinned alien avatar. “Aren’t you big into sports?”
“My family is big into sports,” he replies easily, which isn’t exactly an answer to my question. “My sister just got a six-figure deal with some sports drink company. Her entire bike got repainted with their colors and logo.”
I keep my character hidden in the attic of an old house, peeping out the windows as I wait for Maxx to search me out. I’ve rigged the trapdoor into the room with a grenade, but that was my last one. If he wants to climb up the side of the house and into one of the four windows, I could be in trouble.
“Maxine told me you were into games,” he continues as I check my ammo and realize that I’m dangerously low on bullets. “She also said you had a pretty popular Twitch channel?”
“I ghosted it,” I reply, crouching in the corner of the room with my last remaining bullet waiting in the odd-shaped purple gun that makes up my favorite weapon in the game. “Too much attention for the kidnapping thing.”
I munch down the rest of the licorice strand and reach for another as Parrish taps his fingers on the arm of his gaming chair and watches me like one might observe a new and unfamiliar species they encountered in the woods.
“Are you sure you’re related to Tess?” he asks dryly as Chasm snickers on his end of the mic. “Or is this just a nature versus nurture thing? You’re nothing like her.” The way he delivers that news, I could take it as both a criticism and a compliment; I’m also certain that wasn’t an accident. Parrish’s words are nearly always a double-edged sword.
“How so?” I reply innocently, watching the time in the corner tick down. If this match ends without me taking out X’s avatar, then it’ll be a tie and mar my near-perfect record. I wet my lips and stand my character up as Parrish watches, lounging back in his chair like a boneless prince. Or a rich, well-bred, cranky sloth. A mean sloth. A carnivorous sloth.
“She intends on using this kidnapping thing to milk every extra book sale, talk show opportunity, and dinner invite she can. You’d much rather dig yourself a hole and hide in it.”
I grit my teeth as I pop open one of the windows on the game and hop through it, eyes scanning the screen for X.
“Are you mad at Tess for turning a tragedy on its head and using it to further an already impressive career? Or mad at me because I value my privacy and protected space?” I swing around a corner of the crumbling house to find X waiting for me. That fucker! He read me well: he knew I’d come out in order to keep the match from becoming a tie. “Because both things are valid.”
“Little Sister might be a brat, but she knows how to debate,” Chasm muses as I find myself in a crouch, in a near stalemate against Maxx’s character as he hides on the other side of a burned-out van. In this game, I’m a human; he’s an alien intent on stealing my skin so he can wear it as a suit and invade our planet undetected.
I’m about to kick his ass.
“Tell us,” Chas continues, “what are your plans here? Do you want to rule Whitehall? Hide in the shadows? You say one thing and then do another. If you’d wanted clout, you could’ve just made out with me at the party instead. Now everyone’s going to be watching you.”
A hysterical laugh escapes me as I toss my gun to the right and then swing my character around the left side of the debris pile I’m hiding behind. As expected, X shoots at the weapon with lightning-quick reflexes, and I end up lurching around the back of the van to where his character’s hiding.
He has his back to me, so I leap on him and execute a bare-handed attack that involves pulling his antennae off. It’s his character’s weakness, and he’s instantly incapacitated. I steal his gun and end him, taking the match and a fuck-ton of ‘clout’ along with it.
“You think making out with you is a privilege?” I ask with another laugh, one that Maxx joins in with. “Now that’s hilarious. Aren’t you just Parrish’s shadow?”
“Ouch,” X murmurs, but not unappreciatively. I can practically hear Chasm scowling on the other end of the line.
“Should’ve known you had
a stepbrother fantasy when you practically lunged at his face and took his tongue down your throat. Nice playing, Little Sister.” Chasm disconnects from the game and the chat at the same moment as I glance over to find that Parrish is still watching me. Observing, more like.
“Guess I hit a nerve,” I say with a shrug, taking the points I just earned from that match to buy my avatar a new skin. Parrish and I end up reaching for a piece of licorice at the same moment, our fingers bumping together as flames shoot through me. It’s a perfect analogy really, but even though the sensation is warm, pleasant even, there’s always the possibility of catching fire.
We look at each other as I do my best to not think about that kiss at the party; there’s a hell of a lot to unpack there. Neither of us is ready to do the heavy lifting of that baggage, I assure you.
“You found Chasm’s weak spot,” X agrees, the cool confidence in his voice a balm to that unruly fire. I fold the entire piece of red licorice into my mouth as I mull that over. It’s pretty obvious that while Chasm likes and emulates Parrish, he’s a completely different person. Not entirely sure that he’s figured it out yet though. “It’s better not to engage with him. He can be a spiteful asshole.”
“Whose side are you on anyway?” Parrish asks coolly, chewing on the end of a piece of licorice. “Your obsession with my new sister is becoming annoying.”
“I promised my girlfriend I’d look out for her, you dick,” X replies easily, and I feel a strange tightening in my chest. Ah, right, I’m an extension of Maxine, not true friend material in and of myself. The thought’s a sobering one, and I exit out of the game, logging out of my PlayStation account to keep Parrish from messing with my shit. “You kicked ass tonight, Kota. Play again tomorrow?”
“She can play as long as it’s from the privacy of her own bedroom,” Parrish remarks, giving me a once-over. Maxx sighs tiredly.
“Whatever Parrish. Goodnight, Dakota.”
Maxx disappears, leaving me and Parrish alone in his darkened bedroom.
Both TVs are off now, killing the only source of light. With such a cloudy sky outside the open window, it’s all shadow in here. Paired with the black walls, it’s almost ominous. Oh, and the whole place smells like Parrish—and not in a bad way. Clean laundry, clovers, and lemons. That’s what it smells like in here. There’s something about that scent too that gets under my skin, making my fingers twitch in my lap. I like it far too much to admit, even to myself.
Parrish turns the TV back on, selecting some random show on Netflix. The flickering of the screen highlights the aristocratic planes of his face.
“That was fun,” he tells me, almost grudgingly, looking me over again in a way that’s hard to interpret. Just as I thought the night of the party, it feels like there’s something there, like maybe he actually likes what he sees? I stare right back at him in challenge, daring him to keep looking under my scrutinizing gaze. “Now, get the fuck out of my room.”
With a slight frown, I chuck the remote his way and stand up, shoving my headset back to rest against my neck. On my way past, Parrish reaches out and places two fingers against the side of my left thigh, just below the high-cut leg of my shorts. There’s an image of Bowser on the ass of them. Maxine always called them my adorkable booty shorts.
Where his fingers touch me, I burn in the worst way. I ache. And I don't understand it at all.
“A canvas,” he says, but more to himself than to me. His eyes trail back up my body in an unmistakable way, his body language giving away things that he won’t allow his words to say. “I could put some pretty ink here.” Parrish pauses briefly, looking away and dropping his hand to his lap. Why does he always have to be shirtless and pretty the way he is? And I don’t just mean his lean body or his tattoos or even the carved-by-gods shape of his face. It’s the way he holds himself back, like there’s so much more to him that he wants to show the world, but is afraid to. That’s what I like best, what I find most attractive. Shit, no. No. Not attractive. Hate. I hate him. “And not because you need to be any prettier,” he adds, looking at me again. “I'm sorry about what my dad said. What Tess said. Your nose looks good to me.”
He stands up suddenly, too close to me really. Our bare toes are practically intertwined.
“I never hated my nose,” I tell him as he watches me in the quiet darkness of his room. The screen behind me flickers, bathing the room in strange, ethereal light. “I don't want any plastic surgery, but … I’d take some ink. Practice on me sometime.”
“Maybe I’ll let you practice a little.” That’s what he said to me at the party. And I just mimicked it and turned this moment into a double entendre when it didn’t need to be, goddamn it.
Parrish sucks in a hissing breath before tearing away from me and moving over to his bedroom door. He opens it wide and then holds out a hand, clearly telling me in the nicest way possible to get the hell out.
“I thought you hated my work? That I was a shitty artist with a mommy complex?”
“Maybe I lied about one of those things,” I quip as I pass by and he grits his teeth.
“No butterflies or turtles or birds turning into feathers,” he says, and then he slams the door hard behind me, and I jump, wondering what it is that I’ve just agreed to.
Monday morning.
I wake up to the sound of Delphine’s slight knock against my door, shuffling over in my pajamas to open it. The girl is waiting there in her admittedly ridiculous uniform. She looks like she belongs at a maid café in Tokyo or something. At least the outfit isn’t sexualized. On the contrary, it’s a bit … I don’t know, dowdy?
“Good morning, Delphine,” I murmur, rubbing at my blurry eyes and wishing that I’d never gone to that party, and that I’d never kissed Parrish, and that everyone didn’t think I was dating two of Whitehall prep’s superstars.
“Good morning,” the girl replies, her mousy brown hair gathered in fat curls around her face, almost like she’s trying to hide behind them. Add in the thick-rimmed glasses and the way she’s always staring at the floor and you’d almost believe it. If it weren’t for the sharpness in her stare and the almost imperceptible quirk of her mouth, it might even be true. But it’s quite clear that Delphine isn’t all that she seems. “Looking forward to your first day of school?” she asks, surprising me.
I raise my brows and step aside, cringing a little as she drags back my blankets at the same moment I register a bit of warmth between my thighs.
“Shit,” I murmur as the bloodstain on my sheets is revealed. “Sorry, Delphine, you don’t have to clean that.” I move forward to take over the cleaning duties when Delphine holds up a hand, shaking her head slightly.
“This is my job and trust me: I’ve cleaned up worse,” she admits as I cringe and wish that I still lived in a normal house with normal people who cleaned up their own messes. Just as I’m about to argue with Delphine, I feel liquid on my inner thighs and look down just in time to see a bit of blood trail down past my Bowser shorts.
As always, my timing is impeccable, and Parrish opens his door at just the right moment to see me standing there, blood dripping on the floor near my feet. He’s in the process of adjusting his tie, shrugging into the solid black Whitehall blazer at the same moment. But as soon as he sees me, he stops dead in his tracks.
We stare at each other as his eyes widen, and my cheeks—and yeah, my boobs—turn pink and red respectively.
“You’re bleeding,” Parrish says, like he’s dumbstruck. He actually stops walking to stare.
I just stare back at him, realizing that this is kind of an intimate moment to be sharing with my newfound stepbrother on the first day of school. What a fantastic start to what’s bound to be an eventful day—thanks to my, uh, performance at the party.
“Girls bleed, Parrish!” I yell back at him, slamming the door in his surprised face and then turning to look at Delphine. She’s pretending not to smile as I grab the edge of the sheet and yank it off, dragging it along with me into the bat
hroom.
“Girls bleed, Parrish,” I mimic, rolling my eyes at myself as I strip down and shower. How articulate I am. Instead of some witty, kick-ass, don’t-give-a-shit comment, I had to blurt what had to be a pretty obvious fact, considering I was standing there having my period in front of my new stepbrother.
I pretend like all will be forgotten by the time I get downstairs.
Instead, it’s worse than I thought.
“Hey,” Tess says softly, resting her hand gently against my upper arm. “You look adorable in that uniform.”
I glance down at the black blazer, pleated skirt, and tie that matches my damn hair, and frown. I’m a big fan of self-expression. Kind of hard to self-express in a uniform that looks like an infantilized version of a corporate suit.
“What does Dump Your Pornsick Boyfriend mean?” she asks me, glancing down at the button on my book bag. Ehh, I just don’t have the energy for a feminist discussion this early in the morning.
“Pretty self-explanatory,” I answer glibly, and Tess’ left eye twitches. But as I try to pull away and head toward the kitchen, she strengthens her grip on my arm slightly.
“I heard from Parrish that you …” she begins, and I feel my jaw clench tight. That motherfucker. “Started your period today. Was this your first time?”
I give her a look like she’s insane.
“I got my first period when I was twelve,” I say and Tess blinks at me in surprise. Her grip on my arm loosens suddenly, and I can quite clearly see that she’s embarrassed. “I’ve got plenty of pads, tampons, menstrual cups, and, uh, period underwear,” I start and then shrug, hoisting my book bag up my shoulder. “But if I need anything else, I’ll come to you first.” I give a loose swing of my arm in like, some strange attempt to be funny, but Tess just gives me this terrible, deprecating smile.
“Okay, honey,” she says, face tight as she turns back toward the kitchen, and I’m left standing there cursing under my breath.
Back home, I’d be dragging myself out of bed in about a half hour, slogging down the stairs and slumping at the table for breakfast. Grandpa insisted on cooking for me and Maxine nearly every day. He said school was too important to go hungry. I was so close to the high school that I could walk, picking up Nevaeh and Sally on the way.
Stolen Crush Page 16