“Hey, I'm going to get another beer,” I tell Jackson, as I drain mine. He jumps up.
“Don't worry about it. I'll grab 'em,” he says, walking confidently into the other room. I watch the ping pong ball as it's thrown back and forth across the table, and Jackson is soon back with the beers. He launches into a story about this crazy party he went to back at school, but out of the corner of my eye I notice a couple walking up the stairs at the rear of the room, their hands all over each other, and feel a stab of envy in my chest.
I am beyond tired of being a virgin. It's certainly not on purpose that I'm twenty-one and still haven't had sex yet. I guess I just assumed it would happen somehow, without my ever putting any thought into it, and I've never built it up like it's going to be some crazy special thing, either.
I look at Jackson out of the corner of my eye as I make quick work of my second beer. Maybe Nate was right—maybe I am too serious and distant. Maybe it would be better if I just got it out of the way. And I bet Jackson would be good at it. Really, really good at it. Plus, he's a decent guy.
“…Don't you think?” Jackson asks me, leaning in.
“Yes, right,” I reply, even though I spaced out and have no idea what he was talking about. My hair falls in front of my face as I take another sip of beer, and Jackson reaches up and tucks it behind my ear. We make eye contact and he leans forward slowly, brushing a soft kiss across my neck.
“Want to get out of here?” he murmurs into my ear, sending a little shiver down my spine. “My place is pretty close by, and we'll actually be able to hear ourselves think.”
“Um, yeah, that sounds good,” I reply, a little nervously. Jackson stands and offers me his hand. I place mine in his and he leads me out toward the front. We pass Nate on the way, with his arms wrapped around Natasha and his hands tucked into her back pockets.
“Hey man, we're taking off. You think you can find another ride?” Jackson asks.
“What do you mean? You're both leaving?” Nate asks, frowning.
“Yup, we're going back to my place, dude,” Jackson replies. “You cool for a ride?”
“Yeah, come here for a second,” Nate says, his eyes flicking back and forth between us. He takes Jackson's arm and pulls him toward a screen door in the back. “Not you,” he says to me, as I begin to follow.
I bristle at his tone. They disappear out back and I look after them, my mouth open in shock and annoyance. I can't believe the way Nate talks to me sometimes. So dismissively. I exchange a polite smile with Natasha, who is now looking around the party aimlessly, clearly bored without Nate.
Screw Nate. I’ll do whatever the hell I please, and I want to know what he's saying.
I brush past Natasha, push open the screen door and walk into the small, fenced-in backyard. There are fewer people out here, but there's still a crowd. I can just see Nate and Jackson talking in a back corner. I weave my way through the people, keeping my head down so they don't notice me. I take out my phone so I look like I'm doing something other than eavesdropping, and sidle into the group nearest to them. I can just overhear what they're saying.
“Why, do you want her Nate?” Jackson asks angrily. My eyes widen.
“Fuck no, she's my stepsister. It's just weird, that's all. You two. She's not your type.” I feel a stab of pain at the finality of Nate's words.
“She's gorgeous,” I hear Jackson reply.
“You think she's gorgeous?” Nate says, beginning to laugh. “Seriously? Dude, come on. Besides, she's a fucking buzz kill.”
I don't want to hear any more. I can already feel angry tears building up behind my eyes. I'm so stupid. Why do I keep giving Nate the benefit of the doubt, when he is so clearly such an asshole?
I walk quickly back inside, through the living room, and out to the street. I turn toward the left, where I can see a busier street, and hustle toward it. I know it's going to be a pricey cab ride back to the house, but I feel like I'm about to explode into a puddle of tears.
And I don't want to give Nate the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I breathe in as deeply as possible and hold it, counting to ten before exhaling as slowly as I can, trying to rid myself of the hurt feeling that followed me home from the party. It’s a trick I learned to control my anxiety, and to say that I’m anxious right now would be an understatement.
I can't remember the last time I heard someone talk about me like that, though I suppose it's partially my fault for eavesdropping. I finally start to feel calm enough to go to sleep, and reach to turn off my bedside lamp.
A rush of footsteps up the stairs makes me pause. I sit up a bit as they continue down the hallway toward my bedroom. A second later, my bedroom door bursts open and Nate walks in, his face dark with anger.
“You're in bed? You've gotta be fucking kidding me. That was really selfish of you to run off without telling anyone, you know that?” he spits at me, then turns around and walks out.
I'm frozen in shock for a moment. What the hell was that? What does he have to be mad at me for? I leap out from under my covers and march out of my bedroom just in time to stop him from shutting his door. He swings around as I charge into his room.
“I'm selfish? You are just…you are just…” I stumble in my anger, trying to think of the right word.
“Yeah, you're selfish, Brynn! I looked around that party for you for thirty minutes! I thought you might have been kidnapped! I almost called the cops!”
“Wait…what?” I reply, completely thrown.
“Ever heard of a text message?” he asks, his voice laden with sarcasm.
“Yes, I've heard of a text message!” Man, I wish I were better at arguing. “Hey, wait a second, this isn't about me, this is about you! You're the asshole! I heard what you were saying about me to Jackson, I'm not a buzzkill, and maybe I'm not gorgeous, but I'm not some kind of joke, either!” I fight back the tears welling in my eyes, more angry than I’ve ever been in my life. There, that got him. He stands dumbfounded and I seize the opportunity to walk out.
Just as I'm about to cross the threshold, he reaches around me and closes the door in front of me. I stop short and turn around angrily, almost ready to smack him. He's standing so close to me I'm practically pinned against the door.
“Wait, what? How'd you hear that? You followed us outside?”
“Yes, I followed you,” I reply, stumbling a bit because I know I was wrong in that regard. “I was mad because you were obviously trying to stop me from leaving with Jackson, and I wanted to know why.” I take a deep breath. “I guess I can't control what you think about me, and that's…whatever, that's fine, but I don't know why you had to go sharing your opinion with Jackson. I mean, am I really that unattractive to you?”
To my horror, my lower lip starts to tremble. I don't want to cry right now but I can’t hold back the tears any longer.
“No…shit, that's not what…” Nate says, his eyes widen as a tear slips down my cheek. I furiously brush it away and Nate backs up, running his hands through his wavy hair. “It's not that I don't want Jackson to date you, it's that I don’t want you to date Jackson.”
“What? That doesn't make any sense,” I reply, trying to staunch the flow of tears as I tug at my hair.
“Jackson's track record with women is pretty bad. They're just conquests to him.”
I cross my arms and frown at him. “That sounds pretty hypocritical. I mean, the first time we met, you asked me to have a threesome with you and you didn't even know my name.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “OK, that's fair. For the record, you just looked so shocked, and innocent—I couldn’t resist. You're right, it's not like I have a great track record either. I guess the difference, in my mind, is that I'm upfront about it. I've never promised a woman a relationship. The girls I sleep with, they know that it's not going anywhere because I tell them that. Jackson pulls them in by promising them a future with him, and then as soon as he sleeps with them
, he acts like they don't exist.”
“But you're friends with him…” I point out.
“Well, he's a good friend. Loyal, funny…”
“But he sounds like a bad person. I just… I don't know why you'd want to be friends with a person like that. Sorry, maybe I'm just…” I shake my head, trying to process this new version of events. “He did…what you just said about him does match up with some things he was saying to me. God, I can't believe I fell for it.”
“He wasn't always like that,” Nate says quietly, gesturing vaguely to a framed photo sitting on his desk. I glance at it, then walk over to get a closer look.
“Oh my god, is that you?” I ask, picking it up. It's a class photo from elementary school, three rows of smiling kids with their teacher standing next to them. Nate is easy to spot. “You look so serious, like you're on the way to the office or something.”
Nate peers over my shoulder at it, his face an exact reflection of his younger self. “That was the year my mom left,” he says quietly.
“Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. Do you ever see her?”
“No. She made her choice.” He pauses for a moment. “That one's Jackson,” he says, pointing out a grinning towheaded boy. I snort. He had a flirtatious smile even back then. “I'm sorry you heard me say those things. Jackson's the kind of guy who, if you tell him something's off limits, that makes him want it even more. He's never been denied anything. So I thought it would be better to convince him that he didn't want you in the first place.”
I fiddle with the edge of the frame and then turn to face him. He’s standing closer than I thought he was. “So…you don't think those things about me?” I whisper, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
“No, the exact opposite, really,” he replies, equally softly. “Brynn you are gorgeous.”
There's a charged moment between us. I can't rip my gaze away from his eyes. I realize he's moving forward ever so slowly, and my lips automatically part, my body taking over from my brain. Every inch of my skin tingles, and I suddenly feel brave—a completely different reaction than anything I’ve ever felt being this close to Jackson.
Just before his mouth touches mine, I close my eyes. As our lips come together, an exquisite feeling rushes through me, unlike anything I've ever felt before. His lips graze mine, then return a bit more firmly, guiding me into a kiss. I've been kissed by a handful of guys over the years, but this kiss is something else. Nate is something else.
His hands wrap around my waist and slide to the small of my back as his lips crush against mine. All my thoughts evaporate, all my worries and insecurities—maybe it's that I can tell he knows exactly what he's doing, and so I can let myself go, trust myself in his hands. He nudges me slightly with his nose and his lower lip brushes against mine. I almost gasp as I feel his tongue move smoothly into my mouth. Electricity flies straight from my mouth to the base of my hips.
I press my tongue against his as my hands move of their own accord up to his chest. I lay my palms against his pecs and feel his racing heartbeat under his rapidly rising and falling chest. It's my first hint that there's something else hiding under his completely confident exterior.
His tongue moves deeper into my mouth, and his hands pull me close against his body. I wrap my arms around his neck and run my fingers through the hair falling onto the collar of his polo. I can feel his erection pushing against my stomach as he slides one hand over my ass. I want nothing more than to rip my clothes off, jump on his bed, and be ravaged by him…to feel his mouth all over my body…inside me…
Suddenly he pulls away. I almost fall forward in surprise as my eyes blink open.
“I shouldn't have done that,” he mutters.
“Why?” I whisper, falling quickly from my cloud.
“It's wrong…you're my stepsister. Maybe it's best if we just keep our distance from each other.”
“Yeah, you’re right…” I reply, feeling like he's just slapped me in the face. I walk quickly to the door. I pause before I open it, wishing I could put into words what I'm feeling, but I can't. I open the door and close it softly behind me before rushing to my room.
As I curl up under the covers, I try to wrap my mind around all the twists this night has taken. I can't believe Nate and I just kissed. I mean, I've been dreaming about that moment since I first laid eyes on him freshman year. I've found that most things in life don't live up to how I've built them up in my head, but that kiss far surpassed any fantasy. I can feel my body reacting at just the thought of his lips touching mine again.
But is he right? Was it wrong of us to do that? Light is creeping around the sides of my shades by the time I manage to fall asleep, and I still haven't managed to find an answer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nate and I pass the next few weeks as though we're each surrounded by an invisible force field. Whenever one of us enters a room, the other is propelled out of it. We're only pushed into close proximity with each other when we have a family dinner, though my mom has been pushing those on us quite frequently in an effort to bond.
If she only knew.
Today, though, Nate's and my presence is required at the same event: the Thornhill's annual Fourth of July party. It's in our very own backyard, starting in the afternoon with a crab boil and extending through the evening fireworks. Apparently we'll get a good view of the country club's annual fireworks display just down the river.
My mom has absolutely insisted on buying me a new dress for the occasion, and even came into the fitting room with me to make sure it fit correctly. The shift dress is not exactly my style, but I've seen it on plenty of girls at school. I'm just worried about spilling tartar sauce on the bright white fabric. I pull on my new pair of gold wedges, and walk downstairs to see if my mom needs any help.
I'm taken aback by the flurry of activity downstairs. As I walk outside, I realize I've underestimated the scale of this party. When I heard “crab boil,” I was picturing a few picnic tables with red and white tablecloths, but this is clearly a classy affair. There are elegant round tables set, with flowing linens and extravagant centerpieces on top of them. The food is presented in silver trays, and garlands festoon the perimeter. I spot my mom talking in hushed, urgent tones to one of the caterers, and head over.
“Oh, Brynn, you look beautiful! That dress fits you so well,” she gushes.
“Thanks…do you need any help?”
“Mmm, no. I think we're OK. The guests should begin arriving in about ten minutes. Oh, go taste the Freedom Martini over at the bar and tell me what you think. I'm worried it's a little too sweet.”
“The Freedom Martini?”
“The signature cocktail we created for this event,” the caterer next to her chimes in with a chipper grin.
“Ah, of course,” I reply, heading for the bar. The bartender serves me a pale pink drink and I take a sip. Not too sweet—it's delicious, light and refreshing. Luckily the day isn't too hot, anyway. The temperature has managed to stay below ninety degrees for the party.
I decide to go down to the river since I'd just feel in the way while they’re setting up. I walk down to the lower lawn and down the steps. As I reach the shore, I navigate the rocky sand cautiously in my heels. A splash on the other side of the large boulder grabs my attention. I walk toward it and peer around. Nate's standing there, skipping rocks with a smooth sidearm motion. I pause, admiring his form, then decide it's best to just go back up to the lawn before he notices me. He's made it clear he doesn't want to talk to me.
I turn back and as I walk my heel catches on a rock. I gasp as I slip sideways, and feel two strong hands catching me under my arms to hold me up.
“Whoa, careful,” he says as he straightens me up.
“Thanks,” I reply as I turn to him and tuck my hair back behind my ears. “You escaping from the commotion, too?”
“Yeah. I don't really enjoy these things.”
“Really? You're so…” I trail off.
“What?” he asks with a grin.
I groan. “Fine. I was going to say 'charming,' OK?”
“I knew it,” he replies jokingly. “Well, whatever charm you might be noticing has been developed over many years of practice. My dad has been dragging me to these kinds of events for years. I know the routine. Smile, shake hands, tell the kinds of jokes that don't make anyone think too hard.”
“Sounds…horrible. But at least there's a lot of free food.” He gives me a bemused glance. “Right. Sometimes I forget I don't have to worry about that stuff anymore.”
“You were, um, not well-off before our parents—” he drops his gaze.
“I'd say we were struggling. But it was just the way I grew up. I never wanted for anything big, though we certainly frequented the Goodwill racks often enough. But I don't want you to think…I mean, my mom, she really cares for Pierce.”
“Relax—I don't think your mom's a gold digger. There have always been some of those around, and I can practically smell them at this point. I mean, maybe at first I was worried, but I'm not now.”
“Was your mom—” I begin, feeling brave.
“I don't like to talk about her,” he cuts me off, and chucks another rock out onto the water. It hits the surface with a plopping sound and sinks.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “How's your shoulder?”
“Hurts,” he replies shortly.
“I'll see you up there,” I say after a moment, since he's clearly done with the conversation.
“Hey,” he calls after me as I climb the steps. “Jackson and his parents are here. They're family friends. They're on the guest list every year.”
“Got it, thanks,” I reply, before mounting the rest of the steps. That was considerate of him, and it sounds like he was telling me that he didn't invite Jackson himself.
As I walk across the lawn, I can see that the first guests are beginning to arrive. I wonder if now that I'm Pierce's stepdaughter, I'm going be expected to put on the same song-and-dance routine as Nate. Usually if I have to go to a party, like my aunt's Christmas party, I'll hang out for a while, and then disappear somewhere to read a book.
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