I must have blacked out between that moment and now, because suddenly I’m sitting behind the driver’s seat of my truck, my left foot on the clutch and the right one on the brake as I start her up.
She’s loud as hell, and I might wake up the whole neighborhood, but I don’t care. I fly across town, getting the fuck away from the Miller Circus, and speed into a parking spot outside the shop. The light is on at Liberty’s place.
I’ve only worked with her a couple days, but she seems like a pretty cool chick. She’s the only friend I have in this stupid ass town, and right now I need to get as far away from everything as possible.
“Hey,” she says as she pulls the door open. She lives in a little apartment above her father’s shop. “What are you doing here? Need into the shop?”
There’s music coming from behind her, which I assume is her guitar-wielding boyfriend, Kian. I met him at work yesterday when he came in to drop dinner off for her.
She examines my face and chews on her lip. “Shit go down at Uncle Mark’s?”
I shrug.
“Oh, God. What’d he do?” Liberty pulls the door wide and welcomes me in. I lock eyes with Kian, who’s cradling a cherry red Fender guitar and gives me a tightlipped smile.
Kian’s wearing a white tank top that shows off his sleeves. Every inch of his arms is covered in multicolored tats.
My people.
“Mark didn’t do anything,” I say, taking a seat on a stained, velour sofa. I’m not sure what color it’s supposed to be, but it ain’t pretty. Judging by the general appearance of her apartment, it’s been ridden hard and put away wet one too many times. Empty beer cans line the kitchen sink, and there’s a perpetual beer-burp scent in the air. These are the people my father warned me about, and they’re the nicest, most laidback people I’ve ever met in my life.
“Oh.” Liberty scratches the side of her head and slides in next to Kian, resting her head on his shoulder as he picks the strings of his guitar like he’s in his own little world. “Waverly?”
I shrug, as if to neither confirm nor deny. She sees right through it.
“Not Waverly.” Liberty laughs. “She’s so sweet and innocent.”
Kian puts his guitar down and pulls a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. He lights up and passes it to Liberty, who takes a long drag and gives it back. Watching them together is like watching the inner workings of a clock: intricate, intentional, and in sync.
“What’d she do?” she asks, exhaling a lungful of smoke.
“Not in the mood to talk about it.” I recline in my seat and rest my hands behind my head. Her walls are covered in posters of various rock and metal bands. How she and the Miller girls could possibly be from the same genetic pool is beyond me.
“Anybody want a beer?” Kian sits his guitar aside and rises up.
“I’ll take one,” Liberty says. I found out earlier that day that she was twenty-one. She appears a lot younger, minus the tattoos. “Jensen, you want one?”
“Got anything stronger?” I ask.
Kian laughs. “You’ve got a lot of balls, man. I like you. You sure you’re still in high school?”
“Told you,” Liberty says. “He acts older than the two of us combined.”
I feel old as fuck sometimes. It tends to happen like that when you spend the majority of your youth raising yourself, questioning authority, and growing up long before everyone else.
Kian comes back with two Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboys and a fifth of off-brand vodka that’s half gone. “Take this. You can have it. Hide it. You didn’t get it from me.”
I accept his offering. “Thanks, man.”
Kian winks. “I know what it’s like.”
He leaves it at that, and I’m not in a mood to pry. It’s none of my business, and Kian seems like the kind of guy who doesn’t appreciate another man prying into his personal affairs, much like myself.
Kian’s phone dings.
“Who the hell’s texting you this late at night?” Liberty’s entire demeanor shifts. Her blue eyes burn dark and she sits up. Kian yanks the phone away from her like he’s hiding something.
“Okay, well, I should probably head out before anyone notices I’m gone…” I rise, shoving the half-empty fifth of vodka into my interior coat pocket and heading toward the door. They continue bickering like cats and dogs, and I’m not even sure they saw me leave.
Liberty will probably apologize tomorrow at work. Then again, she might not. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who’s sorry for a whole lot. I like that about her. She’s a take-me-or-leave-me kind of girl.
She’s earned my respect, that’s for damn sure.
***
I park in front of the main house, fully expecting Mark to be standing in the living room window again, hands on his hips, ready to give me a talking-to, but the house is dark.
Either no one noticed I left or no one fucking cares. The latter wouldn’t surprise me.
I carefully pad up the sidewalk and ready my key.
“Jensen.”
My heart drops. I don’t startle easily, but when you’re trying to sneak in to your own house and someone whispers your name from the bushes, it has a tendency to do that to a person.
Bushes rustle to my right, and I squint only to find what looks like Bellamy crouched down in between two trimmed hedges.
“What the hell are you doing down there?” I hop off the steps and reach for her hand, pulling her up. She’s dressed like a five-dollar hooker. Well, not quite. She actually looks hot as fuck. Two-dollar whore is what Josiah Mackey would call any woman who wore anything that showed any bit of skin. Juliette was the exception. She couldn’t hide her curves behind even her most conservative Sunday best, and Josiah liked that.
“I’m locked out.” She stands, smoothing the creases of her tight, dark dress. A small fur something-or-other hugs her shoulders. Other than that she’s got a whole lot of skin showing for a cool spring night like this.
“How were you planning to get back in?”
“I saw your truck was gone. I figured you’d be back soon.”
“And if I didn’t come back?” She’s shivering, though she tries to fight it. I grab her arm and lead her to the door, slipping my key in slowly and quietly praying the lock doesn’t clack enough to wake up the Big Man. I’m shocked he doesn’t have a security system installed.
“Guess I’d have frozen to death.” She laughs as if it’s funny—like she doesn’t care. Her eyes dart down to my jacket. “Your liquor’s showing.”
I feel like I’m talking to a complete stranger, and while I’ve only known Bellamy a few days, I’m starting to realize she is absolutely nothing like she seems. I know she commutes to a job in Salt Lake City. I know she walks a straight line when Mark’s around and keeps her mouth shut. That’s it. She’s pretty quiet most days, and it looks like she has damn good reason to be.
She pushes past me the second we get inside, removes her heels, and tiptoes up the steps. Her strategic maneuvers indicate she’s done this before. She seems to avoid the creakiest boards. I take note and follow suit.
Bellamy turns the corner at the top of the stairs and disappears into blackness. The gentle, slow click of her door tells me she made it safe and sound with the rest of her family none the wiser.
I crack a smile. The ones you least suspect should always be the ones you suspect the most…
Padding down the hall, I stop short outside Waverly’s door. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t care. I should hate her guts. I take deep breath and a few more steps until I find the handle to my door. The second I step inside I shove my vodka in my top dresser drawer, rip my jacket and sweater off and slip out of my pants, tripping over random shit in the dark until I find my bed.
A small amount of moonlight peeks in through the break in the curtains on the far wall, illuminating the outline of a person lying in the middle of my bed. I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and then I realize…
Fucking Waverly i
s sleeping in my bed.
CHAPTER 12
“When I said ‘whatever helps you sleep,’ this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
My eyes open the second I hear his voice. How long had I been out? I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, thankful for the shade of night. It was not my intention to fall asleep in his bed. Thank God Dad’s at Kath’s tonight.
He’s standing before me in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxers. His shoulders are pulled back tight, and his hands are resting on his hips. I can’t quite make out his face, but I know the hard line of his lips means he’s not happy to see me.
I pull myself into a seated position, brushing my hair out of my face and mustering the strength to apologize.
I owe Jensen an apology.
I realized it the second he fled my room. My words were harsh, flung upon him without much thought and in the midst of a heated moment. I spoke out of fear, the same deep-seeded fear the guided my every life choice. Hearing about what he did scared the devil out of me and made me hate myself for what I did, and I took it out on him.
“I wanted to apologize,” I whisper. “What you did—”
“Try again.”
“What I heard—”
“Nope.”
“I shouldn’t have judged you.”
“There we go.” He still hasn’t moved. He stands there studying me, looking at me with equal parts contempt and pity, as if he feels sorry for me. “Much better.”
“But you knew what you were doing when you convinced me to—”
“God. Waverly. Give it a fucking rest. You masturbated. You can say it.”
My cheeks flame deep red. If anyone wakes up and hears our conversation, I’ll die. “Keep it down.”
He leans closer to me. “You act like I fucking took your virginity. Had I known you were this uptight, I’d have left you the fuck alone. You’re a goddamned piece of work, you know that?”
“I know.”
“Excuse me?” He rakes his hand across his jaw, cocking his head.
“I’m not perfect. But neither are you. And ever since you set foot in our home, I’ve been nothing but confused.”
My words bring silence upon us for a moment.
“Confused? About what?” His voice cuts through the tension that separates us.
“I-I can’t say it.” Not because I don’t want to. I don’t know how to put it into words. He makes me feel the kinds of things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. My entire life, I’ve kept my emotions in check. I’ve placed my opinions and beliefs in a tiny box in the corner of my mind and locked the lid. Jensen emptied out the contents of that box with a few dirty words and a half-smile.
“You can say it.”
I swallow the enormous lump in my throat. If I were a teenage boy, perhaps I’d use the word “horny,” but that’s not ever been a word in my spoken vocabulary.
How on earth do I tell my stepbrother that he turns me on?
“You’re afraid to say it.” His eyes glint in the dark.
I don’t argue with him because he’s right. I love the way I feel when I’m turned on. I love the furnace between my thighs and the tingles of anticipation.
The secrecy.
The control.
I love being in control of my own body. The guilt, the naughty feelings, the naughty intentions—they all swirl together to make a cocktail of mischievous delight. I’ve never felt anything like it in all my life, and I’ve never felt more alive than when my mind is flooded with penetrating thoughts that command my body with an intensity so severe I can’t think straight.
Debauchery is exhilarating.
I doubt Jensen would call it debauchery. He would say it’s normal. He’d say it’s human nature. Maybe it is where he’s from, but not here. Not under Mark Miller’s roof. It’s pure, unadulterated evil unless you’re wearing a wedding band and lying next to a man who’s been eternally sealed to you in a temple ceremony.
Never mind that we’re family.
“Let me ask you something.” Jensen rubs his temples. He’s growing frustrated with me. “Are you happy?”
“I’m not sure what that has to do with any of this.”
“Stop being so goddamn obstinate and answer me.”
My breath subsides, catching in my throat. It’s not like his question isn’t a million kinds of complicated. My left shoulder lifts. I rake my chin against it while I stare out the break in the curtains toward the streetlamp below. “All I want is to go to college. That would make me happy.”
“So go.”
I shake my head. “I’ve always been a good girl, Jensen. I do what my parents tell me to do. I get good grades. I’ve got a good moral compass.” I pick at a loose thread poking out from his bedspread. “I think my father suspects something.”
Jensen wrinkles his nose. “I doubt that.”
“I talked to him after dinner.” My shoulders fall. “He still doesn’t trust me to go away to school. Says I still need to prove myself.”
“You can do whatever the fuck you want. You’re an adult.”
“It’s not like that. Not in this family.”
“Have you not learned anything from me yet? You’re your own person. Touch yourself. Think dirty thoughts. Go away to college. The world is your oyster. Your father doesn’t want you to know that. He’s afraid of losing control over you, so he makes sure you’re terrified to think for yourself.” Jensen runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. I’ve never seen him so worked up. “I should know. Believe me when I tell you I speak from experience, and believe me when I tell you I’m only trying to help.”
I’m standing in the Garden of Eden and Jensen Mackey is the serpent. I’ve tasted the flesh of forbidden fruit, I’ve been gifted the knowledge, and now I want more.
“Jensen?” The way his name tastes in my mouth, naughty and delicious, gives me goose bumps, but maybe it’s because I know what I’m about to ask. My heart beats wildly. I’m doing this.
“Yeah?”
“Will you kiss me right now?” I know what kissing leads to. I know it might be hard to stop once we start. But I’m okay with it. It’s my choice. I want this. It’s just something I have to do.
He freezes. I freeze. I can’t believe I just asked him to kiss me. But I want his mouth on mine more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Imagining the heat of his body mixing with mine, the weight of his penetrating gaze the moment before he claims me, the way his hardness would press against my core…
It’s all too much.
I’m heating up, waiting for his answer, my body braced stiff.
“Go to bed, Waverly.”
My jaw drops. He steps closer, reaching for me in the dark. Pulling my arm, he guides me into a standing position and nods toward the door. I could slap him. His untimely rejection doesn’t sting, it burns.
“You’re an asshole.” It’s the first time I’ve ever sworn out loud, and my words are well-warranted.
“I’m protecting you.”
“From what?!”
“From yourself.”
I’m insulted. I’m not sure what to even say. “You have a lot of nerve, Jensen.”
“As do you.” He smirks in the dark. “You’re all over the fucking place. You’re hot, you’re cold, you’re mean, you’re nice. You’re throwing yourself at me now, but what’s going to happen tomorrow? When you wake up in the morning and feel guilty? Forgive me if I’m opting to get off the fucking Waverly Miller rollercoaster.”
I’m not delusional enough to believe his observations are incorrect. He’s dead on, so far.
“So look,” he breathes. “I’m doing you a favor. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you.” He reaches for my face, cupping my cheek and running his thumb across my bottom lip. My breathing suspends until his hand falls. “I could kiss this mouth all fucking night. But I don’t think I could stop there. Matter of fact, I know I couldn’t. And I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret your decisi
on.”
“I won’t regret it.”
“That’s what you’re saying now.”
“I get it. I get that I’m kind of all over the place,” I sigh, placing my palm across my chest. “It ends now.”
The corner of his full mouth curls up. “Don’t beg, Waverly. It’s not a good look for you.”
I tug at the collar of my shirt, my ears burning hot as I blink away misty eyes.
Rejection was never one of the worst-case scenarios I’d dreamed up when thinking of Jensen late at night. My eyes burn and then water. Thick, salty tears fall down my cheeks, and I pray he can’t see them through the darkness.
I push past him, our shoulders brushing. He could’ve kissed me all night long, and I wouldn’t have regretted a single thing in the morning. I know that to be true.
I can’t win with him.
“Go to hell, Jensen.”
CHAPTER 13
I can’t sleep.
I know I did the right thing.
But I can’t sleep.
The glaring red numbers on my alarm tell me if I go to sleep now, I’ll get a measly four hours, but my body is nothing but live wire. I’m not going to sleep anytime soon.
I pad across the room and grab my vodka bottle from my dresser drawer, uncapping it and swallowing two mouthfuls before carefully sliding it under a mess of boxers. I make a mental note to find a better spot for that in the morning. Who knows who’ll be on laundry duty tomorrow, and Mark Miller would flip his shit if he knew his vagabond-spiritual-stepson was sneaking contraband around his freakish family.
The liquor is cheap and burns like fire going down, but it doesn’t take long before my body is warm and numb. The room spins, but I welcome it. I’m on a fucking merry-go-round anyway, so what’s the difference?
Waverly shouldn’t have thrown herself at me. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She deserves rainbows and hearts and flowers and shit like that. She deserves a boyfriend with a letterman’s jacket and a Camaro, not me. I’d fuck her over without even trying. I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling any of those saccharine, disgusting, lovesick emotions, anyway. It’s just not how I’m built.
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