Because of Him

by Jessica Roe

  I like it. I'm not saying I've never felt this horny while kissing another guy before, but this is the first time my mind has just...melted.

  He pulls the door closed behind him and then he's over me on his hands and knees. It's not enough though, and I grip his t-shirt in my fists and pull him down until there's no space between us. His lips fuse back onto mine and our tongues entwine. Our kisses become wild, heated, like neither of us can get enough. I hook one of my ankles over the back of his knee and slip my hand into his cargo shorts to grab his ass. His fingers creep under my t-shirt and up my stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He cups my breast and I gasp into his mouth as his thumb brushes my nipple over my bra. I arch my back and hope that he'll get the hint and move underneath the material.

  When he presses into me I can feel exactly how hard he is, even through the material of my cut off shorts, and I push up into him, causing us both to groan. We move together, harder and faster, uncontrollable, undone, and I can't help but rip my lips away from his and throw my head back to gasp in some air. He takes the opportunity to place hot, wet kisses along my throat. When he bites my shoulder, my body heats up and tenses and I-

  There's a loud thud and the car rocks suddenly, scaring the hell out of us. We jerk apart and he bashes his head against the roof as he sits up quickly. Leaning up on my elbows, I spot a bunch of loud teenagers laughing their asses off and pointing back at us as they make their way towards the diner.

  I laugh as I think about what our faces must have looked like when they rocked us. I'm not embarrassed—though I'm kind of pissed that we were interrupted right when we were getting to the good part—but White Jeep Guy clearly is. A blush spreads over his cheeks, darkening his freckles, and it's so freaking adorable I want to scream. I bet he's never been caught in a position like this in his whole life.

  “I can't believe how carried away we got,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

  “But it was so much fun.” I grin and lay my head back down, an unspoken invitation. Those little bastards might have ruined the moment but the bucket of water hasn't been thrown yet and I'm still hot and bothered.

  Shaking his head but smiling, he moves back over me. He holds himself up with one hand and cups my cheek with the other. His gentleness surprises me; I'm not used to it. I'm not the kind of girl guys are gentle with. “I don't think I've ever met anyone like you,” he murmurs softly.

  “You mean someone this ridiculously awesome?” I trace my index finger through the curls behind one of his ears, just like I've been dying to do ever since I first really looked at him in the diner.

  “I mean someone who annoys the hell out of me yet makes me forget about every other person in the whole world, all at the same time.”

  I smile into his lips as he kisses me again, just a soft peck. I don't think I've ever been given a nicer compliment, even if half of it was an insult. But before we can fall deeper into each other we're interrupted again, this time by the ringing of my cellphone. I bend my knee and fish it out of the top of my boot.

  He looks at me oddly and I roll my eyes. “Do I look like the kind of girl who carries a purse?”

  He seems to concede my point.

  I don't even need to check to see who it is, there's only one person who'd be calling me right now.

  My father.

  A heavy weight drops onto my shoulders and my fire is extinguished, my lust filled haze cleared. “I have to go,” I say, ignoring the call and putting the phone back.

  White Jeep Guy doesn't fight me, he knows our time is up just as much as I do. Nodding, he moves aside so I can climb out. Without a word or even a glance behind me, I walk away.

  “Wait!” he calls after me, and I stop and turn to see him scrambling out of the Jeep. “Are you really gonna leave without even telling me your name?”

  “Don't ruin the moment.” I swing into my car, well aware that he's watching my ass intently the entire time. Neon Trees blasts the moment I turn on my engine and I slip out the CD. Neon Trees is my happy music and with my father's call reminding me exactly where I'm going, I feel anything but happy. I slide in some hard rock and turn it up so loud my ears hurt. This is exactly what I need to drown the thoughts out of my head.

  White Jeep Guy remains standing, watching me until I drive out of sight.

  WHEN I PULL up outside my father's house I switch off Nancy's engine and just sit, my hands braced upon the wheel as I mentally prepare myself.

  I don't want to be here. I really, really don't want to be here. In fact, I'd rather be anywhere in the world right now than here. And I don't mean in this tiny New York town, though it really is tiny and for a girl only used to living in big cities, I got a feeling this place is going to be a huge culture shock for me. Fortune, Washington County, New York, home to a population of 2312. Or 2313 now, I guess.

  But yeah, it's not the teeny tiny little town that's filling me with dread, not really. It's this house, it's the people inside it. The fact that I'm about to move in with my father, a man I've never met, a man I've only ever spoken to on the phone twice. And both of those phone calls only occurred in the last month while we were discussing my new living arrangements.

  I squeeze the wheel so tight my knuckles ache. I could leave. Just start the car and drive away, take charge of my own life. I could waitress some place. I'd have to hide my age until I turn eighteen so I wouldn't be able to finish high school, which would mean not graduating and not going to college and probably being a waitress forever and...okay, that plan sucks.

  Glancing over at the house, I see the curtains twitch and I know, though it's making me feel all kinds of nauseous, that it's time to put on my big girl panties and go meet the new fam. Yeah, it's not just a father I'm getting, it's a shiny new family too.

  I drag myself out of Nancy and pop her trunk to grab the duffel bag filled with everything I own. Mom and I moved from city to city so often that I never really had time to accumulate much and I'm used to travelling light. The bag is a ratty and taped together in several places, but I love it like a kid loves a stuffed animal. I guess it's a comfort thing. Over the years I attached random crap to it—buttons, scraps of material, badges, just things I found in each city I lived. It's a mess, but it's special to me.

  My father's house is nice. The guy is pretty rich so I wasn't expecting anything less. It sits in one of those cute little family cul-de-sacs where kids are safe to play in their front lawns and people have barbecue Saturdays and each house has its own individual charm. My new home is red brick with blue shutters and a perfectly manicured lawn. Flowers line the edge in some kind of OCD colour code and I'm pretty sure I just spotted a garden gnome. An effing garden gnome!

  But when I head up the steps of the wraparound porch I see a pile of muddy rain boots lying in a heap and oddly, it reassures me. The mess, I mean, not the boots. Mess means that they're human, mess means they're not perfect.

  The door opens before I even get a chance to knock and I look up and I see him, I see him for the first time. The man I daydreamed about for years as a child, the man I was so sure was going to come and rescue me from my hateful mother, the man I always thought couldn't know I existed because if he did, if he did then surely he wouldn't have just left me with her, surely he wouldn't have abandoned me. My dreams were shattered when I was eight years old and my mother, high as usual, told me in a sickeningly gleeful voice that my father knew exactly who I was...he just didn't care. He didn't want me. He already had a family. A perfect family. A family way too good for girls like me.

  I know this man is my father right away. I always thought I looked just like my mother but I can see myself in him too. But this guy is tall. Like, seriously tall. Giantsville tall. I definitely didn't inherit that gene. And he's broad, too. I bet he was a football player in high school. The kind of guy everyone loved, that everyone looked up to. But his eyes, green brown, like moss, they're all mine. Or maybe my eyes are all his.

  Yep, this is dear old
dad all right.

  He looks as happy to see me standing on his doorstep as I am to be here. It's not like I expected him to welcome me with tear filled eyes and welcome arms—the guy didn't give a flying monkey's ass crack about me for the first seventeen years of my life, after all—but God, a fake smile wouldn't have hurt.

  We just kind of stand, staring at each other for a stupid long time. A minute, a minute and a half. A minute and a half doesn't sound like much, not in any way, but it's funny how long it feels when you're living those incredibly awkward ninety seconds.

  Unable to take it any more, I clear my throat loudly and he blinks. In an instant his face hardens. His eyes do the usual scan—hair, boots, clothes—and like most respectable people, he clearly doesn't like what he sees.

  “Before I allow you to enter my home, I want you to know that this is a family residence and there will be no drugs here,” he tells me firmly. “If I get even a hint that you're using whilst living under my roof, you'll be straight out of this door so fast you won't even know what's hit you.”

  Well, hello to you too, you grumpy old bastard.

  Oliver—I've been fooling myself by thinking he could ever really be my father—has clearly judged me already, without even knowing me. His verdict has been cast and I've been found guilty. He's under the impression that just because I look like my mother, I take after her too. That I'm just a crack addicted, hopeless layabout who sells herself and is of no worth. I could correct him, but I won't. Maybe that's stubborn, but he can think what the hell he wants about me. What do I care of his opinions? He and I are never going to develop some stupid daddy/daughter bond. I'll stay here until I leave for college, he'll have done his duty, and then we'll never have to see each other again.

  Despite my inner turmoil, all I can come up with to say is, “Fine.”

  “I suppose you'd better come on in and meet my family.” I don't miss the way he keeps repeating the word 'my'. My home, my roof, and most importantly, my family. He's marking his territory, making sure I know that I'm not a part of his life. Well, screw him and his apple pie family.

  He steps inside and I follow after him. It's just as cute and homely as the outside. You can just tell, just by glancing at the place, that this is a family home. That it's safe and warm and filled with love and bickering and laughter and mess and sweetness. The walls are lined with family pictures and portraits and I want to stop and inspect them but Oliver keeps on walking.

  We walk into a large living room where an assembled group wait. My family. His family.

  “Everyone,” Oliver says. “This is my...this is your...this is Blair. Blair, this is my wife, Felicia.” He nods his head to a woman in her forties. She's beautiful, but beautiful in a mom kind of way, which I think might make her more beautiful than my mom ever was. Long dark hair, soft skin, warm eyes—though her expression as she looks at me is pinched, like I'm a bad smell that she just can't ignore.

  She hates me already.

  But honestly, I kind of don't blame her. After all, I only exist because her husband had an affair with my mom. Seeing me is probably a really crappy reminder of a bad past. But at the same time...screw her for taking it out on me. I won't apologize for being who I am.

  Felicia jerks a nod at me. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you.” She may not like me, but this is her home, and I'll do my best to be polite, even if it makes me want to barf.

  “These two are our youngest, Lance and Ila,” Oliver introduces two grinning kids, my little brother and sister, standing in front of their mother. “Lance is eight and Ila eleven.” Lance is a floppy haired little thing, dark like his mom and dad. Ila wears glasses and has the rosiest cheeks I've ever seen. They're both smiling at me, a mixture of shyness and cheekiness in two cute, dimpled packages. I can see little bits of me in each of them—the dark hair, Lance's nose, the shape of Ila's chin. It's super weird.

  “You're my big sister,” Ila announces. “Does that mean I get to hug you?”

  Normally I'd have a bitchy comeback, but having little siblings might be kind of cool, and maybe...maybe I might like it. I'm about to say sure, why the heck not, but Felicia beats me to the punch.

  “Stay back,” she warns them like I'm some kind of diseased wild dog.

  Two words. Just two little words out of her mouth is all it takes to sour the joy of having siblings and make me feel an inch tall. Lance and Ila lose their smiles and look away from me.

  “And this is Jemma,” Oliver carries on as if nothing has just happened. He gestures to the sullen girl standing with her arms folded and her high heeled foot tap tapping away on the floor. Jemma looks a lot like me, but also completely opposite. Her dark hair is highlighted and her skin tanned, giving her an all over sun kissed glow, and she's just...preppy. A real suburban princess. I'd bet my left ass cheek that she's a cheerleader. It's weird to look at her, to see the kind of girl I could be if I was so inclined. Which I'm not. God, am I not. “She's just a few months younger than you so you;ll be seniors together when you start school next week.” There's an uncomfortable silence and it takes me a moment to process his words. If Jemma is only a few months younger than I am, then she must have been conceived right before Felicia found out about Oliver's affair, right before my pregnant mother showed up at this very house all those years ago and tore apart their marriage.

  Oliver clears his throat uncomfortably. “I expect you to behave impeccably at your new school. This is an important year for Jemma.”

  I sort of want to punch him in the face. Because this year means nothing for me, right? Instead I give a half hearted wave to Jemma, who has yet to look my way. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” she says, and there is a surprising amount of venom in that tiny word. “I hope you enjoy my room.” Ah, and there's the reason. I want to retort with something sarcastic, but I feel bad for her so I bite my tongue. Literally. I'm sure if I'd had the same room all my life I'd be pissed if I had to give it up to my half sister too.

  “And finally my two eldest. This is Zac, twenty. He'll be heading back to college next week so he won't be around much longer. And Nash, twenty four. The apartment he bought recently is being renovated so he's living here with us for the next few weeks.”

  Oliver looks so proud as he introduces his kids. He obviously loves them a lot, and I try not to let it make me feel bitter.

  Zac salutes me with an easy going smile. It's a relief to see after all the miserable faces pointing my way. Nash, however, is full on glaring. Like...laser beam glaring. It's freaking me out a little and I have to fight a major urge to giggle nervously. I don't quite succeed and I end up making a weird little piggy snorting noise, which makes Oliver and Felicia frown at me. Zac pushes the back of his fist against his mouth, hiding silent laughter.

  “Want me to show you to your room?” he asks, and I nod gratefully. I'm exhausted after my long road trip.

  Oliver looks relieved to be passing the responsibility of me onto someone else.

  Zac leads me out of the living room and up a staircase. “You'll have to excuse Nash,” he says over his shoulder, opening the first door at the top of the stairs. “I don't really remember much about what happened when your mom and our dad had their affair, I was just a kid, but Nash was old enough to remember everything. He saw all the fighting and crying and how dad moved out for three months. I know it's unfair, and don't hate me for saying it, but I think a part of him blames you for all that. I guess he thinks you being here will cause problems again, and that's why he's being an ass. I mean, if mom hadn't been preggo with Jem at the time, they might never have worked things out.” He shudders at the thought, like he can't imagine a world where his family aren't a perfect unit.

  I roll my eyes. “Nash doesn't seem like the only one who thinks that way.”

  “Not me,” he announces cheerfully. “I believe in getting to know a person before judging them. Just give our family time, they'll come around.”

  “And if they don't?”

  He
shrugs. “We'll kick 'em! Kick 'em in the shins!”

  He's kind of weird.

  We walk inside a room literally covered in pink. Pink walls, pink curtains, pink bedspread, pink everything. And I mean really pink. Like hot, in your face, pink. This is definitely Jemma's old room.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Jem's Jem...she likes pink,” he says, like that should explain everything. I'm beginning to like my big brother and his easy going attitude.

  “I don't think I'm a pink room kind of girl.”

  “I know, I can tell.” He winks. “That's why we're going to get along so well.”

  Gingerly, I sit down on the edge of the pink bed. Much more comfortable here than I am, Zac throws himself down next to me. “So, Blair, sister mine. Tell me all about yourself.”

  OBVIOUSLY I HAVEN'T spent time with any of my other brothers and sisters, but I can already tell Zac is going to be the one who is most like me. We have the same dry sense of humour, the same taste in music and books and we both hate horror shows and think romance movies are lame. When he saw Nancy he almost peed his pants and declared that being a sister meant sharing, which apparently means he gets to drive my baby whenever he wants.

  He even looks a little like me, though not as much as Jemma does. We share the same thick, dark hair and our face shapes are kind of similar and, of course, we both have Oliver's eyes.

  I think if we went out in public together, people would be able to tell just by looking at us that we're brother and sister, and I actually kind of like that. It makes me feel less alone in the world.

  I wish he wasn't leaving back for college next week; I'll be losing my only ally.

  After a couple of hours he leaves me to settle in, but not without teasing me about my ratty old duffel bag. Most people would get a thump in the junk for that, but I let Zac get away with it just this once...because he's my brother.