by Violet Blaze
“Stepbrother,” I corrected while Addi rolled her eyes to the frigid autumn sky.
“They've been living together since they were five,” she told Dorian, wrinkling her nose a bit at the nervous beads of sweat popping up on the man's pale forehead. He had bright red hair, like his brother, and thin pink lips. But, unlike his younger sibling, he had nicely muscled arms, a wide sexy chest and an obvious six pack.
“Since Abi was five; I was eight,” Flor corrected and then turned away, satisfied that he'd screwed up the meeting well enough that Dorian wouldn't even consider asking me out on a date. I narrowed my eyes as I watched him hop back into the truck and then turned back to Dorian, reaching out to loop my arm through his.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, guiding him towards the steps to our apartment. “I ran to the grocery store this morning and stocked the fridge full of stuff. If you want it, I probably have it.”
Dorian cast yet another glance towards Flor and then smiled down at me, letting me guide him into my new house and my new life.
Whether Flor liked it or not.
“I can't believe he asked you to the Saturday Market,” Flor said with an exasperated look up towards the ceiling.
I was standing in his shop, flipping through his portfolio, my fingers sliding across the plastic of the pages as I gazed at photo after photo of brightly colored ink. No matter how big an asshole he was, Flor was at least a true artist. He blended ink and skin like an oil painter mixes his colors on a canvas, only he did it twice as fast and with little room for error. I paused on a particularly striking chest piece, the colors inhabiting that delicate space between the breasts and collarbone. I traced the vines to the center, to a vibrant purple rose, and wondered what it would feel like to have Flor touch me there, to press the stencil into my skin and slide his fingers across it, smooth it into place. My lashes fluttered against my cheek as I forced myself to turn the page. Luckily for me, he shattered the illusion by proceeding with his general assholery.
“You've lived here your whole life, been there a million times. What kind of date did he think that would turn out to be?” I stared at Flor, surprised that his client was still smiling at him while he blatantly ignored her and focused instead on belittling the news of my first date with Dorian. At least he was still easy on the eyes, his dark hair like liquid, soft but sharp, strands sliding across his forehead as he leaned over and focused on his client's upper arm with eyes like emeralds. The piercings on either side of his lip were black, like the ones in his left brow, and he had on about a million colored rubber bracelets, like the kind you get from fundraisers. They striped the tattoos on his left arm like a rainbow, drawing my attention to the lavender eyes of the wolf girl below his elbow. “What'd you even do? Pick out organic kombucha together? Sample some free-range goat cheese? Not like that was going to get him laid or anything.”
I pursed my lips and crossed my arms over my chest. He was fishing for information – as usual. Fat chance that he'd get any out of me. I knew better than to share sordid details with Flor, not that there were any from my latest date, but there was this one time I admitted to kissing Tyler Caprico by the gym building. The next day Tyler'd had a black eye and very little interest in talking to me. I'd railed at Flor, hit him in the chest, called him a stalker and a freak and an asshole. I'd later found out that Tyler was a 'cherry picker'. If you don't know what that means, you probably don't want to know. It has a little something to do with girls and their virginity and Tyler's infatuation with taking it.
I sighed as I watched Flor tattoo his client's flawlessly smooth skin with a bright orange and pink flower, so detailed it looked like it was popping off her shoulder, unfolding in a sea of perfect petals and tropical fragrance. The eye that dotted its center, blood leaking from the pupil and dripping down the stem, looked like it could, at any moment, up and blink at me. When I'd first walked in, she'd glared at me, but as usual, Flor was quick to label me as his stepsister and her possessive glower had immediately faded away. If she only knew.
“It was a nice date, Flor,” I told him, thinking of Dorian and his sweet smile and gentle hand. If I was honest with myself, it was the only date I'd been on in over a year that hadn't flopped completely. Or that Flor hadn't ruined. “He's a nice guy and I think you should get to know him.” Flor lifted his gloved hand, machine clutched between his fingers, and stared at me. His eyes ripped holes in my soul. Or at least it felt that way.
“You just used the word nice.” He paused and his lips twitched with another infuriating grin, one of those ones that's so loaded with self-satisfaction that it deserves to be ripped right off the face. “Twice.” I watched as Flor dipped his needle into one of the little ink cups on the table. He was now satisfied that Dorian wasn't going to be ripping off my panties in any scorching evening of passion. I felt my tongue rub subconsciously against my lower lip, my fingers curl in my hair. In one of my psych classes, we'd been taught that some signs are universal, that most – if not all – cultures participate in them without even knowing it. Lip licking and hair touching? Definitely both fell into that category. They were flirty moves.
I forced my hands down by my sides. How come whenever the word passion came into my mind, Flor's face followed after it?
“There's nothing wrong with nice guys,” the girl in Flor's chair said, turning to smile at me. She had pale pink skin, fluffy blonde hair and lipstick the color of bubblegum. Her long lashes and overdone makeup made me think drag queen, like she could work the club with Theo, but there was no doubt she was a woman. I found her campy look charming and tried to smile, even though she'd given me a glare when I'd first walked in. If I'd ever thought to write off female relationships because of looks like that, the only person I would've been able to hang out with was Addison.
“If nice is what you're looking for, you came to the wrong shop,” Flor growled and although I was pretty damn sure he was talking to his client, he was looking at me. I stared at him, my heartbeat thumping rapidly against my chest, my breath caught in the back of my throat. For a moment there, I could almost imagine that I'd just walked in the door and met him, that he hadn't stolen my Barbies and burned their hair off when I was six. I'd have moved confidently across the black and white tiled floor, past the purple couches and the wall of framed artwork, and I'd have smiled at him. He'd have smiled back, and maybe, just maybe that little cinder I'd tended to for so long wouldn't have gone cold. Maybe it would've burned us both to ash? But what a beautiful death it would've been.
I looked away, bit my lower lip and turned towards the door.
“You come all this way just to tell me about your shitty date?” Flor asked, sensing that I was about to make a run for it. He was good at that, sensing weakness and all. He loved calling me out on it. I paused and listened to the buzz of the needle, let my body soak in the smell of ink and Aquaphor and disinfectant. “I haven't been by your place since you moved in.”
I glanced over my shoulder, happy that at least today my hair was behaving. The brunette curls slid over my back and I think I caught a random wink from Flor's client. I let my lips curl into a smile.
“That was only a week ago, Flor,” I said, watching as he squinted at the printout taped to the mirror next to his station. He didn't bother to look up at me.
“Invite me over for a beer, Abigail,” he commanded, and I sighed. Even if I said no, he'd come over anyway. Flor was kind of a dick like that.
“Friday at eight,” I told him and then left the shop in a hurry.
I opened the door to my fridge and paused, listening to the sounds of downtown Eugene leak in through the cracked windows. I have my own place. God. It had felt like this day would never come. I shoved the six-pack of beer onto the glass shelf and shut the door, turning around and leaning against the stainless steel surface as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Somehow I could sense that I was standing at a crossroads and that in front of me, a hundred doors sat waiting for me to pick a path
– if only I wasn't blind enough to not notice what was standing in my way.
“Are you being contemplative again?” Addi asked me, stumbling into the kitchen with a different heel on each foot. She paused and held her arms out to either side, looking sexy and confident in a white cotton T-shirt dress with a graphic print splashed across the front. “Don't answer that. I know you were, so don't lie to me. Now, stop being so goddamn intellectual and be shallow with me for five seconds. Gray suede bootie or classic black pump?”
“I, uh,” I began, but Addison held out her hands, palms forward. Her nails were splashed with color, flickering like little orange fireflies as she gestured at me.
“No, no, no. You're right. You're so right. Just because I'm going to dinner with Patrick's parents doesn't mean I have to dress like a frump.” Addi kicked off her black pump while I chuckled and watched her limp back to her bedroom. “It's not like I haven't met them before, you know?” She reappeared a moment later and paused, her phone in her hand and a frown on her face. It took me a second to realize that she meant tonight. She was going out tonight.
“Wait,” I said, fear gripping my throat like a noose, choking the air out of me. Last thing I wanted was to end up here by myself with Flor. Needless to say, we didn't spend a lot of alone time together. I mean, moving day had been the exception, not the rule. I blinked to clear my irrational fear of my stepbrother and took a breath. “You didn't tell me you were going out tonight.” The words tumbled out as an accusation and I watched as Addi raised an eyebrow at me.
“It was last minute. Patrick's actually thinking of moving here, Abi. If he does, that could change my life. You know how I feel about long distance relationships, even one as strong as ours. I thought I might lose him when I moved here.” She smiled at me, and I smiled back. I knew why she'd moved here: for me. It's not often that you find friends who'll choose you over their boyfriends or girlfriends. As far as I knew, it was virtually unheard of. But Addison and I had grown up together, quite literally. My dad used to take me to 'Mommy and Me' playdates hosted by Addi's mom. The other moms thought he was a weirdo, but Addison's mom saw him for what he really was: a man whose wife had given birth and bailed. He was just trying to take care of me the way he thought she should've, be both a father and a mother. I think that was another reason Addison had moved all this way for me; I had this aura about me that drew out the maternal instincts in people, like I was this motherless vacuum that needed to be filled with nurturing and caring. I hated to admit it, but that was probably true in a lot of ways. I mean, it wasn't that I couldn't take care of myself, but rather that I was almost too good at it. Fun was usually only in my vocabulary when it was forced on me.
“Thank you, Addi,” I said, because I knew I needed to, because I wanted to, because I secretly thought she'd be a hell of a lot happier soaking up the sun in La Jolla. She'd originally wanted me to join her, to be a UC San Diego Triton, but I couldn't pry myself away from my hometown – or rather, from someone who lived in my hometown.
Addi got tears in her eyes – not unusual because really, she cried a whole hell of a lot – and then reached out her arms for a hug. I moved over to her and let her wrap me up, hoping she wouldn't really cry and mess up her makeup. It was fabulous, by the way, a gold and brown blend of perfection that curved up towards her brow and gave her a sharp, sexy look that I envied.
“His parents want to scope out the city. They're typical Californians, you know. Oregon is so raffish and uncultured, it's practically all wilderness up there! If I take them out tonight, show them a good time, maybe they'll change their minds? I mean, they flew up here last minute because of me.” Or rather, because of me, I thought, but decided not to say anything aloud.
“There's plenty of kale salad and green juice to go around. I don't think you'll have a problem.” I pulled away from my best friend and tried not to fidget. Normally, I wouldn't care if she went out. She didn't have to tell me every little thing she did, but … then again, she didn't know Flor was coming over. For some reason, I suddenly didn't want to tell her.
“Abigail Ingram Sharp,” she said, putting on her best maternal voice. Admittedly, it was kind of scary. I was already nervous for those future three kids she talked about having. “What's wrong? Come on, spill it.” I turned back towards the kitchen, grabbed a rag from a drawer and took the bottle of Windex in my other hand. Sometimes when I was nervous, I cleaned. It had worked for me before. If I scrubbed the crap out of some tile countertops, things would work out okay. Right?
“Nothing's wrong,” I lied, spraying the already clean surface in front of me and wiping it rhythmically with the rag. A knock at the door startled me enough that I dropped the Windex on the floor. The top came flying off and blue liquid went everywhere. One quick glance at the clock told me it was only six – way too early for Florian to be here. Both Addison and I paused as keys sounded in the lock and a few seconds later, my stepbrother was waltzing in dressed in a tight red T-shirt, dark jeans and boots. His hair was in that sexy stage between wet and dry, tousled up and left to fend for itself. I swallowed hard against the image.
“Where'd you get a key?” I demanded, standing in a puddle of Windex while Addison looked from me to Flor and back again. She'd already figured it out, I knew. Damn it. We'd had plenty of talks about my stepbrother, most of them consisting of her yelling at me for being so goddamn obsessive. Let it go or try it out, Abigail. You only have two choices. Stop agonizing over the decision and just make one. “Because I know I didn't give you one.” I glanced back at Addi, her lips parted slightly, her eyes taking in the scene with interest.
“Don't look at me.”
“I stole it off your key ring, you dope,” Flor said, tossing the mass of metal in his hand on the counter. He paused for a moment to glance down at the Windex and then looked up at me with a shake of his head. “What'd you do now? What the hell is this shit?” I pursed my lips and threw the rag in the sink, grabbing a roll of paper towels and bending down to clean up the mess. Flor followed after me and reached out to take the roll from me, brushing his fingers against mine. My breath caught and even through the sharp smell of Windex, I could practically taste his scent, that same citrusy shampoo he'd been using for years. A warm flush crept up from below and colored my cheeks with heat.
I drew back my hand and pretended not to notice.
“Why are you so dressed up, Addi?” he asked without bothering to look over his shoulder. Addison was staring at me strangely and I just knew she was about thirty seconds away from calling off her date with Patrick and his parents.
I stood up suddenly and gave her a look.
“What time are you supposed to meet them?” I asked as she continued to stare at me. Her caramel-brown eyes narrowed and her lips, slathered in bright red, twisted to the side in a suspicious gesture. I forced myself to smile because Flor was looking up at me, his dark hair falling over his brow, his eyes bright and intelligent and way, way, way too intuitive. “Patrick and his parents, I mean,” I added before he could ask.
Flor finished wiping up the Windex and stood, turning to glance at Addi.
“You bailing on us or something?” he asked and although his voice was light, I felt something there, beneath his words, trapping us both. Shit. I closed my eyes and did what I always did: I thought of our parents. Well, my dad and his mom. I thought of them, how in love they were, how long they'd been together and I made myself realize – for probably the millionth time – that there was no way in hell this taboo little crush I was nursing was going to pan out.
“I've got a date,” Addi said, shaking her head with a sigh. Flor narrowed his eyes on her and then reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He flipped it around in his fingers for a minute before pausing and glancing over at me. We exchanged a neutral look, one so shielded that it made me want to scream. Why couldn't we just be honest with each other? I was attracted to him; he was attracted to me. So what? Didn't have to be the end of the world. “I'll be back as soon
as I can,” she said, kissing me on the cheek and giving Flor a look that I couldn't read.
“I'll walk you out,” he said, nodding with his chin at the door. I watched them descend the steps out of sight and then moved to the window, leaning on the seat and trying my best to listen to their conversation. I know, I know, eavesdropping isn't the most honest move to make, but I knew whatever they were going to say about me, I would never hear a word of it.
I was listening so hard and leaning so close to the open window that I didn't notice Flor standing beside me until he spoke.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked me and I jumped, clutching the sides of the window seat as I turned and found him with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. I reached up and brushed some hair back behind my ear, clearing my throat and shaking my head. The worst part about the whole situation was that I was pretty much eye level with his crotch. I was having a hard time meeting his eyes, too, so I ended up somewhere in between with my gaze focused on the tight muscles of his belly, just barely visible beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. Shit.
“What are … I thought you went down to smoke?” I asked, standing up and sliding past him, padding barefoot to the kitchen and yanking out a couple bottles of beer. I'd had Patrick buy them for me yesterday when he took Addi to the store for more groceries.
“Forgot to grab a lighter,” he said, and then, appearing as if by magic behind me, “Abi?” Too close. Way too close. I held my breath, afraid that if I sucked in a lungful of air, I'd touch him when my chest expanded. His own breath was tickling the fine hairs on the back of my neck and making my hands quiver with carefully repressed desire. There was no way Flor was oblivious to the way his presence, his nearness, affected me, but he sure acted like he was. “Gross,” he continued, shattering the mood that he'd just as quickly created, “you have weird tastes.” He flicked his fingers randomly at the glass bottles on the counter.