“N-no. You can show him. I-I’ll just stay right here.” I tried to smile and avoided looking at his face.
Not having it, Lana released Paxton and marched straight for me until she’d clamped my hand in hers and dragged me in her wake.
Paxton shoved a fist into his pocket.
I wanted to call my sister out, but decided I’d do it later, when I wasn’t being judged by Paxton.
Once Lana had me at the doorway to his room, she turned to Paxton and, walking backwards, pulled him through the open doorway. “What do you think?”
He stood in the middle of the bedroom, his back to me.
A wall of windows let in the bright late afternoon rays. On the opposite wall rested the headboard of a king-sized bed. At the farthest wall, a door led to a private bathroom.
Next to the walk-in closet sat an L-shaped desk, complete with a Tiffany lamp, a laptop, pens, and post-it notes.
“This…” He swallowed. “This is all mine?” His voice was deeper than I’d expected, sending a little thrill of excitement up my spine.
“Look, you even got your own bathroom for when you need to go poop,” Lana said, a gleeful smile turning her angelic face into something closer to a demon.
“Lana,” I said from the doorway. “Don’t be crass.”
Paxton whirled around to face me, a smirk on his lips. His eyes skimmed my hair once more, then ran over my body, lingering on my feet.
“I’ve never had a brother before.” Lana clapped, drawing our attention.
“He’s not our brother, Lana.” My tone was sharper than I’d meant it to be. Something about Paxton slid under my skin. Maybe it was the way he looked at me, like he’d bust out laughing or would enjoy hurling insults my way.
He raised a dark eyebrow in my direction, then unslung the scuffed, fraying green backpack and bulky guitar case from his shoulder and dropped them on the bed, digging inside the bag until he pulled out a book, placing it on the nightstand. Moving to the large cherrywood dresser, he unpacked clothes and slid them into a drawer.
I glanced at the book, a blue hardback without a dust jacket. Gold lettering along the spine spelledPeter Pan. With a chuckle, I padded across the carpet to trace the letters. For some reason, knowing Paxton Ross owned a children’s book tickled me.
It looks like it belongs in an old, dusty library.
The texture, hard and rough, bumped against my fingernail.
“Hey.” Paxton lunged into my vision and clamped his fingers around my wrist, pulling my hand away from the letters. “Don’t touch my stuff, Cotton Candy.”
My heart pounded in my chest. He smelled like peppermint and cedarwood.
Wait, why did he just call me Cotton Candy?
I looked down at my pink dress and pink sandals, then remembered the idiotic pink bow in my hair. Anger erupted in my blood, burning away my earlier embarrassment. I had to admit the colors were a close match for the fluffy treat.
Still. My family had been nice enough to take him in, and he dared to make fun of me?
“Afraid I’ll hurt your precious kiddie book?” Clenching my free fist, I raised it in front of me, as if I could defend myself.
From the corner of my eye, Lana watched us with her mouth hanging open.
Paxton, still holding my wrist, moved his attention to the book, safe anduntouchedas it sat on the nightstand. “That is a priceless first edition my mom gave to me before she died. So yeah—Iamafraid you’ll damage it.”
His warm fingers loosened on my skin, and it seemed like he’d let go, yet he hesitated. Our eyes met once more. Something dark flashed deep in their depths.
Pain? Anger? It was hard to tell since I didn’t know him, but his words broke through my momentary daze. His mom had died years ago, and he’d just lost his dad. A little pang of sadness stabbed my chest, and I lowered my fist.
Whatever had passed between us—his sadness, my empathy—disappeared when he sneered, dropped my hand, and wiped his palm on his jeans.
“Come on, Lana. Let’s leave him to his fairies.” I pivoted on my heels and snatched her by the upper arm.
