“Yes, well, everyone seems to know about me these days. I’ve pretty much screwed myself over for life, or at least at the moment.” The thought of my own weighted reality takes over, and the last place I want to be is anywhere. Suddenly, I’m far too dejected to be anybody’s cheerleader. For sure, I don’t qualify as a life coach. “That whole little sister thing is just a joke,” I say weakly. “I could never be anybody’s role model.” Tears come and blur my vision. “For sure, I’m no mentor. Trust me, whatever I do, you’ll want to do the opposite.”
Those serious eyes of hers narrow over me with concern, and now it’s me standing to make a break for it.
“Wait!” She pulls me back into my seat, and I see her for the first time like a person, not some sibling extension of Owen. Ava is cute with her cherry-stained lips and overdrawn eyes. Her dark hair lies thick and long over her shoulders in simple waves. She offers a spontaneous, yet pained smile, exposing a double row of tiny pearly white teeth. Ava is the quintessential little sister, and something in my heart melts for her as if she were my own relation. “I know how you feel. Well, a little. I mean, it must be pretty shitty for the entire world to know what you’ve done. And you gotta figure crap like that will stink up your future for some time to come.”
“Yes.” I give a furtive nod because she totally gets me in a way that not even my friends were able to articulate moments before.
“The good news is, you didn’t kill anyone. So prison is off the short list of places you’ll be.” She gives a sly wink, and a dry laugh rumbles through me. “With me, I’ve always been known as the killer’s sister. I’ve never been Ava. And now, here I am at the same university my big brother is at, and suddenly I’m Owen’s little sister.” She shakes her head while losing her gaze out the darkened window. “I guess I thought I would finally get a chance to be Ava for once.”
“Oh, sweetie!” I pull her into a warm hug, and she doesn’t fight it. Ava pats my back as if she were hugging me right back to let me know she’s here for me. I stand and cinch my backpack over my shoulder. “Maybe somehow you and I can muddle through this next semester? You can learn to be you, and I can learn to dodge the press and stay out of old men’s laps.” I lean in. “Not a thing they said was true.” My mouth opens to say something else, and nothing comes out. “Okay, a few of the things they said were true, but that’s neither here nor there.” We share a quick laugh as I head for the exit. “If you see me around, don’t be a stranger!”
“I won’t!” she shouts back like she means it.
A part of me feels guilty for pigeonholing her as Owen’s little sister—as Aubree Vincent’s little sister. I’m just now discovering how it feels to live under a huge ominous shadow—that of my own.
Who knew I would turn out to be my biggest curse?
The house isdark except for the television winking in a morbid rainbow in the living room. Not surprisingly, Jet Madden’s television is as large as both his dick and his ego. I suppose that’s a compliment and an insult rolled all into one, but he sort of deserved both.
I’m in no mood to rouse the beast, so I let myself in through the back and tiptoe to my bedroom. I’ve been schlepping in a few boxes at a time, and it’s starting to feel more like a storage facility for Nordstrom than it does a place to call home.
I close the door to my room, only to be met with a bright orange bag with the WB logo printed on the front sitting in the middle of the bed. I recognize that bag. It’s from the bookstore. I have hundreds of these plastic totes, but I know for a fact I didn’t put it there. I peer inside, and my stomach drops. The notebooks, the beautiful silk scarves, the cheery pink shoes, the game day polish, the sweats—it’s all there. I suck in a sharp breath and retrace my steps until I land in the living room.
“What’s that bag doing sitting on my bed?” It comes out so sharp and accusatory that for a moment I hate the sound of my own voice.
Jet keeps his gaze straight ahead at the television, shirt off, muscles rippling, those tattoos of his seem to be animated in this murky light, and my stomach implodes with heat.
“Hello to you, too.” He tips his head back, offering me a tight, yet brief smile. “They were putting it away. Turns out it’s against the bookstore policy to hold anything, so I thought I’d pick it up—save you a trip.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Um, thanks. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. And I plan on paying you half of the rent until I can find my own place.” God, it’s like I’m suddenly the queen of lies. I don’t even have a paying job at the moment. Something tells me they wouldn’t hire me as kitchen staff in the cafeteria if I groveled. I hate the idea of going back to Stilettos, but as for now, that’s my only option.
“No worries. I’m not looking for money. You’re welcome to stay until you get it figured out. Do your thing. Go back to dancing.”
Go back to dancing?
A self-righteous anger boils in me at his sudden burst of sarcastic kindness. Jet and I have been a lot of things to each other, but kind to one another isn’t one of them. This is the same Jet Madden who was down at Stilettos just as much as I was.
“You know, arrogant superiority isn’t a good look on you.” A knot builds in my stomach as soon as I get the words out. I’m pretty sure biting the hand that feeds me—or in this case houses me—isn’t the best idea.
The muscles in his jaw redefine themselves, and I find this vexingly sexy. I’m not sure I’ve ever been infuriated by a boy who looks this wickedly delicious—who I darn well knowtastesdevilishly delicious, but at the moment my inner rage is winning out, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming.
He swings his head over in my direction. Those pecs of his spring to life like a couple of pit bulls—rather fiercely sexy looking pit bulls, but that’s beside the point.
“You know what’s not a good look on you?” He rises and heads in my direction with a slow, deliberate swagger. Those jeans of his hug him in all the right places. To be honest, I’m a bit shocked he’s able to stuff his junk into any pair of Levi’s now that I’ve been up close and personal with the weaponry he’s hauling around.
“What’s that?” I take a bold step into him. My chest grazes over his without meaning to, and an electrical jolt so powerful nearly knocks me off my feet. His lids hood over as he leans farther in, those full lips inverting for a moment as if readying for a bite.
“The hurt and suffering you’re trying to hide,” he says it slow, just this side of a whisper, and my heart stops beating at the sound of his cutting words.
“I’m fine,” I insist, a little too loud. “And, by the way, it’s called holding it together. I’m not hiding anything.”
“It’s called lying to yourself,” he counters without missing a beat. “You’re going through a lot, Daisy.” There’s a soberness, an earnestness I’ve yet to see in Jet, especially when it comes to dealing with me.
“I’m over it. I’m going throughnothing. I’ve never been a person to let my circumstances control me.” Almost a lie. “This will all go away, and, until then, I’ll find a way to survive. It’s what I’m best at.” I lean up on my tiptoes and scowl at this roaring beast before me. “Why don’t you head to the nearest bar and do what you’re best at—luring coeds to your bed!” I stomp off and slam the door to my room like a sonic boom.
My heart jumps clear into my skull, and my adrenaline pumps so hard I can launch to the moon with my next step out this door.
I’ve never felt so incensed, so ready to crawl out of my skin. Everything in me told me to leap onto his body and wrap my hands over his neck, but then the visual quickly changed to something far less productive, at least where murder is involved. My lips begged to latch on to his, and my hungry skin ached to feel his warmth just one more time. Deep down, I wanted to beg him to say those three little words once again,don’t fight it.
