I catch it effortlessly, a smug smile on my lips as her face colors with anger. I take a bite from the apple, moaning with delight as the juice explodes in my mouth.
“Listen, you do you, yeah? I don’t care.” I shrug, dragging out my phone to see a text from Liza.
Perfect timing.
“Well, for someone who doesn’t care, you seem pissed to hear about Jaden and me.” Sierra throws her hair over her shoulder, leaning forward to suck on the straw suggestively.
To my annoyance, I find myself staring at her, but especially the dress that’s now showing half of her ass to me. Her lips wrap around the straw, and an ache throbs in my dick, making me roll my eyes at her.
“Just get yourself checked out,” I say, pulling my gaze back to my phone. “You know Jaden.”
“You too,” Sierra snaps, pushing past me. The feel of her body against mine does its usual trick of making me inhale sharply, her coconut-scented shampoo filling my nostrils as it does every fucking time. “Seeing as you’re fucking his ex.”
She stomps off, her shapely legs teasing me as she takes the stairs two at a time, her curls bouncing against her waist as she does.
Fucking Jaden.
He better not have touched Sierra.
I pause, staring at the stairs before shaking my head, leaving the house I feel is more of a home than mine.
The drive home is short and does nothing to alleviate my annoyance from my run-in with Sierra.
It has always been this way between us, her snapping at me, both of us getting pissed when the other is with someone else.
It isn’t simple jealousy, though; I know if it pisses Kai off, that means it pisses me off too.
It also fucks me off that Sierra seems to always end up with the notorious bad boys, and I worry sick that something will happen to her.
I mean, they’re hardly mafia members, but some of them I wouldn’t trust holding my hot dog at a barbecue.
Parking on the street, I lean my head back on the headrest, gazing at our house.
It looks just like all the other houses around here: two up, two down, a small garden, and a porch. Dad’s on the porch, his head thrown back as he snores.
I hesitate, knowing that if Dad’s been on a bender, Mom won’t be in.
If she is, she won’t be in a good state.
Guilt gnaws at me when I imagine what she’s gone through, what sheallowsherself to go through.
It’s not my responsibility.
My dad is an alcoholic, and Mom likes to pretend we’re one big happy family.
Which we aren’t.
Dad lost his job due to an industrial accident at work, meaning he has back problems that prevent him from working.
And boy, do we know about it.
I slam the car door, hoping to jolt him from his stupor, my keys digging into my palm.
His hairy belly hangs over his jeans, his dirty, once-white tank top covered in stains from fuck knows what. Drool hangs from his mouth, an empty bottle of beer still clutched in his fingers.
It’s barely noon.
The sun beats down on my back, sweat dripping from my neck. I scratch at it, pissed that this is my fucking life.
