Get a grip, Ave.
I shut and lock the door, and then change into yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. I never sleep in a tank and my underwear the way I did when I first got here. It makes me feel too vulnerable.
When I’m ready, I pull back the blanket, and what I see makes me freeze. Lying in the bed is a long-stemmed lavender rose.
The whole world feels as if it’s closing in on me, stealing the breath from lungs, suffocating me.
Casanova has been in my room.
2
SHANE
Seeing Avery last night ruined my good time.
I thought about bringing someone home to distract myself but didn’t. My place has too many secrets for it to be a good place for casual hook-ups to sleep over. I also wasn’t convinced it would take my mind off my trespassing little stepsister.
So, I did a shot of Jameson’s and slept hard on some fancy Egyptian cotton sheets that feel like butter’s been churned into them. I’m addicted to all kinds of luxury items from the year I spent crashing at Declan’s because of her.
How would Avery look lying naked against these sheets? All I have to do is ask myself the question, and an old image is conjured. My cock gets hard as the memory of her naked body hits me. The girl, minus the glasses, minus the attitude and minus the clothes, sound asleep on the basement couch. Squarely in my domain. At sixteen, she was all creamy skin, smooth legs, and perfect tits with rosy pink nipples.
And just like that my cock’s a steel pipe.
I press my lips together, scowling. I want her gone from my head. I exorcised her from it for almost two years before my dad sent her here.
I try to replace her in my mind with other coeds. Unsuccessful. I move on to actresses, models, and even random porn stars. Nothing works.
Fuck her for coming to the Beta party. I close my fist around my cock and stroke impatiently.
Remembering the sight of her naked makes me groan. Her glossy dark hair spilling over her shoulder, the part of her soft lips, even the smudged eye makeup that looked like soot. Flesh-and-blood forbidden fruit.
Letting the memories come does the same for my cock. I get myself off in record time.
Fuck. I need her gone from Granthorpe.
On the nightstand, my phone rings. I glance over to see the profile picture. Dear old Dad. I don’t answer or even pick up the phone. To hell with him. He’s the one who sent the little phantom here to haunt me.
Instead, I head to the shower. I’m fifty-fifty on whether I’ll listen to his voicemail after or delete it unopened. We’d mended our relationship about halfway when he pulled this shit about sending Avery here. I told him she should goanywhere else, but he ignored me. So now, I’m back to ignoring him when he reaches out.
When I get out of the shower, the doorbell rings. I’ve got no shipments scheduled for today, and it’s not even nine am, so I don’t know who that could be. It won’t be Dec or Sorensen. We didn’t leave the party until four, and those guys have practice today. When they crash, they crash hard. No way either of them is awake yet.
My Spidey sense isn’t tingling, but it could be dampened by my being a little hungover. Taking my time, I towel off and get dressed. Whoever’s out there will either wait or give up and leave. Either is fine with me. As a precaution, I grab the pistol from the nightstand. I don’t expect trouble on my doorstep at Granthorpe, but being prepared isn’t just a motto for the Boy Scouts.
When I get downstairs, I conceal the gun by resting my right hand against my back. No need to wave it around and scare some random Jehovah’s Witness.
I use my left hand to open the door, and—Are you fucking kidding me?
Avery Kershaw, baby beauty queen turned coed, is hiding her big blue eyes behind black-framed glasses. She’s hiding her body under worn jeans and a sweater. What I wish is that she was hiding her entire person back on campus where she belongs.
“Hey, Shane.”
What the fuck did Dec say to her last night to make her think she should come here? Avery and I have barely spoken in the past two years. I broke her of the habit of trying within three weeks of what her bitch mother calls “the unfortunate misunderstanding.”
Avery’s five-five, female, and unarmed, but I still consider her dangerous. Not in the way that made men are dangerous. Or the way guys with big mouths are dangerous. No, she’s more insidious, like meningitis sliding in to infect a brain.
“Can I come in to talk to you?”
“No.”
