At the mention of my shitty mood, I had a flashback of the scene I’d walked in on and my stomach revolted. I had no right to get so jealous but my brain and body didn’t see that point, apparently. I wasn’t going to tell him that Mase had told me he knew exactly what had been going on. If Eli hadn’t brought it up, I didn’t want to either.
“I think so,” I answered honestly, poking him in the forehead like he’d done to me. “I hope so.”
He made a humming noise in his throat. Neither one of us said anything for a long minute as we faced each other in my bunk, just barely fitting. We just stared until he broke the silence in a low voice. “You aren’t planning on going home, right?”
“No.” I scrunched up my nose despite the fact he more than likely couldn’t see me doing it. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re not happy.”
And there went a point for me feeling like an extra douche. I bopped his nose with my fingertip. “I’m fine, E. Swear. I’m not going anywhere.”
I could see the outline of him resting his head on his hand. “I haven’t told anybody anything about your boobs, you know.”
I hadn’t thought once he had. That had been my second condition when I joined the tour, especially after he’d opened his trap the last time I’d been with Ghost Orchid. “Don’t say stuff like that out loud. I’m already sure half these guys think we’re having some kind of incest thing going on; don’t make it worse.”
He let out a big laugh that had to have woken anyone still sleeping. “Fuck me, they do, don’t they? Mateo asked me a couple days ago if we really were related or if this was just some messed up lie we’d been telling everyone forever.”
“Like I’d put up with your crap if you weren’t my brother,” I snickered. “Ugly.”
“Bitch, you were blessed to be born alongside me.”
That had me groaning loud. “Oh God. Shut up.”
Eli just laughed that laugh that had been my favorite since we were kids. It wasn’t obnoxious or mean, it just… was. “We’re about to stop. Want me to braid your hair after?”
Like I was going to tell him no.
Then it hit me. How bad had I been that he was actually offering to do it? One more point against me.
“Thanks, loser.”
Right before he rolled out of the bunk with one final poke at my forehead, he said, “Your mom is a loser.”
Some things never got old: like my brother’s crap, and the fact that the sun would rise and shine regardless of what was going on in my life. Or not going on, in this case.
I was done being a mopey bitch. I mentally washed my hands of being this party pooper who had her feelings hurt because some hot guy had a maybe-sort-of-girlfriend. I didn’t have a chance. I’d never thought I had one. I was being a possessive sore loser.
It didn’t matter. I’d get over it, like I had everything else in the past.
I swear it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders once my inner serial killer went on vacation for the next three weeks. I waited until it sounded as if everyone had gotten off the bus for me to get out of my bunk, grab clothes and pay the restrooms a visit. I felt rejuvenated and more like myself than I had in what seemed like too long. Even my head stopped hurting, for the most part.
It must have been pretty apparent I was back to normal because Gordo slapped me on the back when I got on the bus after my shower. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
“I am.” I pinched him in the stomach as proof before continuing on.
I made my way to the bunk area so I could throw my bag on the floor. In the middle of doing so, someone nudged at my lower back. With a glance over my shoulder, I noticed the pale gray eyes first.
“Hey,” Sacha said, dropping his hand to his side.
“Hey,” I told him, straightening up and shutting the curtain on my bunk. I didn’t know what to say or even how to act now that I’d come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t just attracted to him physically, that he didn’t feel that way toward me, and that I finally wasn’t going to let the worst of my emotions dictate my actions.
Yeah. I could handle this. A lesbian could find herself having a crush on Sacha. There was nothing wrong with being attracted to him. Plus, it wasn’t like I was looking for a boyfriend either.
I smiled at him, tight, so tight it felt strained as I tried to ease the tension out of my shoulders and the fluttering, nervous muscles of my abdomen.
His hair was wet and there was pink to his cheeks as he looked me over. A backpack hung from one of his hands. “Are you mad at me?” he asked in a lowered voice out of the blue.
I felt a stab of guilt at how I’d blatantly avoided him, because that was exactly what I’d done. Then I thought about him and the redhead on the couch and that gross feeling in my stomach flooded my insides once more. Yeah, the guilt didn’t last as long as it should have, but I needed to be an adult and deal with this head-on. It wasn’t his fault I had a crush on him, and he’d never been anything but kind to me. In a way, it was like being prejudiced against him for simply being a great person. He couldn’t help being likable even if I didn’t know how to handle it.
