It was Mara’s idea, of course. The boy-crazy friend who’s been nothing but a terrible influence since day one. I’ve never liked her. Eliza doesn’t drink, but I can smell the alcohol on her.
“Seatbelt,” I tell her, my voice low. She quickly buckles up, but the belt only accentuates the perkiness of her tits. “You’ve got no idea how lucky you are that I was there.”
There’s one place I want to take her now, but I turn and take the road that will bring us to her house. I rarely go back there anymore—not since my mom married her dad.
I still remember the day she and I first met. It was at a family picnic that our parents had planned, and Eliza showed up wearing sandals, jean shorts, and a white top. The sun wasshining, and she practically glowed like she’d flown down from heaven that morning.
I was polite and introduced myself but barely spoke after that. In fact, I made up an excuse that I wasn’t feeling well and drove myself home. I remember her looking at me as I walked to my truck—it was like a chain tugging at me from across the park. When she came home later, I showed her how to use the deadbolt on her bedroom door and insisted she lock it at night.
“It’s safe where we live, but you still never know…”That’s the lie I told her. And she accepted it, looking back at me with big, innocent eyes, like I’d only ever have the best in mind for her. It was right then that I knew I’d have to move out, and fast.
It’s a miracle I was even at the club tonight to save her. Some of the boys from work wanted to grab some beers, and although I was exhausted from pouring concrete all day, I agreed to join them. But before I could even head inside with them, I spotted Eliza crossing the street. And she was wearing heels.Heels.
I couldn’t believe it. Heels, makeup, hair done, a piece of fabric small enough that I could use it as a napkin. Part of me wondered…Am I hallucinating? Does she have a twin I don’t know about? Because that can’t possibly be her…
But I followed her and realized it was. I almost stepped in right then and there—took her away from that awful friend of hers, dragged her back to my truck, and drove her home. Maybe I should have. Then she wouldn’t have had to go through that awful ordeal with that slimy son of a bitch.
When I saw him put his hands on her, I thought I was going to transform into a monster. My blood pressure spiked, my adrenaline hit me like a freight train, and it took every ounce of restraint I had not to stomp him into a line of bloody pulp.
And now Eliza’s right here. In my truck. In that dress. The fabric barely counts. It clings to her like it’s afraid to let go. Like it knows what I’m thinking.
I should have found somebody else by now. Anyone else. A body that didn’t come with rules and a history of family dinners. Instead, I’ve been living alone for a year, dreaming about my step-sister, now raging over the fact that a bunch of unworthy spectators got a glimpse of her perfection when she should have been at home with me.
I actually tried once.It didn’t work. I went to a bar after work with some of the boys and met this nice bartender named Jamie. She had wild, rainbow-colored hair and started flirting with me before I could even order my beer.
“I like guys who work with their hands,” she told me with a wink. “I bet you know what to do with them.”
She made it so obvious that the rest of the guys were elbowing me in the side, telling me to take her home. So I did. I waited around until the end of her shift and then drove her back to my apartment. But when we got back and started taking each other’s clothes off, I just could not perform. My body refused her.
I was shocked, but she was furious. Extremely insulted. Thought it was my body’s way of telling her she was ugly. I kept trying to explain to her that wasn’t the case and that it wasn’t her fault, but she wasn’t hearing any of it. She called me a pathetic loser, spat on my floor, and then left, slamming my door on her way out.
I actually felt terrible about it, but was able to get it up later by going back to the one forbidden fantasy that always gets me there—I thought about Eliza.
Now my eyes move on their own to her spectacular physique, tracing its lines down to her feminine hips that send despicable urges through me that no step-brother should have for his littlesister. Primal, male urges sure, but are they appropriate to have for her? Absolutely not.
“You don’t go out like that, understand?” I growl, keeping my eyes on the road. “You don’t drink with idiots.”
Just the thought of her going out with Mara again, wearing another variation on tonight’s outfit has my blood boiling. All those men’s eyes on her beautiful body…And she has no business drinking either. All that leads to is bad decisions and sketchy situations.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Her response is jarring. I glare at her. “I just saved your ass and you’re gonna give me attitude—?”
“You left,” she snaps. It’s not loud. Not hysterical. It’s worse. It’s sharp and precise, and I see actual pain in her eyes—pain that reflects straight back into my chest. The truck’s engine hums beneath us, steady and controlled—the exact opposite of my heartbeat.
She’s right, though. I did leave. Maybe I did give up my brotherly rights to protect her, but that doesn’t change how I feel.
I grip the wheel harder. I don’t get jealous. I don’t lose control. I don’t burn for things I can’t have. Except for her…
I want to tell her why I really bailed on her. She has a right to know. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s nineteen. If she gets mad, she gets mad. So be it. I can’t control her emotions. But would it really do any good at this point? We can’t be together. We both know that.
“I had to,” I finally say.
“That’s not an answer, Caleb.”
I glance at her eyes, taking in more of her pain. “You think I just woke up one day and decided I didn’t want to be around you?” I ask, my voice low. She doesn’t answer. Because she doesn’t know. She never knew.
I pull up to a stop sign, and the red glow of the brake lights washes over her skin, highlighting that dress that still clings to her skin like it was made to torture me.
