“No,” he says again. This time, his voice is growly and angrier.
“What is your problem?”
“Do not ask him because then I’ll have to beat the shit out of him and it’ll cause a problem between Mom and his mom.” Sara and Elana, Brant’s mom, have been best friends ever since we moved in after my dad died nine years ago. We wanted a fresh start, so Sara bought this house, and within minutes of us moving in, Elana Sharpe was at our front door. She brought cookies for Wild and me, and a bottle of tequila, and, as I later learned, weed brownies for Sara, having heard through the grapevine that a newly widowed young woman was moving in next door.
Despite Sara and Mrs. Sharpe being best friends, Brant and Wild are not. Well, they were when they were kids, but they grew apart sometime in middle school, and now they barely talk. Brant and I get along fine, though, and Sara thinks he has a crush on me.
“You’re so weird about him now. He’s nice to me. What happened between you two, anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter. But you can’t practice kissing with him. Mom says he likes you. If you do this, you’ll give him the wrong idea.”
I blink at him. “I’ll tell him it’s just for practice.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Saint,” he presses. “He’s going to think it’s more. If you must do this, it has to be with a guy who in no way can fall for you.”
“That’s why I asked you!” I stamp my foot. Although I’m pretty sureIcould fall forhimeasily, he doesn’t need to know that.
He stands up and grabs my plate, taking it to the sink and setting it inside. “You’re basically my sister.”
“Basically is not biological,” I respond matter-of-factly.
He cocks his head to the side before letting out what sounds like a sigh of defeat. “Can I think about it?”
“Okay.”
“Why the sudden need to kiss boys anyway? Someone in particular you have your eye on?” He crosses his arms over his chest.Yes, you.The thought crosses my mind, yet I do my best not to react to it.
“No, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you! You’d just threaten him. I want to be prepared. I’m going to be fifteen in a few weeks, and I feel like a freak that I haven’t kissed anyone.”
“You’re not a freak, Saint. You’re perfect,” he says, and I feel a flutter in my chest over his comment. It isn’t the first time he’s said something along those lines, and those familiar tingles are back shooting through me.
Later that day, Wild and I settled into the living room to watch a movie. I’m actually glad Sara isn’t home because she told us recently that we should stop cuddling so much, and all I want to do is feel his arms around me while we watch a movie. It’s where I feel the safest. He’s sitting in one of our recliners, probably assuming I want the couch, but I stand in front of him, signaling what I want. He hesitates slightly before looking at his phone, probably to check the time and see how long we have before Sara gets home. Then he moves slightly to give me some space. Even with him moving, I’m still going to be sitting kind of on his lap, but this isn’t anything new. I’ve done that hundreds of times.
Things are starting to change, though, and sitting on his lap doesn’t feel quite as innocent as it did when we were younger.
I rest my head on his chest, and he wraps an arm around me before turning on a movie we’ve seen a hundred times. I don’t think I make it through the opening credits before I fall asleep.When my eyes open again, his hand is still around me, and he’s gently snoring above me. The movie is still on, and it looks like I’ve only been out for about an hour. I move slightly to look at him. He looks so peaceful and happy, and when I move again, he makes a noise and whispers my name.
But he doesn’t say Saint. He calls me Halle, which he rarely does, and I frown, wondering briefly if there’s another Halle I don’t know about. I shake my head at the ridiculous thought before I take a moment to study him. He is so beautiful. And bright and funny and…my eyes drop to his lips, and I press my teeth into my bottom lip, wondering if I could brush my lips across his once.
I lick my lips and move a little closer to his face, and then a little closer, and just when my eyes flutter shut, and I’m about to press my lips to his, his hand covers my mouth. When my eyes pop open, he’s staring at me through hooded slits. “What did I say?”
“I know…you were supposed to be asleep! You weren’t going to know!”
“Okay, and kissing me like I’m Sleeping Beauty is supposed to teach you how to make out?”
I huff indignantly despite his attempt to defuse the tension with humor and pull back before climbing off his lap, suddenly embarrassed over being chastised.
“This is stupid. It’s not illegal. It’s not incest. You’re my stepbrother, Wild, and I wasn’t suggesting we tell anyone.”
“I’m not saying no, Saint, but someone has to have a level head here, and per usual, it has to be me.”
“What does that mean?” I snap, fury spiking at him for treating me like I’m a child when he’s less than two goddamn years older than me.
“It means that I’m worried that once we do it, we won’t want to stop.” He swallows hard and doesn’t meet my gaze. “That I won’t want to stop.”
I was not expecting that, and when he still doesn’t look me in the eye, I wonder if there’s an underlying meaning to his words. “Oh.”
“I know I’m your stepbrother, Saint. Trust me, sometimes I really fucking wish I wasn’t.” He gets off the chair and makes his way up the stairs.
