Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
For a second, his face hardens with mixed emotions.
Frustration.
Anger.
Disappointment.
“Good. Then kindly move and let me get on with my morning, sis.”
Damn him.
Something about the way he says that last word sends a chill up my spine.
“Wait!” I grab his arm as he tries to walk past. He doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragging me behind him. “Don’t go yet. I don’t want us to be enemies, Chris. Or even these weird, awkward people who just have to share a house because our parents are—”
“Delia, move,” he snarls, shaking me off.
“Please. It doesn’t have to be like this,” I say, hating how weak my voice sounds.
But he’s moving again with no sign of stopping.
I don’t follow, too weighed down by heavy pieces of my heart.
I’m about to turn and limp back to my room, but he stops at the edge of the stairs and looks back at me, shaking his head slowly.
“Princess, I don’t know what your issues are, but get ’em sorted. I can’t help you. I’m your stepbro in name only. You’re damn sweet, and you’ve got a body guys will kill for. Forget me. Get yourself a boyfriend, and maybe someday, we’ll all laugh about this insanity.”
Every sentence cuts through me like flaming arrows.
I want to race after him, throw myself into his arms.
Knowing it’s the worst idea doesn’t make it any easier to resist.
Still, I keep my feet rooted to the floor, listening numbly as he heads downstairs. The faint thud of the front door falling shut echoes through the house a minute later like a gavel coming down.
Awesome.
Now I’m alone, I’m sexless, and the man who was supposed to give me a paper that could put my name on the map just walked out of my life.
* * *
I’m holed up in the house for the next day, never catching a glimpse of Chris.
Mostly, I’m in my room, escaping into a painted wonderland where no one ever gets a horrible crush on a walking case of heartbreak they’re forced to live with.
It’s a new scene, desolate of people and their crap. A desert sunset I remember vividly from trips with Dad to Utah and Arizona when I was young.
The way the sky layers over the blood-red earth soothes my soul as I bring it back to life. It’s the loud, vibrant colors that make the landscape shine like nothing else.
Aqua-blue sky like the upside-down sea.
Sandstone orange like a Creamsicle.
Purple like royalty.
It’s early afternoon when there’s a tapping at my door.
I rub my eyes and sit up straighter, wondering why these screwed-up sleep schedules always make me so groggy.
Then I remember who it might be.
Oh, boy.
Has he grown a conscience and come to apologize?
“Yeah?” I call as I get up to open my door.
But it’s not Chris.
The instant she hears my voice, Evie pushes her way inside without waiting, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
I swear, sometimes she makes my skin crawl.
“Oh, hey. You’re home early, aren’t you?” I say, blinking in surprise. “What happened to the big getaway?”
“Your father and I decided we had more pressing business,” she says, flashing me a cryptic wink. “He was here last night, wasn’t he?”
I try to play dumb, blank out my expression, but she looks at me sharply, his name written in her eyes. Chris.
“Who? I’m not sure what you’re—”
“Don’t you ever play stupid with me, Cordelia. You think I can’t tell my son’s been sniffing around you since he showed up here for dinner? Winston told me everything.”
Damn.
Big mouth should be our gate guy’s middle name, but I’m floored that he’s telling Evie crap behind Dad’s back. Never mind the fact that whatever he’s telling her is a giant exaggeration.
So what if he was here, anyway?
Why is it any of her business?
He’s not a fifteen-year-old kid, and neither am I.
I can’t help beaming her a sour look.
It takes courage because I know how scary Evie can get when she ramps up, and the way she smiles now like an over-painted mannequin feels like the calm before the storm.
Still, it’s my room and I’m twenty-one years old.
That’s old enough to not have to take any crap from a wicked stepmom.
“You sound upset. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, Evie, but you’ve got the wrong idea.” I stare through her, unflinching. “Chris just dropped by because I asked him to help with my senior paper. I decided to find out what makes a military man tick.”
I look up defiantly, hating that I feel like I’m also trying to convince myself that’s the only thing that happened.
She throws her head back, her eyes narrowed, drumming her deadly lime-green nails on my dresser. They’re sharp enough to do permanent damage, I’m sure.
“So you say. Cordelia, I saw how he looked at you at dinner—and I didn’t like it one bit. I don’t think you understand.” She draws in a sharp breath.