With a small sigh, I tuck the key back in the box and return it to the nightstand drawer. Whatever gift this goes to, I’m clearly meant to wait for it.
Throwing on a white midriff sweater and some old Hot Topic pants that Maxine passed down to me after she left her so called ‘eGirl phase’, I open my door at the same moment that Parrish does. He looks me over with a quick flick of his brown eyes, attention resting on the double pair of navel piercings in my bellybutton. I’ve got silver rings in both the top and bottom, dressed with opals. Because, you know, opal is the birthstone for October.
“Nice metal,” he says, lifting his gaze back up to my face. “Got anything else?”
His question takes me back a bit, almost as much as the rare praise that preceded it.
“You mean, like in my nipples or something?” I choke out with a laugh, but Parrish doesn’t laugh with me. Instead, he maintains that heavy stare of his. And holy hell, does it feel like it weighs a million pounds.
“Or anywhere else,” he adds, but it’s not a question. My cheeks heat as he holds out a hand and very dryly adds, “after you, un-birthday girl.”
The reference to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland catches me even more off-guard than his supposed reference to pierced genitals or whatever. I accept his invitation into the hallway which is easily wide enough for us to walk abreast. So we do.
Please have been too drunk last night to remember that we’re supposedly dating and that we kissed and—well, everything else. I pick some god at random—Anubis, just because—and pray to him that Parrish really doesn’t recall a damn thing. Gross. Why did I even do that? Who kisses their own stepbrother? Only in pervy romance novels. Not that I’m judging. I happen to like pervy romance novels (just not stepbrother ones). I also don’t think Tess would appreciate it if Parrish and I …
He lets me go down the stairs ahead of him, pulling out his phone as usual and zoning into it. I’m not surprised to see Chasm waiting just outside the entrance to the living room. He smirks at me, but I don’t have the energy to smirk back.
“You were dynamite at the party last night, Little Sister,” he tells me, and I sigh, knocking my shoulder into his as I pass by. He lets out a little whistle, but doesn’t pursue me, hanging back to chat with Parrish while I head through the living room toward the dining area with a solid lump of dread in my stomach.
Breakfast is, as promised, delivered. Catered, more like. There’s a bountiful spread atop the table, one that Ben and the twins have already dug into. Kimber is sipping a coffee and zoning into her phone with one earbud while Paul carries on a low conversation on his own phone.
Happy birthday to me.
My heart begins to pound as I think about my most recent birthday back home. Grandpa made biscuits and gravy with bacon grease, the way he always does. Grandma picked fresh lavender from her greenhouse herb garden and made lavender-lemonade from scratch. We sat at the old, worn wood table in the dining room while my grandparents regaled me with all the crazy stories they have from the time they owned their own pizza parlor.
My big gift this year was Maxine’s surprise arrival, bursting through the front door with a new hoodie and a phone case wrapped in newspaper, a hug, and a smile.
Only Tess looks my way when I come in.
“Take a seat,” she says, patting the empty chair between her and Ben. I happily accept; my younger siblings are the only parts of my new life that I like thus far. My smile remains pasted in place as I stare at the catered scrambled eggs and gourmet sausages, the pancakes under a glass lid. Culture shock hits once again, but I blink my way through it, relieved when Chasm and Parrish take their seats across from me.
Kimber turns neon red as Chas slides into the seat beside hers, tossing her hair and giving him an award-winning smile that he ignores. Best friend’s baby sister isn’t usually a romantic role that works out in anything but a rom-com.
“How old are you today?” Chas asks casually, parking his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. His admittedly pretty hair falls across his forehead, the lightning bolt of yellow color in it catching my attention. I need to find out who does his hair. I’ve always done my own, but if Tess is willing to give me money to splurge on anything, it’d be that. I’d love to get some cool, crazy design put into my own hair.
“Sixteen,” I reply dryly, hating him because he knows damn well how old I’m supposed to be. What a dick move. “You turned twelve on your last birthday, right?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “Because you sure act your age.”
