Page 24 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low. “All I’m doing is fucking embracing it and making it official.”

“So then,” I keep going, my heart slamming in my chest. “I was… I was the other girl.”

I was, wasn’t I?

Not in action but in thoughts. I took up his thoughts when he should’ve been more focused on his ex-girlfriend, and I don’t think it’s a very good thing.

I don’t think any girl wants to be the other girl, the other woman.

So then why do I want to throw myself at him and close this distance?

Why do I want to kiss him? Finally, at last, after years and after ages.

“Right about now you’re the only girl,” he says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Who can help you move on from the girl you?—”

“My problem,” he says, his voice tight, cutting me off as if he didn’t want me to actually say the words.

As if saying them might make it real. But it is real, isn’t it? He is in love with another girl and he’s trying to get over her.

I should say yes. I should tell him I’ll be his distraction.

That he can use me to take his pain away.

His rebound girl. I’ve always cursed at the fact that we have a connection.

The kind that I never chose, that was thrust upon me, upon us by our parents.

That I’ve had to lie about and hide. But this could be different.

This could be a connection with him that I get to make of my own volition.

Something private, just for me, for us. I’ve never really had anything for myself, have I? This could be it.

“No,” I find myself saying instead.

Because I can’t. I won’t. I’m not going to sleep with him without him knowing the truth about who I am.

It’s purely selfish and it’s not right. Nothing about this whole thing is right but me sleeping with him without him knowing that I’m his stepsister is a special kind of wrong. So no, I’m not going to.

His jaw clenches in response.

“This is not the way. You can’t distract yourself from the pain, Shepard. It doesn’t work that way. You have to deal with it. You have to deal with your heartbreak, your problems, your life or it’ll only get worse. It?—”

“You done?” he clips.

“But—”

“If I wanted to be psychoanalyzed,” he says, his face hard and unforgiving, “I’d go to a fucking therapist, yeah?

But here I am, and trust me when I say lying on the couch while talking to you is the last thing I want to do.

And it’s not something you’d want me to do to you either, because what I do wanna do to you pays a fuck of a lot more than what a useless shrink would make in a fucking year.

And you need that, don’t you. In fact, right about now money is the only thing you need. ”

I fist my hands then, my nails threatening to cut my palms. It stings that he knows that.

It stings that he knows I’m struggling. If I didn’t want my sister to know, you bet your ass I never ever wanted my stepbrother to know my dire state.

So I repeat. “No. I don’t need your freaking pity money. I can handle things on my own.”

He watches me a beat before putting his palms on the counter, open and splayed wide, as he leans further down.

I watch his corded biceps twitch and flutter with the movements and I swallow with nerves.

Then, in a very low voice, he says, “You work multiple jobs that you hate. Your apartment is in a shitty area of town. You do not have a fucking AC so you keep your windows open, putting yourself in danger every fucking night. You’re drowning in debt.

Yet, you show up day after day on those same jobs just so you can take care of your sister.

You fight day after day just so you can give her everything.

And I bet you never make her and her condition feel like a burden.

Because I saw those college brochures too.

On your desk. I also saw how you had little things underlined and marked for your sister to go through.

You’re giving her a future at the expense of yours.

Pity is for people who can’t fight. Who’re too weak to fight.

What I’m offering is admiration. A helping hand.

You’ve never had that, have you? Because you’ve never had anyone handle things for you.

You told me that, remember? So no, the money is not for pity.

The money is so you can drag yourself out of the hole that you’ve fallen into through no fault of your own. ”

It's embarrassing but I have tears in my eyes. I also have a big lump of emotions stuck in my throat. I don’t know what to say.

Except I didn’t expect him to think that.

I didn’t expect he’d see me struggling and view it as strength.

He’d see me drowning and view it as a sign of me fighting.

I only ever see it as survival. Something I have to do.

But I guess it makes sense because he’s been through this too, right?

His childhood might not be a mirror image of mine but we’re very similar in that way.

Before I can say anything though, he takes a breath and continue, “You wanna go to college, don’t you?”

Words slip out of me before I can think about them.

“I don’t know. I-I mean, I’ve never really thought about it.

When I was younger, sure but now, not so much.

I didn’t think I had the option but I… Maybe.

I guess, I’d like to explore things, see if I like college or if I w-want to do something else. ”

I can’t believe I told him that. It’s not something I think about consciously, even when Snow brings it up. But I think it’s the truth. I’d like to have options be it college or something else. But there’s no use thinking about it or wishing for things I can’t have.

“So that’s what I’m offering. Options,” he says.

My heart clenches but I shake my head. “No. I don’t think?—"

“You can also consider it a fucking reality check.”

“What?”

Again, he watches me a beat, this time slightly less intensely and more with a hard expression, before saying, “I don’t want there to be any confusion about what this is.

You help me with my problem. I help you with yours.

There no fucking feelings involved. I mean,”—he tips his chin at me—“you were ready to burst into tears and swoon at my feet just because I said I admire you. Plus, you’re young.

You have a crush on me. You wear your fucking heart on your sleeve.

I don’t want any,” he searches for a word, “messiness. And teenage girls tend to be messy. So for your sake, this whole arrangement will be purely transactional. I get to move on, you get options. And once the season ends and I have my trophy, you go your way and I go mine. The end.”

I wait a few seconds to answer. Just so I can get rid of my teenage messy emotions before saying, “For my sake.”

He gives me a short nod. “It’s a good thing. I don’t usually do good deeds.”

“Except when it comes to me.”

“Except when it comes to you.”

I take a deep breath before letting anger run rampant in my veins. “Leave now.”

“What?”

“I don’t need you to do me any favors or give me any options.

I don’t need you to teach me boundaries because I’m so obsessed with you I don’t know what to do with myself.

Because I’m not sleeping with you for money.

I’m not sleeping with you period. So you can take your dirty job and give it to someone else. I already have two.”

“Yeah?

“Yes,” I snap, glaring up at him. “And if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to have you arrested.”

“Is that right?”

“For sneaking into my room the other night,” I state, my heart pounding in my chest. “And stealing my mail. That’s two counts of felony. Wonder how everyone’s going to react to the town’s rockstar soccer player spending a night in jail.”

For a few seconds, all he does is stare into my eyes, his face all sharp lines and sharper threats before he breaks our stare and takes me in.

My face specifically. Once, twice, three times.

As if trying to memorize it, memorize the curve of my cheeks, the slant of my nose.

It makes my heart race. It makes my belly feel all tight and heavy, and I want him to stop.

Stop making me feel this way when he keeps proving to me what an asshole he is.

Seriously, why did I think I ever liked him? Why did I think I felt a connection to him? He’s nothing like I imagined. Nothing at all.

“You really are a ripe little strawberry, aren’t you?” he murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.

“What?”

His lips twitch. “All flushed and red.”

Before I can stop it, my hand reaches up and I touch my cheek. “If you’re referring to my blush, you should know I’m generally prone to that. It’s not in my control and you’re extremely rude to point it out. ”

“I am referring to your blush, yes.”

“You—”

“Tell you what,” he says, jerking his chin at me.

“You don’t want me sneaking into your room tonight, try sleeping with your window closed.

I’ll buy you the AC myself. If you can do that, I’ll take you to the cops myself too.

You can tell them all about what an asshole I am for wanting to fuck you for money.

” I flinch and squeeze my thighs, and he keeps going.

“And how I’m also so very rude because now I wanna find out if you’re generally prone to blushing anywhere else on your body or just your cheeks. ”

My breaths are so loud and fast, I know I’m going to pass out. I’m going to scream. “I can’t. I can’t do this. You’re such a?—”

I gulp down my words because like last night, I feel something. His touch. This time, it’s on my neck. As he leans over and wraps his warm, strong hand around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him.

He brings us so close to each other that I don’t see anything but him.

That I don’t smell anything but the scent of strawberries that he eats in honor of me.

Then, pressing his thumb right on my fluttering jugular, he rasps, “How about you get me a small coffee, black, and warm up a strawberry scone for me, to go. I’m not really allowed to eat anything other than what’s on our diet plan because we’re prepping for the upcoming season, but I’m willing to cheat on it for you. Can you do that?”

Grabbing his wrist, I jerk out a nod, all dizzy with his proximity. “Yes.”

He squeezes my neck. “Good girl.” I shudder in response, and he continues, “But first, I want you to take a few deep breaths for me, can you do that too?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, with me, yeah?” He breathes in deep and I do too.

Then, he exhales and I copy him. “Good. That was good. Now, again, okay?” Again, we repeat the same breathing pattern and again he says, “Good. That was good too.” He makes me repeat it a couple more times before he continues, “I’m going to leave and head to practice in a bit.

And you’ll work your shift and get people coffee, yeah?

And then, I’ll see you at the club tonight. ”

“At the c-club?”

Danger flashes through his eyes. “Someone needs to keep those assholes off you until you officially quit in seven days.”

I’m not going to quit in seven days, or for a long time, and maybe I should tell him that. But I find that I can’t. Maybe it really worked, his deep breaths and the way he calmed me down. That’s what he was doing, wasn’t he? Helping me calm down because I was losing it.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He squeezes my neck again. “Okay.”

I squeeze his wrist back. “You have to… You have to let me go so I can get you your coffee and your s-scone.”

He hums, his eyes roving all over my face. “In a second.”

I dig my nails in his wrist, suddenly feeling shy. This is too intimate, too personal, him staring at me from this close. Not just staring but actually devouring me. I want to tell him to stop, but he speaks first. “I know they say you can’t count the stars in the sky, but one day…”

“One day what?”

His mouth pulls up in a tiny smile. “I’m going to count all the freckles on your face.”

My breath hitches. “You?—”

With a deep breath, he lets me go and straightens up. Then he takes his baseball cap off, his messy hair falling over his forehead, and in a stunning turn of events, puts it on me. “What are you doing?”

He settles it on my head and adjusts the brim. “You’ve got a uniform, which means wearing my jersey is out. So this is the next best thing.”

“Next best thing for what?”

He fiddles with it some more and once satisfied, moves away and stares into my eyes. “To tell all the assholes out there which asshole you belong to.”

Five minutes later, he leaves the shop with his coffee and his scone, and I know, I know, he’s not going to leave me alone so easily.

Which means I have to do everything I can to stand my ground, because I’m not going to sleep with him for money.

More accurately, money or not, I’m not going to sleep with my stepbrother without him knowing who I am.