Page 1 of Piggy

Charlotte

The front door shuts.

He’s here.

White shirt. Fitted jeans. Broad shoulders. Solid chest. Defined arms with those veins that scream I-lift-things-for-real, not for mirror selfies . Oh, and those biceps. The kind of arms that I dream of holding me on his lap with one while eating cereal with the other.

My heart aches .

But don’t look too long! Everyone will see.

I force myself not to care, eyes glued to the TV, knees hugged to my chest on the couch. However, my heart races, going full traitor-mode, thumping like it’s glad to see him again.

I’m not.

I’ve spent years trying to forget him.

Grayson.

The name sends a jolt through me. He’s a cut that never healed right.

I curl tighter into myself.

He’s still in my peripheral, talking to my brother. Maybe he won’t recognize me. Just introduce himself and move on like other guys.

I glance over.

Like Killian.

Hot.

Or him, some friend of Brax’s I don’t even know.

Also hot.

Any of my brother’s friends would be heaven to lose my virginity to. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I just want a boyfriend. Someone to hold my hand. Snuggle. Love.

Brax always has girlfriends. Why’s my brother so blessed with the opposite sex?

He is handsome and suave, I guess.

Wretch .

Me, on the other hand? I wish I wasn’t a tomboy, but I am. No idea how to do make-up, how to match clothes, how to talk to boys.

Well, actually, I know how to talk to them. They just don’t respond to me the same as other girls.

Like right now, as I try to forget about Grayson being here, I ask Killian, “How’s the game?”

“Good,” he answers, not even looking my way .

Just then, some girl walks by and his gaze follows her ass. She didn’t even say one damn word.

Lucky girl.

I wish guys looked at me with lust in their eyes.

“Hand me the remote, Piggy .”

Lust-filled eyes and better nicknames. That’s what I want.

I mean, true, I do wear pigtails too much, but it’s humid in Florida and I got crazy curly hair… and I am a little thick. Well, I do sort of squeal, too.

Still, Piggy is not a sexy nickname.

Then, another woman walks through the patio door, and all the guys turn their heads.

Dang it! I can’t take it anymore. I jump to my feet and fly to the bathroom.

Inside, I rifle through the vanity. I take out Mom’s old foundation, a nearly dried bottle of mascara, and red lipstick.

I apply it like I know what I am doing.

Oh, no.

My reflection... I really do look like a pig.

My face is too bright because the foundation doesn’t match, the mascara somehow made my eyes appear smaller, and my red lips are too bright. I look like a child that stole her mom’s make-up.

Worst of all?

My frizzy blonde hair bunched in two pom-poms.

I wet the buns and try to get the stray curls to spiral nicer.

Fail .

Ugh!

I’m getting upset. Don’t panic. I just hate my hair!

Frustrated, I yank out the hair ties. I grab a comb and brush the knotty tresses — hard — not even caring if they rip out at the roots.

When I’m done going feral on my curly hair, I frown. I look worse. No spirals. Just kinky, frizzy hair.

Gosh! I’m gonna die without so much as a first kiss.

Bang, bang, bang!

My neck snaps toward the bathroom door.

“Hurry up, Piggy! Put your tampon in faster. I gotta piss.”

I hate my brother. Why does Brax have to publicly humiliate me to make his friends laugh? Worse? Grayson is here now.

“One second,” I say.

Frantically, I tie up my hair in one ugly bun. Then, I rinse my face, desperate to strip my failed attempt to look pretty from my pores.

Bang, bang, bang!

“Wait just a freaking minute!” I hiss.

Brax yells to the others, “Uh oh! Piggy is about to squeal!”

Embarrassing.

Stay calm, Charlotte . I’m not gonna lose it.

I look in the mirror. The lipstick is smeared, staining the skin around my mouth like a circus clown.

Kill me now.

“Hurry the fuck up! ”

That tone... he isn’t joking anymore. He jiggles the locked doorknob impatiently.

I’m trapped. There’s no escape.

So I trudge to the door, bracing myself.

Brax steps back several paces, dramatic. He stands in the center of the living room, lit by the TV’s glow like he’s the star of the show, which, in his mind, he is.

With sharp cheekbones, a jaw that could cut granite, and that annoyingly perfect mop of blond curls styled in messy, intentional waves, he draws girl’s attention easily.

His cruel brown eyes stare, amused, smug, and soulless. And for a half second, I almost think he’s impressed.

Then he opens his mouth.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you look like a hooker that just gave a BJ.”

“Errr! Shut up!” I yell, the words slipping out in a shrill burst of panic.

Immediately, I know I messed up.

Brax grins, wicked.

“Wee! Wee!” he says, high pitched and mocking. “She’s squealing!”

“I am not!” I shout, voice cracking.

Bad move.

“Oink oink! Wee wee!” Killian calls from the couch.

“She’s having a Piggy Meltdown!” Brax adds.

I cover my mouth, mortified, heat crawling up my neck as the noise grows louder .

I rush past them to my tiny bedroom. My cave where I can fall apart in private.

Just before I slam the door, I hear Killian shout, “What’d you do to your face, Piggy?”

The laughter gets quieter, muffled through the thin walls, but still slicing deep.

I sit on the edge of the bed, my eyes fixed on my fat thighs stretching my sweatpants. Thank God my baggy shirts hide most of my body.

I sniffle.

Why couldn’t I be born with straight hair, pretty skin, and bigger eyes? And a nice body! Taller, skinnier. One I can show off that makes men stare as I walk by.

Just then—

My door flies open. Stupid Brax holds the knob, lazily leaning inside like he owns the place. His light curls fall forward, and those evil eyes leer.

Another guy moves beside him...

Grayson.

And like always, my brain immediately malfunctions.

That muscled jawline. Locked tight, like he has so much to say. Those lips? Full. Tasty. They probably whisper the sweetest things. Just not to me. Some other lucky girl, maybe. Someone prettier. A girl that gets lost in those deep-set eyes. Dark hazel and intense. Eyes that pin me in place.

And he’s so tall. Way taller than me. Like... he probably hits his head on things .

He grins, looping his thumb lazily into his waistband. His other grips the top of the doorframe as he leans forward to peek into my room, casual and confident.

He’s perfection .

All guys are perfect, though.

“Remember me?” he says, his voice deep and hypnotic… and yep, there it is. His shirt has lifted just enough to flash those V-lines. The kind that disappear into low slung jeans and short circuit my entire nervous system.

I gawk, like an idiot.

He tries again, taking off his ballcap and stroking his short, dark hair. It’s neat, low maintenance. He doesn’t have to try to look that good. Unlike Brax, who is so careful in every detail of his appearance.

“I’m Rowen Grayson. But everyone calls me Grayson. Remember from high school? I was a senior then.”

I remember.

Too well.

Me. Younger. Foolish:

He walks past the bus, unbothered, so intimidating even back then. But I’m ready this time.

Grayson fell asleep in class. Got chewed out by the teacher. Finally, finally , something I can use.

Heart pounding, I lean out the window.

“Hey, Grayson!” I call, all sugar and forced bite. “You looked real cute drooling on your desk. Not! ”

Shoot. It came out shaky. My voice cracked. And I don’t even know if he drooled.

But I want to see him flinch.

He doesn’t.

He just turns his head.

Slow. Controlled. His eyes lock onto mine, so intense it sucks the breath from my lungs.

And then—

Thew!

A hot streak lands on my cheek. My chin. My collarbone.

I freeze.

Not because of the spit.

But because of the way he looks at me after. He watches me. Watches it drip.

Then adds in a dark, menacing voice, “Ugly bitch.”

“Damn,” his friend mutters, impressed. They laugh, bump fists, and keep walking like nothing just shattered inside me.

I don’t budge. Shocked. Mortified.

Others nearby snicker, staring like I am pathetic.

I blink.

I never forgot that moment. One of too many I’d rather not relive.

And now that bully is here.

Moving into my house.

“Earth to Piggy!” says Brax.

I flinch .

Grayson smirks. “Damn, your sister is still fucking weird, huh?”

Brax nods, then glances my way. “By the way, Piglet, Grayson’s taking my old room. Extra six hundred a month. So put your tampons in faster so other people can use the bathroom.”

“I wasn’t—” I start, then shut my mouth, cheeks burning.

I think fast. “It’s eight hundred. Rent’s twenty-four hundred. Three people.”

Well, four people, but our little brother can’t pay rent.

Brax just rolls his eyes at my correction. “Okay, fine, whatever, nerd.” He turns to Grayson. “Eight hundred good?”

“Sure.” Grayson replies.

Those paralyzing eyes fix on me. “So we’re roommates now?”

I nod. Too quick. Too awkward.

Grayson tilts his head, and his eyes flick down to my lipstick smeared mouth.

“Goddamn, your face is... a mess.”

My chin trembles, ashamed. But I do a double take, because for a moment, his gaze lingers.

Not just lingers. Stares.

There’s something dangerous behind those eyes. Or distant, like he’s lost.

But I can’t tell.

The door shuts .

I exhale, relieved but tired. Because I live in a house full of people, yet I’m so alone.