Page 11 of Love You Like This

“You wrote it?”

“I’m trying to.”

“It sounded amazing.” She takes another drink and moans in delight. “It must be nice to have so much innate talent like that.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. I’m not good enough for Juilliard.”

“That’s one school. They’re probably all rich, uptight east coast assholes anyway. Who wants that?” She rests her temple on the heel of her palm, so she can look over at me. “Honestly, you could probably do anything you wanted with your talent. Not to mention, having the connections from your dad.”

“I don’t want to get a job just because my dad is a movie industry power player. I want to succeed on my own merit.”

“I get it, but there’s nothing wrong with getting a foot in the door because of your last name. It’s not like you wouldn’t earn your success with your own work. If I wasn’t a nobody, I’d definitely use any connection I had to my advantage.”

“You aren’t a nobody.”

“I know that, but out there I am,” she says gesturing out the window toward the city. “I’m so grateful to your dad for everything he’s done for me. I’ll become something great just to thank him for believing in me.”

“He doesn’t need anything in return. He always wanted more kids, your relationship with him might last longer than your mom’s.”

She glances down with a soft laugh I haven’t heard before. It’s my immediate goal to catalog each laugh, each smile, each frown, and find their meaning. Then make her do them multiple times a day. She tucks a lock of beautiful red hair behind her ear and looks up at me again. Amusement paints her freckled face with quiet joy that I wish I could color my world with.

“How long do you think they’ll last?” she asks.

“Dad’s tenacious, at least a few years.”

She shakes her head. “I doubt it’ll go longer than the end of summer.”

My chest squeezes at the thought of her not being around longer than the next two or three months. I scratch my shoulder, trying to ignore the weird tightening. “Why do you say that?”

“I know my mom. She loves the feeling of falling in love, but once things aren’t exciting anymore, she bolts.” She pauses and looks around the kitchen. “It’s better than cheating, which she’s never done. Sometimes I wonder if she’s not just running from man to man trying to outrun the pain that my dad caused her by leaving us.”

“Do you think they would have lasted?”

She shrugs. “I have no idea.” A melancholy air settles between us.

I know she doesn’t have much of a memory of him, so I pivot the conversation. “Well, let’s set aside the mess that is our parents’ love lives. What are your plans for the summer?”

She perks up at the change in conversation. My chest goes from that uncomfortable pinching to a wave of warmth. I probably shouldn’t be having these types of feelings for my stepsister, but fuck if I’m not obsessed with it. I can’t remember ever feeling like this.

“I’m glad you asked because I was going to see if you’d want to teach me how to surf?” She rolls her lips inward as her eyes plead with me. “I’ve always wanted to try it, and I know you’re so good at it. Have you ever taught anyone?”

“A couple friends.” I lean back against the counter, crossing my feet at the ankles. “I have a board you could start out on.”

“Really?” A huge smile fills her face as she rockets off the stool she’s sitting on and races around the island to wrap me in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she squeals.

I barely keep my body in check, all I want to do is wrap her up in my arms and…Yeah, I’m not going there. Instead, I loosely return the hug, awkwardly patting her back, and pretending I’m not hyperaware of her tits pressed against me.

“It’s no problem. I was going to go out tomorrow if the water looks good.”

I scoot over just as the timer goes off for our food. She grabs plates while I pull everything out of the oven. Her phone starts to go off with notifications from her group chat, so we eat side by side but distracted.

I’m good with it, though, because it means I have time to text my surf buddies that I’m not going to make it in the morning. I can’t teach her to surf at my usual spots; the waves are too big. I’ll take her to Santa Monica where the bottom is sandy and the water more forgiving.

I finish securing the boards in the back of my truck and toss the wet suits into the backseat. She comes walking out of the house in a pair of jean shorts and a triangle bikini top. I have to tear my eyes away from the freckles that dot her chest and shoulders.

“Do you have sunscreen?” I ask after clearing my throat.

She gives me a look that screams ‘are you stupid?’ “Of course. I never leave home without it having been cursed with this skin and hair.”