Page 30 of Eyes on Me


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“And two shots of Fireball, please,” I call out to her before she gets too far away.

“Oh, no thank you,” Reese says, and I turn to him with an arched brow. “I don’t drink Fireball.”

Another laugh slips through. “Those are both for me.”

RULE #10: IT’S BETTER TO BE A STEPSISTER-LOVING PERVERT THAN AN INSENSITIVE, IVY LEAGUE DOUCHEBAG.

Garrett

Mia sounds terrible. She’s currently shaking her ass through an off-key version of “Dancing Queen,” and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, but the crowd has suddenly come to life. Everyone is clapping and dancing and singing along. And she looks as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

In her cute jean shorts and flowery tank top, she’s beaming as her screechy voice carries across the room. She looks truly free, hopping up and down with the microphone, and I can’t tear my eyes away. Not from her smile or from the way her hips shake with each bounce.

When I glance over atfucking Reese, the Ivy League square at the other end of the table, he’s wearing an uncomfortable grimace as he scrolls through his phone. I want to take the damn thing and throw it into the water pitcher on the table. This guy isn’t Mia’s type at all. He looks dull as fuck, and she’d be bored to tears with someone like him.

I don’t get jealous. That’s not what this is. I just don’t like this guy, and regardless of what’s gone down this week, Mia is still family to me, and I’m her protective older brother. I don’t like the idea of some guy getting a free ticket to her panties just because he graduated from Yale and his parents own a lake resort.

When Mia comes bouncing back to the table, we all applaud her, and she gives a little bow with her red cheeks and messy hair. There’s not a scrap of embarrassment on her face. Must be nice to have fun and not give a shit what anyone thinks. I wish I had a shred of what Mia has.

“Bravo, sweetheart!” Paul says as he stands up to hug her.

“Thanks, Dad.”

She sits down, still next tofucking-Reese, and we have another round of drinks before the parents—ours and Reese’s—all decide to call it a night. I can tell with one look at Mia that she’s not ready to throw in the towel just yet. She still has three more songs to sing.

So we tell them goodbye, but when everyone rises and walks to the door, I stay put. Iffucking-Reeseis staying, then so am I.

When my mother gets to the door, she calls me over. “Why don’t you come with us?” she asks, looping her arm through mine, and I clench my jaw.

“I’m not leaving Mia here alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Mom replies, actively pulling me to the door. “She’s with Reese.”

“Do you even know that guy? You’re just going to leave yourdaughterwith a complete stranger?”

She balks. “First of all, Mia is an adult. Second of all, I’m not leaving her alone. She’s in a bar, where everyone has known her since she was in third grade. And lastly…why are you so protective of her all of a sudden? I mean, I’m glad you’re finally getting along, and I think it’s sweet you’ve taken this big brother role so seriously, but maybe you need to ease up a bit.”

I pull my arm away from her. “Maybe you need to take yourmotherrole a little more seriously. I’m not leaving her.”

With that, I walk away, taking my guilt with me. I didn’t mean to snap at my mother or blame her for being a bad one, but she’d never really understand why I couldn’t leave Mia here. There are still a shit-ton of unanswered questions where my stepsister and I are concerned, and I’m at the point where I either see it through and do something about all of this new tension or just leave town completely and try to let it go.

I think we all know which route I’m going to choose.

When I sit back at the table, Mia is laughing at something Reese said, and it grates on my nerves.

“What’s so funny?” I mutter, doing a pretty shitty job of appearing unaffected by their sudden friendliness.

“Oh, nothing. He was just telling me about how he had to use his fake ID in college.”

“College? How old are you then?”

“Twenty-three in August,” he confidently replies. My eyes trail over to Mia, but she’s too busy worrying her lip and stirring her straw around in her drink to look up at me.

Is this the kind of guy Mia goes for? A smart guy, close to her age, who’s probably not a moody asshole who owns a sex club and has watched her masturbate not once, buttwice, without her knowing it.

Yeah, I did sneak upstairs and peek in on her taking a shower, but somewhere in my sick, demented mind, I figured that if she left it open a crack then she was actuallyinviting me to do so.And after thatfuck mestare she shot me before heading upstairs, who could blame me?

Maybe I should just leave them alone. I won’t leave the bar entirely; I still need to make sure she makes it home safely, but I should probably just find a lonely corner of the bar where I’m not a pesky third wheel.

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