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But that might not be what’s bothering him. Gabe doesn’t strike me as the type that would fuck a whore, whether she wanted to be one or not. And I don’t blame him.
“Brooke, this, us,” he gestures from me to him, “can’t happen.”
My spirit sinks as every hope and dream I had in this world crumbles.
“Because I’m dirty? I’m a filthy little whore that you can’t abide the sight of.”
“Jesus, Brooke—don’t say that!” he barks. “It has nothing to do with what you’ve done or were forced to do! You’re my sister, for Christ’s sake.”
“Stepsister. We’re not related.”
“My ma raised you since you were what? Two?”
“That’s right. How long did she raise you for?”
“She left when I was six.”
“There’s no blood between us, no shared memories, so you can’t claim that as your reasoning.” I slump, depressed. “It’s okay. I get it. I wouldn’t want me either.”
“You’re insane if you think for one second that you’re anything less than the most desirable woman on the planet.”
“If that’s the truth, why deny me?”
“Nothing about this feels right. I admit, calling us siblings is a stretch, but I’m eight years older than you, and with the hell you’ve been through, I can’t add to it.”
“So you’d give me to a stranger?”
“Not a stranger. You’d have time to get to know them. You’d get a say. They’re goodish men, some more so than others. I’d steer you away from the bad ones.”
“You’re a good man,” I say, bringing my hands to his belt buckle.
He squeezes his eyes shut and whispers, “I am…not.”
“You’re the first man I ever wanted to touch me.”
“Brooke!”
“No. You don’t get to control what I say, and if you don’t like it, too bad.”
I grab the growing bulge in his jeans, amazed by how thick he is.
He groans, and after a long moment, removes my hand.
“You don’t want me,” he insists.
“Oh, but I do. I used to lie awake and touch myself at night, trying to imagine that it was you. I was never really good at it.”
“I don’t want to hear that!” he snaps through grinding teeth.
“I wanted to give my virginity to you. But Frank stole that. He took everything from me.”
A pained look washes over Gabriel’s face, and I regret being so honest.
I lick my lips, hoping he can see past the broken girl I so clearly am.
“Let me rewrite it all. With you.”
He leans his head against the back of the chair so that he’s looking straight up toward the ceiling. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, but I know I’ve come too far to look back.
