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"I didn't slave away-" Mel tries to interrupt but trails off when she sees us glaring at each other.
I break the staring match, realizing how strange this must seem to the others. Time to be the bigger person here. I laugh loudly, probably too loud and obviously fake. "Ah, Izzie, I love your sense of humor. Isn't she funny?" I ask, looking at Mel and Dave, who still look confused and unsure.
Last resort, I kick Izzie under the table. She hides it well but realizes what I am getting at. She then offers her own, too fake-too over-the-top laugh. It somehow works, though, and then all four of us are laughing. We calm down and then resume the normal civilized conversation.
"So, you found a job for the summer yet, Iz?"
"Not yet, Dad; I applied at a couple places in town, like the coffee shop and mini-mart today, though. I think with the tourists, they'll need the extra help, so I'm not worried," she shrugs nonchalantly.
An idea strikes me, and I am stupid enough to voice it before I could think it through. "You could work for me," I suggest; Izzie shoots daggers at me.
"Well, that is a great idea, isn't it, Iz?" Mel chimes in.
“I-uh-well…” Izzie tries.
"I mean, only if you'd want to. I'm rebuilding a house over the summer, and I understand you're good with painting and stuff?"
Dave scoffs. "Understatement, man, she is awesome at painting. And pretty good with DIY; remember that summer we built a shed in the yard, Iz?"
"I like to paint and design, yes, I can't say I can offer more than a spare pair of hands, though, and you know I'm sure you need somebody much more skilled than I," Izzie scrambles, trying to get out of this.
“Iz, don’t be modest.She would be perfect for helping you out, plus then you're working for Zak rather than some random boss, and he can give you days off to spend with us so we can do some family things – right, Zak?"
"Uh, sure, I won't need you every day or even all day, so we can be flexible with when you work."
Mel claps her hands giddily. "Well, that just about settles it then. Iz will work for Zak. Oh, how lovely!"
Izzie looks pleadingly at me, willing me to get her out of this situation. I avert my eyes, pretending not to notice. A part of me wants her close, I can’t figure out how she'd captured my attention so much, and I want to know. Since being with her, I hadn't been able to be with other women. It seems like my body just isn’t interested. Which is highly inconvenient. The selfish part of me just wants to spend more time with her.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8 am," I conclude, putting an end to the discussion.
Izzie
My voice booms from the hallway, "Get out, Luke!" My fists pound on the bathroom door in frustration. I can’t believe how I had let my new stepbrother twist me around his little finger; I had met him a few times before he moved in with us, and he'd always seemed so mild-mannered and friendly.
Now that he has settled in, he seems to possess all the mischief and antics of an eight-year-old with none of the charm.
"Two minutes!" Luke hollers back, and I curse under my breath. In thirty minutes, Zak is arriving to begin my first day of work with him, and I hadn't showered or fixed my hair as I’d wanted. I had planned on having a luxurious hair wash shower, but that is clearly not happening. My heart yearns for my own apartment with Charlotte, where we'd decided to get a bigger, nicer place to call our own. Sure, it means our rent is sky-high, but having our own bathrooms and kitchen is worth every penny.
Luke eventually emerges from the bathroom, running straight into me in the hallway with reckless abandon. "Watch where you're going, Luke!" I shout. The sarcastic reply of "Sorry" drifts out of his bedroom as I make my way to the shower.
I roll my eyes. I don’t have time for a battle with him. Time is fleeting, and I quickly wash and dress, deciding to wear a pair of old black leggings and an oversized and faded "Go Beavers!" t-shirt - a memory from my past I don't even recognize.
With a bit of dry shampoo and a tight hair bun, I figure I’ve done the best I can under the circumstances. I scrunch my nose up, evaluating myself in the mirror. I like to present myself well in all situations, but this will have to do. I ignore the part of me that whispers, "And you want to look hot for Zak."
I’m in the dark about what Zak wants me to do today. He'd mentioned a renovation project which I know I could help with; I’m good with a paintbrush and did woodwork in high school. Also, for the amount of money he said he would pay me hourly, he has me ready to do anything, from digging holes to washing cars. It would be worth it, and I am ready to begin. With a deep breath, I bound down the stairs, opting to grab a banana and oat bar for an "in the car" breakfast.
Zak pulls up outside the house at exactly eight o'clock, his punctuality belying his mischievous grin. Punctual asshole. I roll my eyes, wondering if it’s already too late to change my mind about the summer job. No, I can’t. It would only make my father suspicious and ask questions I don’t want to answer, like "Why would you say no to the perfect, very well-paid summer job? Is it because you engaged in a night of dirty passion with my sexy best friend?" Okay, so he might not ask it exactly like that, but still, I don’t want any questioning.
He revs the engine of his flashy sports car and lets out an obnoxious beep, just enough for me to know that he’s in a hurry. That man has zero patience; it hasn’t even been a whole minute since he pulled up.
"I'm coming!" I shout as I make my way down the drive, trying to mask my building annoyance with a hint of sarcasm. As soon as I enter the car, Zak responds with a deep grunt.
I shift in my seat, feeling quite out of place. I don’t know much about cars, but this one looks pretty fancy, I think , as I inspect the sleek and luxurious interior and stroke the soft seat under my hand. To think, this is likely the nicest car I'd ever been in. Meanwhile, Zak is dressed down, wearing only a pair of track pants and a dark t-shirt.
Damn, how does he still look so fucking delicious? I glance away from him, self-consciously looking down at my own clothes. I feel like I am dressed up for a field trip as a middle schooler. I sigh to myself; at least I am on the right track with the dress code. Clearly, we are going to be getting messy today.
"So, how are you?" I venture, wanting to break the awkward silence as we prepare for both the drive and the summer working together.
