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My eyes flit to his in question, but he turns and walks to the dining room table without another word.
With a deep sigh, I tell myself five times that his odd phrasing wasn’t odd at all, and I’m overanalyzing it becauseIam tired of waiting.
But for what? I don’t know.
Chest tight, stomach empty, and heart pounding, I follow behind Elliot with two bowls of spinach-less salads.
Without our parents, one would imagine the room would feel empty, or that something significant was lacking, but with the electric air crackling around the table, and the weight sitting heavy between us, I can barely breathe. It’s exciting and exhilarating, while also nerve-wracking and a little scary.
Is it possible I’ve read everything wrong? That I’ve overplayed every moment that’s slipped between us? Maybe?
I mean, heisstill technically my step-brother. This would still be considered taboo if anything did happen. This—whatever this is—is still as forbidden today as it was eight years ago.
Do something drastic.
The thought careens into me out of nowhere and I immediately shove it away. I’m not impulsive. Everything I do has been thought through at least twenty times over, the pros and cons scaled and weighed before I take a single step. I can’t just act and hope for the best. I should wait it out. Wait for a more direct sign.
But I want to know now.
My eyes drift across the hardwood table, over the servings of mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and sliced ham. Elliot’s gaze is on me, a knife’s tip twirling at the edge of his lip.
A foreign heat blazes through my body, cutting through my veins and incinerating my core. All of a sudden, my sweater is too thick, and pants too tight.
I try swallowing twice, and on the third, I have to grab a glass of water. How am I this ridiculous around him? It’s not as though I haven’t dated before. Haven’t flirted with a man or picked up on tell-tale signals of interest.
But Elliot—so help me—has always been difficult for me to figure out. For me to understand.
Screw it. It’s time to ask flat out, and if I’m embarrassed in the end, oh well. Our parents are divorcing so it’s not as though I’ll see him again.
That new thought gives me pause as an acute pain pinches something in my chest. After tonight, I would have no reason to ever see him again. No reason for us to be in the same room.
“Would you have ever done anything like that?” Again, Elliot pulls me from my thoughts.
I blink. “Done what?”
He nods to the TV before lowering the knife to his plate, his eyes still locked on me. “Flash people while on a road trip.
My brows tic together before I glance at the movie playing. It must have started after Christmas Vacation ended. It’s currently on a scene where a family is on a road trip and the two teenage girls in the backseat flash any cars with older boys, unbeknownst to the parents driving.
I roll my eyes and quickly get up to grab the remote to change it. “No. Definitely not.”
“Why not?”
The sincerity in his question makes me snort a bit of laughter. “What do you mean, why wouldn’t I flash random guys on a road trip?”
He shrugs. “A show of youthful rebellion.”
“I didn’t have a reason to rebel.” Not a lie. But also, not one hundred percent true either.
I completely and utterly support my mom as a general surgeon. I’ve heard her stories for as long as I can remember of the families she’s healed, the people who no longer have chronic pain, and so on and so forth. But deep down, under everything, I missed her. A lot.
Did I hate that I had to grow up and do for myself ninety percent of the time? Yes. Did it bother me when she had to work, it felt as if I didn’t exist? Sure. Somewhere inside was I angry I couldn’t live the life of a normal teen? Maybe.
I had a great life—a great childhood—even though she wasn’t around often. I was always provided for, well-fed and clothed, and never went without. So no, I never wanted to rebel. Well…not until him.
He was the polar opposite of me while the same in so many ways.
Both quiet, but while he worked on cars after school, I studied.
