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Bennett opens the door, letting it swing open as he leans against the frame with his arms crossed across his chest. It’s imposing and it’s hot as hell. I should not be thinking that at all.
“I’m having a party tonight,” his voice is gruff and there’s a challenge there like he’s daring me to tell him not to do it.
I shrug one shoulder, trying to get myself together. I can not show him weakness. He smirks like he can see right through me. He probably can.
“Cool. Have fun with that. I’ll probably head over to a friend’s house?” I hate how it comes out as a question more than a statement and I can feel my cheeks heat. I force myself to ask, “When is it starting?”
I want to make sure I’m gone long before then. I don’t like Bennett’s friends and they don’t like me. Is that because they really don’t like me or because they think I’m an easy target? I don’t know and I don’t care.
“No,” Bennett’s voice is harsh, and I look up to meet his mossy-gray gaze. It’s so intense it feels like a caress against my skin. But he’s a jerk. I wonder how many times I’ll tell myself that before I believe it. “You’re coming to the party,” he says it like it’s a forgone conclusion.
My eyebrows pull together and my nose scrunches up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I blurt out.
He chuckles, the sound dangerous and decadent. “You’re coming to the party. It’s low-key, don’t worry.”
The way he’s staring at me says I don’t really have a choice. Which is ridiculous.
When I don’t say anything, he walks away, leaving the door open. The doorbell rings a little bit later and nervous excitement fills my belly. I’ve never been one who cares whether I’m popular or not, but there’s a certain allure to being included. It’s not something I’ve been seeking from Bennett, but it does feel good.
I kind of hate to admit it, but it’s true.
As Bennett passes by my room, he calls out, “Come on down.”
As much as I know I probably shouldn’t, I find myself following him. When he looks up the stairs and gives me a smile, a genuine one, it has my heart stuttering in my chest. My damn heart is going to get me into trouble.
I decide the best thing to do is wait in the living room. While I’m flipping through some options on the television with a forced casualness, Bennett leads two guys and three girls I recognize from school into the room with me.
I’m instantly on alert, but this is my house, damnit. Right? I mean, it is my house, and I don’t think Dad would like this at all, even though I wouldn’t point that out to Bennett. I shouldn’t have to leave my own house.
But I definitely want to run from it as fast as I can.
I try to make myself as small as possible, all while wondering what the hell I’m doing down here. Some guy pulls a bottle of vodka out of his backpack and I’m on high alert. Another guy goes into our kitchen like he lives here and grabs coke, juice, and cups.
No one is looking at me and I’m going to count it as a win for right now because this is not my scene at all. I’ve been to a few parties, but I never drank more than one beer and I had to force myself to have that much. I’m not a partier.
I’d rather be watching a movie with Lennon right now with a bowl of popcorn between us.
One of the girls, I think her name is a city, like Paris or Dallas, which are nowhere near the same thing, but I’m kinda internally freaking out right now and I can’t remember. Her eyes are sharp as she looks at me and if I could make myself invisible I would.
Her voice is high pitched and whiney even as she tries to coo at Bennett, “What’s she doing here, Baby?”
“You all know Evelyn,” is Bennett’s response, his voice neutrally cool like this isn’t the weirdest fucking thing to ever happen in my dad’s house since he moved in. “She lives here.”
The chick, Milan, maybe, scoffs. “What do you mean she lives here? With you?”
Bennett rolls his eyes and his guy friends chuckle. I’m not sure what is so funny. “I’ve already told you, Vic, she’s my sister.”
“Stepsister,” I whisper, reacting without really thinking and earning a smirk from Bennett.
I’m not in on the joke at all and I hate how fucking weak I sound.
One of the dudes pipes up, “It must be nice having a fine piece of ass like yourstepsister at home with you all the time.” He leers at me and my skin crawls with the implication. “I can see why you don’t want to go out and party as much.”
Well, that’s news to me. I figured while I was out with Lennon, Bennett was doing whatever it is that he normally did before the great merging of households. I look over at Bennett, but he’s not looking at me. He’s making a drink which he shoves into Vic’s hands, and she lights up like a fucking sparkler on July Fourth.
When he tugs her into his lap and she grinds down into him, presumably to get comfortable, I barely stop myself from gagging. Once she starts petting him, he looks me in the eye, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to flee.
Fight or flight is real people, and I am not a fighter. As if I didn’t know that before.
