ARROGANT BASTARD (11 page)

She pushes past me the second we get inside, removes her heels, and tiptoes up the steps. Her strategic maneuvers indicate she’s done this before. She seems to avoid the creakiest boards. I take note and follow suit.

Bellamy turns the corner at the top of the stairs and disappears into blackness. The gentle, slow click of her door tells me she made it safe and sound with the rest of her family none the wiser.

I crack a smile. The ones you least suspect should always be the ones you suspect the most…

Padding down the hall, I stop short outside Waverly’s door. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t care. I should hate her guts. I take deep breath and a few more steps until I find the handle to my door. The second I step inside I shove my vodka in my top dresser drawer, rip my jacket and sweater off and slip out of my pants, tripping over random shit in the dark until I find my bed.

A small amount of moonlight peeks in through the break in the curtains on the far wall, illuminating the outline of a person lying in the middle of my bed. I squint, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and then I realize…

Fucking Waverly is sleeping in my bed.

“When I said ‘whatever helps you sleep,’ this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

My eyes open the second I hear his voice. How long had I been out? I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, thankful for the shade of night. It was
not
my intention to fall asleep in his bed. Thank God Dad’s at Kath’s tonight.

He’s standing before me in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxers. His shoulders are pulled back tight, and his hands are resting on his hips. I can’t quite make out his face, but I know the hard line of his lips means he’s not happy to see me.

I pull myself into a seated position, brushing my hair out of my face and mustering the strength to apologize.

I owe Jensen an apology.

I realized it the second he fled my room. My words were harsh, flung upon him without much thought and in the midst of a heated moment. I spoke out of fear, the same deep-seeded fear the guided my every life choice. Hearing about what he did scared the devil out of me and made me hate myself for what I did, and I took it out on him.

“I wanted to apologize,” I whisper. “What you did—”

“Try again.”

“What I heard—”

“Nope.”

“I shouldn’t have judged you.”

“There we go.” He still hasn’t moved. He stands there studying me, looking at me with equal parts contempt and pity, as if
he
feels sorry for
me
. “Much better.”

“But you knew what you were doing when you convinced me to—”

“God. Waverly. Give it a fucking rest. You masturbated. You can say it.”

My cheeks flame deep red. If anyone wakes up and hears our conversation, I’ll die. “Keep it down.”

He leans closer to me. “You act like I fucking took your virginity. Had I known you were
this
uptight, I’d have left you the fuck alone. You’re a goddamned piece of work, you know that?”

“I know.”

“Excuse me?” He rakes his hand across his jaw, cocking his head.

“I’m not perfect. But neither are you. And ever since you set foot in our home, I’ve been nothing but confused.”

My words bring silence upon us for a moment.

“Confused? About what?” His voice cuts through the tension that separates us.

“I-I can’t say it.” Not because I don’t want to. I don’t know how to put it into words. He makes me feel the kinds of things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. My entire life, I’ve kept my emotions in check. I’ve placed my opinions and beliefs in a tiny box in the corner of my mind and locked the lid. Jensen emptied out the contents of that box with a few dirty words and a half-smile.

“You
can
say it.”

I swallow the enormous lump in my throat. If I were a teenage boy, perhaps I’d use the word “horny,” but that’s not ever been a word in my spoken vocabulary.

How on earth do I tell my stepbrother that he turns me on?

“You’re afraid to say it.” His eyes glint in the dark.

I don’t argue with him because he’s right. I love the way I feel when I’m turned on. I love the furnace between my thighs and the tingles of anticipation.

The secrecy.

The control.

I love being in control of my own body. The guilt, the naughty feelings, the naughty intentions—they all swirl together to make a cocktail of mischievous delight. I’ve never felt anything like it in all my life, and I’ve never felt more alive than when my mind is flooded with penetrating thoughts that command my body with an intensity so severe I can’t think straight.

Debauchery is exhilarating.

I doubt Jensen would call it debauchery. He would say it’s normal. He’d say it’s human nature. Maybe it is where he’s from, but not here. Not under Mark Miller’s roof. It’s pure, unadulterated evil unless you’re wearing a wedding band and lying next to a man who’s been eternally sealed to you in a temple ceremony.

Never mind that we’re family.

“Let me ask you something.” Jensen rubs his temples. He’s growing frustrated with me. “Are you happy?”

“I’m not sure what that has to do with any of this.”

“Stop being so goddamn obstinate and answer me.”

My breath subsides, catching in my throat. It’s not like his question isn’t a million kinds of complicated. My left shoulder lifts. I rake my chin against it while I stare out the break in the curtains toward the streetlamp below. “All I want is to go to college. That would make me happy.”

“So go.”

I shake my head. “I’ve always been a good girl, Jensen. I do what my parents tell me to do. I get good grades. I’ve got a good moral compass.” I pick at a loose thread poking out from his bedspread. “I think my father suspects something.”

Jensen wrinkles his nose. “I doubt that.”

“I talked to him after dinner.” My shoulders fall. “He still doesn’t trust me to go away to school. Says I still need to prove myself.”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want. You’re an adult.”

“It’s not like that. Not in this family.”

“Have you not learned anything from me yet? You’re your own person. Touch yourself. Think dirty thoughts. Go away to college. The world is your oyster. Your father doesn’t want you to know that. He’s afraid of losing control over you, so he makes sure you’re terrified to think for yourself.” Jensen runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. I’ve never seen him so worked up. “I should know. Believe me when I tell you I speak from experience, and believe me when I tell you I’m only trying to help.”

I’m standing in the Garden of Eden and Jensen Mackey is the serpent. I’ve tasted the flesh of forbidden fruit, I’ve been gifted the knowledge, and now I want more.

“Jensen?” The way his name tastes in my mouth, naughty and delicious, gives me goose bumps, but maybe it’s because I know what I’m about to ask. My heart beats wildly. I’m doing this.

“Yeah?”

“Will you kiss me right now?” I know what kissing leads to. I know it might be hard to stop once we start. But I’m okay with it. It’s my choice. I want this. It’s just something I have to do.

He freezes. I freeze. I can’t believe I just asked him to kiss me. But I want his mouth on mine more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Imagining the heat of his body mixing with mine, the weight of his penetrating gaze the moment before he claims me, the way his hardness would press against my core…

It’s all too much.

I’m heating up, waiting for his answer, my body braced stiff.

“Go to bed, Waverly.”

My jaw drops. He steps closer, reaching for me in the dark. Pulling my arm, he guides me into a standing position and nods toward the door. I could slap him. His untimely rejection doesn’t sting, it burns.

“You’re an asshole.” It’s the first time I’ve ever sworn out loud, and my words are well-warranted.

“I’m protecting you.”

“From what?!”

“From yourself.”

I’m insulted. I’m not sure what to even say. “You have a lot of nerve, Jensen.”

“As do you.” He smirks in the dark. “You’re all over the fucking place. You’re hot, you’re cold, you’re mean, you’re nice. You’re throwing yourself at me now, but what’s going to happen tomorrow? When you wake up in the morning and feel guilty? Forgive me if I’m opting to get off the fucking Waverly Miller rollercoaster.”

I’m not delusional enough to believe his observations are incorrect. He’s dead on, so far.

“So look,” he breathes. “I’m doing you a favor. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you.” He reaches for my face, cupping my cheek and running his thumb across my bottom lip. My breathing suspends until his hand falls. “I could kiss this mouth all fucking night. But I don’t think I could stop there. Matter of fact, I know I couldn’t. And I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret your decision.”

“I won’t regret it.”

“That’s what you’re saying now.”

“I get it. I get that I’m kind of all over the place,” I sigh, placing my palm across my chest. “It ends now.”

The corner of his full mouth curls up. “Don’t beg, Waverly. It’s not a good look for you.”

I tug at the collar of my shirt, my ears burning hot as I blink away misty eyes.

Rejection was never one of the worst-case scenarios I’d dreamed up when thinking of Jensen late at night. My eyes burn and then water. Thick, salty tears fall down my cheeks, and I pray he can’t see them through the darkness.

I push past him, our shoulders brushing. He could’ve kissed me all night long, and I wouldn’t have regretted a single thing in the morning. I know that to be true.

I can’t win with him.

“Go to hell, Jensen.”

I can’t sleep.

I know I did the right thing.

But I can’t sleep.

The glaring red numbers on my alarm tell me if I go to sleep now, I’ll get a measly four hours, but my body is nothing but live wire. I’m not going to sleep anytime soon.

I pad across the room and grab my vodka bottle from my dresser drawer, uncapping it and swallowing two mouthfuls before carefully sliding it under a mess of boxers. I make a mental note to find a better spot for that in the morning. Who knows who’ll be on laundry duty tomorrow, and Mark Miller would flip his shit if he knew his vagabond-spiritual-stepson was sneaking contraband around his freakish family.

The liquor is cheap and burns like fire going down, but it doesn’t take long before my body is warm and numb. The room spins, but I welcome it. I’m on a fucking merry-go-round anyway, so what’s the difference?

Waverly shouldn’t have thrown herself at me. She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. She deserves rainbows and hearts and flowers and shit like that. She deserves a boyfriend with a letterman’s jacket and a Camaro, not me. I’d fuck her over without even trying. I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling any of those saccharine, disgusting, lovesick emotions, anyway. It’s just not how I’m built.

She needs to get laid, just not by me. Not that I don’t want that. I’d fuck the hell out of that. But my cock does better buried in something it doesn’t give two shits about.

She’s gorgeous. She’s smart. She’s sweet and kind, if slightly confused. She’s a good girl, and she was better off before I opened my big, fat mouth all because I was bored. This would probably be the one time in my life I’d ever agree with Josiah Mackey—I don’t deserve someone like her. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to see her married off to some polygamist asshole, but I had no business fucking with her and opening that can of worms.

I hope she doesn’t stir shit up with her dad. He’s going to want to know why she doesn’t want to talk to me all of a sudden, and I’m pretty sure it’s only a matter of time before he starts piecing things together.

If he hasn’t already.

It would’ve been fun to fuck her, though. Those round, untouched tits begging to be fondled. That perky ass in desperate need of grabbing. I’m sure her pussy’s just as tightly wound as her personality.

I close my eyes and imagine her tongue running the length of my cock, her hand gently massaging my balls. My dick swells, filling my boxers, and I know there’s only one remedy.

I won’t fuck Waverly in real life, but I’ll fuck the shit out of her in my fantasies.

Whatever helps me sleep, right?

***

Breakfast is rough. I sit at the end of the table across from Bellamy and Waverly. I keep sneaking looks at Bellamy, trying to see if I can get a read on her. She sits there with her slacks and blouse and pearls, everything covered up. Not a single blonde hair out of place or a single bag under her eyes. No indication whatsoever that she was out all night doing God-knows-what.

She’s good. She’s fucking good.

Bellamy catches my glance and doesn’t make a face or shoot me a look. For all intents and purposes, I may as well have been dreaming about catching her hiding in the bushes.

Waverly eats in silence. At the opposite end of the table Mark is deep in conversation with his three brides. By the looks of it, they’re clinging to his every word like he’s preaching the gospel.

All the younger kids sit in the middle of the table, laughing and telling knock-knock jokes. They’re carefree, those kids. They have no clue how hard life’s about to get for them in the near future. It’s a miracle the Millers have been able to keep their lifestyle under wraps for so long.

Bellamy is the first to rise. She dabs her mouth on a napkin, runs her hand over her hair, waves bye to her family, and flits out the door, her heels clicking on the tile. Waverly is next. Then me. We walk outside a few feet apart, saying nothing to one another.

Her hair’s piled on top of her head and two diamond studs adorn her ears. She’s dressed down today, a University of Utah hoodie and a pair of dark jeans. I’m guessing she was too tired to dress in her usual twin-set uniform, but she still looks damn good.

We drive to class, me following her the same way but not intentionally. I give her space when she heads inside, sitting out in my truck until she disappears in the building.

I’m bombarded by Claire Fahnlander the second I reach my locker. Last I knew, hers was in a different hallway in the opposite side of the building.

Stalker
.

“Hey, Jensen.” She twirls her long dark hair around her finger and smiles. I can almost see my reflection in her lip-gloss. “So… that party tonight at my place. Are you coming?”

I switch my books out and hang up my bag. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

She swats my arm and laughs, dropping her jaw like she thinks I’m flirting with her. I’m not.

“What could you possibly be doing tonight that’s going to be more fun than my party?” She bats her thick, spidery eyelashes.

I glance up at the clock. Two minutes until class. “Not sure.”

“Please tell me you’re not hanging out with Waverly.” She rolls her eyes clear into the back of her head. It’s slightly over the top. There’s obviously some bad blood between them, but I don’t give two shits about the details.

“Why would you think that?”

“I’ve seen your truck at her house almost every night this past week.”

“So you’re stalking me?”

“We’re neighbors. Don’t flatter yourself.” Claire gives a cutesy wave to a girl who passes by. The girl wears a matching Resting Bitch Face. “Anyway, you know the Millers are poly, right? You’ve met the rest of them, haven’t you?”

My stomach drops. I don’t agree with their lifestyle, but I sure as hell don’t want to out them. It’s not my place. “Probably just a rumor. I think I’d know.”

Claire laughs and grabs my forearm. “It’s not a rumor. I know. We used to be best friends, back when Waverly was
allowed
to have friends. I’ve been over there. The backyards are all interconnected. Have you seen that massive dining room table? They’re totally poly.”

“Is that really your business?”

“So you do admit it. You know.”

“I’m not admitting anything. I just think you ought to be careful about starting up any rumors.”

Claire puckers her lips and waves her hand away. “Don’t worry. I mentioned it to a few people a few years ago and her dad came after my dad with something about a lawsuit. Defamation of character, or some shit like that. Being LDS in this town will get you a gold star. Being poly will get you run out of town.”

I’m not sure why she’s telling me all this. It’s almost as if she’s spent a lot of time fixating on Waverly and the rest of the Millers.

“My brother dated Bellamy in high school. Bellamy’s cool.”

Bellamy dated? I thought that wasn’t allowed?

I suppose it’s fitting, knowing what I know now. I’m sure she did all kinds of rebellious things. Firstborns are like that.

“Waverly’s cool, too.”

“Not really.” Claire sticks her hand out, admiring her neon pink nails.

I slam my locker. “At least she’s not a stuck-up bitch.”

I don’t wait for her to react. I head straight into Chem and take my seat next to Waverly. Waverly might be difficult, but she’s not malicious. And in some weird, fucked up, spiritual way, we’re technically family.

I’ll stand up for her because it’s the right thing to do.

I’ll stand up for her because people can be shitheads sometimes for no fucking reason.

I’ll stand up for her because no one ever stood up for me.

“Hey.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “Are we not speaking?”

She turns to me. “What’s there to talk about?”

“I dunno. We can talk about what a bitch Claire Fahnlander is.”

I don’t usually make it a thing to talk shit about other people because it’s generally a huge waste of my time, but in this case, I’m making an exception. Waverly’s lips crack into a smile, which disappears in a flash.

“You shouldn’t say that about people,” she scolds me, but I know she’s amused. I can tell by way her eyes spark. I’m simply saying what she’s too polite to say. Besides, she can’t stay mad at me forever, and just because I won’t fuck her doesn’t mean we can’t try to forge some kind of friendship. We’ve got plenty in common. We’re in this weird family together, and we’re both trying to make it to the end of our senior year. We both hate Claire-fucking-Fahnlander.

There’s no reason we can’t at least try to be friends.

Claire ambles in just before the bell rings and flips her hair over her shoulder as she takes her seat, refusing to acknowledge me. Waverly and I exchange glances and stifle smiles. Her eyes widen and squint, and I respond with an extra wide smile and a wink. We have a
thing
now, she and I. We can communicate without words.

I’ve never had that with anybody in my entire life, and now I have it with her.