Any other girl would be swooning over the fact that Jase Rivers was in her bedroom, but given his reputation and the fact that all he’s done is scare the shit out of me, my going “weak in the knees” has a whole lot more to do with spiking adrenaline than giddiness.
“Tell me you want to be left all alone here, waiting for your Stepmonster to get home, and I’ll leave.”
It’s a challenge.
“I have no idea when she’ll be back.”
And there’s that roguish grin the female populace melts over. “That’s half the fun in leaving.”
Damn him and that smile.
I look between Jase and my nightstand. “One condition.”
“Name it.”
“You owe me breakfast.”
He slips my hand into his, and I find myself being led toward the window. “Deal.”
CHAPTER 9
STOP!
PRESENT
I clingto what fragile shred of hope I have left as I finish my shower and blow-dry my hair. Maybe—justmaybe—my stepmom had invited different guests over to the house. Maybe Sienna left with Jase to go drive her latest luxury car off a cliff. Granted, there aren’t any cliffs in Ravenswood, but a girl can dream, right?
I poke my head out of the bathroom, and sure enough, Sienna’s tinkering laughter can still be heard from downstairs. To say I have a severe case of the fuck-its would be an understatement. I’m tempted to just put on my pajamas and pad my way into the kitchen barefoot, but sadly, more voices can be heard, none of which sound familiar.
Is it Sienna’s parents?
Would Blythe really be that cruel to invite them over?
I want to kick myself because, yes, she would. Sienna was already here, after all.
I throw on the first matching things I can find: a silk camisole and a pair of black leggings. Reluctantly slipping on heels, I consider my makeup, going for only mascara and bold red lips.
When I came home, I had been nothing short of famished, but now the scent of Italian cuisine wafting up to me only churnsmy already-knotted stomach. Stress always has that effect on my appetite. It played a major factor in my previous weight loss…and it seems that hasn’t changed. My God-given stupidity had assumed I’d gotten over it, taking into account the pressures of college this past year hadn’t gotten to me. But I’d be wrong.
Even after all this time, I’ve reverted back to being pathetic, anxious Birdie.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes, and it takes everything in me to not let them fall.
Only once I’ve composed myself do I enter the kitchen, finding a flurry of activity. A girl I’ve never seen before stands at the island as she mixes more sauce into the serving bowl filled with spaghetti. She can’t be older than seventeen, wearing a simple dark blue dress and makeup so sparse that I can’t detect anything more than a sweep of blush and lip gloss. Her hair tumbles down her back in long blonde waves, and amid the hive of conversation, she appears shy, offering nothing but soft smiles and one-sentence responses.
A middle-aged woman, whom I can only assume is her mother, sits on a barstool at the counter with Sienna, chatting and laughing away.
“Hey, honey.”
I damn near jump out of my heels at the voice that manifests right behind me, followed by a kiss to the top of the head. My heart regains some semblance of normalcy when I look up to find my dad.
He shrugs off his suit jacket and introduces himself to our guests, only making it more apparent that the unfamiliar girl isn’t from around here. She shakes Dad’s hand, the blush on her cheeks deepening further—a common symptom of being starstruck.
Even if you’ve never watched a football game in your life, you’re guaranteed to have seen Everett Sharpe in countlesscommercials over the years, spanning everything from charity foundations to soft drink endorsements. His hair is now peppered in gray around the temples, and the laugh lines around his eyes are a little more prominent, but he’s still undoubtedly handsome.
Looking at my family, it’s easy to spot the black sheep amongst us. One glance at our dad, and you can clearly see who Derek and Vanessa take after. Everyone has the same honey-brown hair and hazel eyes. Blythe had been blonde when she met my dad, but even her hair now is a shockingly similar shade. And then there’s me, with Mom’s midnight black hair, pale complexion, and baby blues. The fact that everyone used to tell me I looked like her gave me a sense of pride. She had been beautiful, and I wanted to emulate her, to be the byword of her family’s heritage. Now, without her, I’m like a puzzle piece dropped into the wrong box.
The conversation continues, but I’m only half paying attention. Not until Dad’s easy smile falters when he spots Sienna sitting cross-legged at the far end of the counter. He steals a look at my stepmom, who only mouths, “She came in with Jase,” theWhat was I supposed to do?implicit.
