Make Me Pretty
Marie Ann
Chapter One
Peris
My eye twitches in time with my cock. I can’t even control it—it just happens.
He’s right fucking there, near the top of the bleachers, school laptop open. His long, knobby fingers are flying over the keys surprisingly fast for such small hands. He doesn’t even look down at the court—atme.And he hasn’t since the night I pinned him against the wall, his little fucking comments finally pushing me over the edge.
Ireallyshouldn’t have touched him. But Abel knows how to get under my skin. He’s burrowed himself deep, fingering my frayed edges, pulling them taut until they snap off, one by fucking one.
My eyes narrow. Why’s he even here if he’s not going to watch us practice? Watchme?
I set my jaw in a tight grit, shaking off any and all thoughts of my…goddamnfoster brother.
I hate that term. Abel’s so muchmoreand yet considerably less. He used to just be some fucking twink at school, always covered in bruises, and now…he lives with me.
It’s fine.
I’ve got everything under control.
“Yo, Baxter, where the fuck’s your head?” Gabe, my best friend, yells as he launches the ball at my chest. I catch it on reflex, my fingers splayed wide over the leather.
“Watch your mouth, Avalos!” Coach Johnson yells from the sidelines. I scoff and roll my eyes.
“Sorry, Coach!” Gabe snickers as he jogs over to me. He slams his head against mine. It rattles my brain around, but the pain is what I need—a center point for my focus. Something other than the fucking twink invading my entire goddamn life, my every thought.
“Jesus, dude. What the hell is with you?” Gabe asks, dribbling the ball between his legs, his dark, curly hair bouncing. I look down at my empty hands and blink. I wish my dick was as empty as them, but no. It’s wedged tight and uncomfortable in my waistband, so I don’t sport a fucking boner in front of my entire team.
Fuck, I’m off my game.
Literally.
I yank on my hair, pissed the hell off. “I don’t know,” I grumble because, really, I don’t.
My eyes find Abel.Again. His black hood is pulled over his white blonde hair, blocking most of his face, but even from all the way down here, I swear I can see the silver piercing at the bridge of his nose glinting. Taunting.
I hate it.
“That’s the foster kid, right?” Gabe asks. I nod, still unable to look away. “And he’s living with you now.”
“Unfortunately,” I grit.
“What’s his deal? Everyone seems to have a lot to say about him.” As if Abel senses we’re talking about him, he looks away from his screen, eyes sliding right to mine like he knows exactly where I am. The connection doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before his eyes are back on his laptop, completely and utterly indifferent, like he was just staring at a wall.
I want him to fuckinglook at me,to feel the overwhelming frustration that consumes me every waking moment.
“He exists to piss me off,” I mutter, hands tightening into fists at my sides, anger rolling off me in steamy waves. He’s kept up this attitude for the better part of a week now. Acting obtuse and frustratingly indifferent. Like me touching him never fucking happened. When itclearly did.
I hate that it did.
It’s like a slap in the face. Like I’m proving him right, admitting something Ican’t…I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I can’t deny the appeal of falling for his bullshit. The carelessness teetering.
And he seems to know it, too. Because every time I turn around, he’srightthere, in one way or another. Suffocating me with his endless presence.
He’s mocking me.Pushing me.
