The Complete Arrogant Series (10 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.

Waverly

“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.”

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.