The Complete Arrogant Series (6 page)

“Shit, Waverly, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” She stands there all saucer-eyed
before tiptoeing toward me. “Want me to make you something?”

I’m not sure where this niceness
is coming from. Last I knew
,
we’d left things on a
sour note. Maybe she heard Mark yelling at me.

I pull out a plate and knife and
go to town. “Nah. I can make my own sandwich.” I start to cut my sandwich on
the diagonal and then freeze mid-slice. “Aw, shit. Am I not supposed to be in
the kitchen?”

Her brows furrow.

“You know, ‘cause I’m a guy and
all.”

She crosses her arms and fights a
smile for a quick two seconds. She wants to smile. I know it. But she won’t
allow herself.

“Be careful with Dad,” she says,
her voice hushed. “It’s better to let him get it all out. Just don’t talk back.
He doesn’t like that.”

“I take it you’re not mad at me
anymore?” I shove a third of the sandwich into my mouth at once. Bologna and
ketchup sandwiches were a staple at my old house until Juliette came along.
Josiah didn’t cook much, and most evenings were fend-for-yourself.

“I wasn’t mad at you.” She’s
still playing the denial card.

“Okay. If you insist.” I shove
the rest of the sandwich in my face, eating like a prison inmate guarding his
food, but I don’t care. I’m fucking hungry. I make myself a second sandwich and
inhale it as she watches. “You want one?”

She shakes her head. I consider
asking why she’s still standing there, but I don’t have the energy. I’m dirty.
I’m tired. I need a shower. Waverly cleans up my mess without saying a word.

“You don’t have to do that.” I’m
trying not to laugh, but the girl flits around me like a goddamned housemaid.

She wipes up the crumbs and
replaces the rag. The dampness rubs against her white cotton pajama top and
sells out the fact that she’s most definitely not wearing a bra. Who knew under
all those thick cardigan twin sets, Waverly Miller was packing a set of perky,
round tits?

“Go on upstairs, Jensen. Get to
bed. I won’t have you making us late for school again in the morning.” Her languid
command reminds me the rest of the house is fast asleep. It’s just us two
standing in the dimly lit kitchen of the main house.

“Don’t worry about me. Rich gave
me a truck. I won’t be needing your brake-slamming taxi services anymore.” I
head out of the kitchen. Waverly follows in step.

“I’m a great driver.”

“Not when you’re mad.” We take
two steps, then two more. I stop short and she bumps right into me. “You were
mad about something today. I don’t care what you say.”

The warmth of her breath hits my
back as she sighs. She’s not going to argue. She won’t even put up a fight.

“A life of servitude is no life
at all.” I have to say it, even at the risk of pissing her off. I want to give
her something to think about when she goes to bed at night. I can’t imagine
what else might fill that pretty little head of hers. Puppies? Rainbows? Shit.
She needs to think about real life, because real life is fucking hard. “You
wait hand and foot on everybody else, you keep your opinions to yourself, and
you’re giving them permission to walk all over you.”

“This is all temporary.” She
flashes a knowing half-smirk. “I walk a straight line. I get to go to college
in the fall.”

I knew there was more to her than
meets the eye.

I keep climbing stairs until we
finally reach the top. The hallway is pitch dark. I turn toward her, though I
can’t make out her face—only the outline of her profile. Her body heat
radiates onto me, and her sweet scent fills my lungs. And then I say something for
the sole purpose of provoking her, because a girl like Waverly needs to be incited
once in a while.

“I thought about you last night.”
Darkness hides my smug smile as I wait for her reaction. My confession is stark
and honest, unexpected and entirely inappropriate. I want her to slap me across
the face so hard it makes my cheek radiate with pain. I want her to feel better
when she does it. Only I’m met with nothing.

“Goddamn it, Waverly, did you
hear what I just said? I
thought
about you last night.”

She swallows so loudly I can hear
it. “I thought about you, too.”

Waverly

The road to hell is paved with impure thoughts, and I just
bought myself a one-way ticket. I’m lying in bed, my face burnt red and raw as
I try to catch my breath.

Every part of my body came alive
for the first time as we stood at the top of the stairs. Jensen’s confession
nearly sent me over the edge. My body and mind fought like the mortal enemies
they are until I said my piece and brushed past him like I hadn’t said it at
all.

I shouldn’t have said anything.
All I did was make things worse. Breakfast is going to be awkward tomorrow.
Chem class, too. I
cannot
entertain
these thoughts. I’m in the Devil’s playground right now. One misstep and I
tumble and fall, and my father would refuse to let me leave for college this
fall.

My head is buried face down in my
pillow, the cool white pillowcase absorbing the cherry red heat of my cheeks.

I can’t believe I let temptation
and lust get the best of me. I know better than to entertain frivolous
emotions. This is grossly inappropriate.

I. Am. Mortified.

***

I avoid confrontation like the plague, and that’s precisely
why I wake up at the crack of dawn and head to school under the guise of
tutoring another student before Jensen wakes.

And it’s also why, when the first
bell rings, I make a beeline for the nurse’s office, complaining of a
stomach ache
that coincidently subsides just in time for my Chem
class to end.

I don’t see him the rest of the
day, thank goodness, and I rush home after school, grateful when I don’t see
his truck because it means he’s working at Uncle Rich’s shop.

I’m playing on the floor of the
family room with the younger kids after dinner when I feel a presence lingering
over me.

“Missed you in class this
morning.” I rotate around to see Jensen standing behind me, his arms crossed,
and his lips curled at the corners. He must’ve just come home from work. “Don’t
worry. You can borrow my notes.”

“I wasn’t feeling well.” I
swallow the enormous lump in my throat. It comes right back. My eyes trace the
length of his solid body, stopping at his forearms as they flex just so. His
dark hair is ruffled and he smells of diesel and bad intentions. Half a turkey
sandwich rests in his hand, which he promptly shoves into his mouth. The
indentation above his jaw hollows with each chew.

Bellamy is across the room
playing
Sorry!
with
the twins, unable to peel her gaze off the two of us. She knows me better than
anyone else, and the fact that she picks up on whatever is happening right now
sends me into a dizzied state of humiliation. It’s like my thoughts are being
broadcast across my forehead for the whole family to see. My father would never
let me go to college if he knew I allowed any kind of lust to creep into the
corners of my mind.

I
rise,
force a smile onto my face, and say, “I think I just heard the buzzer in the
laundry room. Better go fold those towels.”

Bellamy opens her mouth to
protest. I know she folded them earlier, but I need to get out of here. I need
to get away from Jensen.

Dashing down the hall to the
laundry room, I don’t hear him following me. I release a relieved sigh and yank
open the dryer door, thankful when I find a whole load of random white socks
needing matched. This should keep me busy for a while.

“Really, Waverly?” His voice
makes the room spin and my body a few degrees warmer.

I turn to face him, lifting my
brows. “Can I help you?”

He charges into the small
confines of the laundry room, shutting the door behind him and invading my
space like he owns it. His eyes are dark, darker than before, and his brows are
arched. He licks his soft lips, the ones I’ve thought about more times than I would
ever admit, and leans into me.

“You can’t just say what you said
last night and then run away.” His voice is low, throaty, almost. “Every
confession has a consequence.”

“I know.” I try to speak, but my
words come out thin and breathless.

“What did you think about when
you thought about me?” His voice is a command, and I am trained to obey. He
steps closer, his hand lifts to a space just under my jaw. I press my lips together
in response to his touch, ensuring my words never see the light of day.

Everything about this is wrong.

And yet everything about this
feels like it has the potential to be amazing.

“Why are you shaking?” His eyes
crease. “Are you afraid of me, Waverly?”

Our stares lock. I don’t say a
word. I keep my opinions to myself the way I always have and hope he grows
bored of me and walks away.

His hand still holds my face,
demanding my attention. “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

My stomach hardens. My legs turn
to Jell-O. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He traces my bottom lip with his
thumb and I release a harbored breath. My lips have never been kissed. Not by
another man and not in
that
way.
They’re supposed to be saved for my future husband. My first gift to him on our
wedding day, followed by the rest of me on our wedding night…

“You’re not my sister,” he says
with a huff.

“I am,” I say. He doesn’t
understand how sealing works. I can’t fault him for that. I can only teach him.
“I
am
your sister.”

My heart thrums hard against my
chest. Blood whooshes in my ears. Jensen still cups my face and his eyes refuse
to release mine.

“What do you want from me?” My
voice is a hair below audible, but he hears me loud and clear.

His lips turn up halfway, giving a
small glimpse of his perfect white teeth. “I told you before. I want to save
you.”

“And I told you, I don’t need to
be saved.” If anything, I need to be protected from temptation—from him.

“I want to teach you about choices.”

I scrunch my face. “What about
choices?
”

“Just that you have them.”

“I know that.” I’m not following.

“You don’t. You have no control
over anything. You have the illusion of it, and that could be very dangerous
for you.” His hand leaves my chin and traces down my neck. My breath suspends.
“Your body.
Your heart.
Your soul.
Those things all belong to you.”

“Obviously.”

“But you’re trained to believe
you can only use them a certain way. You’re told you can only give them away
when the time is right, and that you have no choice as to
when
that is. You’re forced to wait until someone else thinks
you’re ready.” Jensen’s voice vibrates through his solid chest and into the
tight space between us.

“Get over yourself,” I spit. “You
don’t know me. You don’t know our family.
 
You think you have everyone pegged. You go around saying whatever you
want. You can’t just do that.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I
want to, kid.” His hand slides down my arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “You
know why?
Because I have choices.
I have control.”

His words wash over me, sinking
into my bones and wrapping around my heart. The deepest
part
of me know
his words to be true, but acknowledging them could be very
dangerous, especially in this house.

“I can think of something you
don’t have control over.” I fold my arms and pull my shoulders tight.

“What’s that?”

“Me.”

My words are a challenge—a
dare, perhaps. I’m playing with fire, and I’m two seconds from being burned,
but I don’t care. My body braces itself, fully expecting him to declare I’m
wrong—to take my lips and to slide his hands all over my body in places
no one else has ever been. My mind would fight it like hell, but my body would
surrender. And maybe then it wouldn’t entirely be my fault, not if he forces
himself on me.

Only he does none of that.

“You’re right, Waverly. I don’t
have any control over you.”

My jaw slackens. He’s screwing
with me.
Playing mind games.
I’m not sure what his end
goal is, but I’m not going to keep feeding into it, and I’m certainly not going
to stick around to find out.

“I’m leaving.” I pull away from
him and push past, our shoulders grazing as I make a beeline for the door.

But he grabs the crook of my
elbow, stopping me in my tracks. He forces me against the wall and invades my
space all over again. Without warning he leans down, his lips nearly brushing mine.
I receive their warmth but not their pressure. We’re separated by no more than
a single, dangerous millimeter.

“If you want me, Waverly—and
I kind of think you do,” he whispers, “—you can have me. The choice is
yours.
You
get to decide.”

A long, slow breath drags past my
lips. I’d close my eyes, but I’m hypnotized by the intensity of his champagne
stare.

“But if you kiss me,” he continues,
“I won’t be held responsible for what happens after that. I might be the best
thing that ever happens to you. I might destroy you. I might make you feel all
kinds of terrifying things. You might hate me when we’re done. You might fall
in love with me. I’m not promising you a damn thing except you’ll be a better
person when you come out the other side.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving a
gush of cool air where his body had been. My hands tremble. I’m swallowing
breaths as if I’d been drowning. Minutes blur together until I gather my
composure and peek out to the hallway.

He’s gone.

He meant what he said.

The choice is mine.

And I choose…