Chapter 6 #2
Sox—I get it, the white fur on the paws that look like little socks—is a tiny gray-and-white kitten currently tangled in a T-shirt on the floor. When she sees Harper, she mews again, louder, and starts climbing out.
“Come here, baby girl.” Harper’s entire demeanor changes. Her voice goes soft and tender as she scoops up the kitten. Sox immediately starts purring, the sound disproportionately loud for such a small creature.
I watch as Harper brings Sox up to her face, letting the kitten headbutt her nose. She’s smiling—really smiling, not that sharp-edged smirk she usually wears. It transforms her face entirely.
“Right. The cat from your backpack earlier. Did you bring her with you from East Texas?” I ask, moving closer.
“No, I found her today. This girl, Marie, was trying to save a litter from her dad, who was threatening to drown them.” She shudders and cuddles Sox closer. Sox climbs up her chest to perch on her shoulder, batting at her long hair. “What kind of asshole does that?”
The genuine anger in her voice—the protectiveness—makes my chest tight.
“Can I?” I gesture toward Sox.
Harper looks surprised but shifts so Sox is within my reach. I hold out my hand, letting the kitten sniff my fingers before I scratch under her chin. She leans into the touch, purring even louder.
“She likes you,” Harper says, and there’s something in her tone I can’t quite identify. Not quite resentful, but close.
“Well, we’re family now, right?” I keep my eyes on Sox, but I can feel Harper watching me.
She makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be something else. “Family. Right.”
“She’s going to need food. Litter. Has she been to a vet?”
“I swiped some cans of tuna from the cupboard downstairs. And I made a litter box out of a cardboard box and some dirt from the garden.” Harper’s voice has taken on a defensive edge again. “I know it’s not perfect, but—”
“I can help,” I interrupt. “There’s a pet store about fifteen minutes away. I’ve got my license, and Silas lets me borrow his truck sometimes. We could go tomorrow after school.”
Harper’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why would you help me?”
Because you kissed me in a parking lot and stole my wallet, and somehow I can’t stop thinking about you, even though I know I should.
Because watching you hold that kitten like she’s made of glass makes you look less like a criminal and more like a girl who’s had to survive on her own for too long.
Because I want you to stay, even though I shouldn’t.
“Because Mom will notice if you keep stealing all her tuna,” I say instead.
She studies me for a long moment. Sox chooses that moment to leap from Harper’s shoulder to mine, tiny claws digging through my shirt.
“Ow—”
Harper laughs—that real, unguarded laugh—and carefully plucks Sox off me. Our hands brush, and there it is again. That electric jolt.
Our eyes meet. Hold.
The air between us feels charged, heavy with all the things neither of us is saying.
“Okay,” Harper says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Tomorrow. Pet store. But you can’t tell anyone about her. Not yet.”
“Deal.”
Our eyes hold for a moment. Caught in each other.
I should leave. I should definitely leave her room right now.
Instead, I hear myself ask, “So these ‘people’ you have to get back to... is it like a boyfriend?”
“A boyfriend?”
Fuck. Why did I ask that?
Stepsister.
“No.” She shakes her head, and my heart lifts a little.
At least until she corrects, “Fiancé.”
“What?” I choke.
She laughs—a deep-in-her-chest noise that sounds so warm and inviting—as she sits down on her bed. The cat leaps down and starts playing in a pile of her shirts. “Not really. I mean, it’s sort of a joke.” Then her eyes narrow as she looks out into the night. “Sorta not. But sorta.”
“So you sorta have a fiancé?” I clarify.
“Exactly.” She waves a hand. “But it’s just for the paperwork.”
“Oh. Right,” I nod as if anything she just said makes any sense. “So he wouldn’t mind you kissing strangers in the parking lot.”
She grins unrepentantly at me. “I did give the wallet back.”
“After you were side-tackled by your dad.”
She stretches her back, wincing or pretending to.
“Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Is that why you were crying?”
She stops stretching and looks at me with pursed lips like she’s trying to hold back some emotion; I can’t tell if it’s laughter or more tears.
“No,” she says, shaking her hands out and then continuing to stretch. She’s so easy with her body. Girls usually aren’t. And she’s back to the one-word answers, apparently.
“Then why?”
She narrows her eyes over at me from where she’s got her arms stretched over her head. “You’re pushy, aren’t you?”
I shift my weight, hyper-aware of the jeans crumpled near my feet. My fingers twitch. It would take two seconds to pick them up, fold them, and set them on the chair. Two seconds.
Rule #53: Don’t touch other people’s things without permission. Even if they’re in complete disarray.
I shove my hands in my pockets.
“You just seemed upset. Or…”
“Or?” Her eyebrows lift in prompt.
“Or sad.”
She lets out a little huff of breath, finally stopping with the stretching and picking up the cat again to cuddle. All the confident animation washes from her face for once. It feels like her shields are dropping. “Everyone usually just thinks I’m a bitch. No one ever sees how sad I am underneath.”
I frown. “I see.”
“You do, though. Huh.” She blinks at me, frowning back. Then her eyes squint. “Seriously. What is it that you’re wearing?”
“What?” I laugh. Always the non-sequiturs with her. I look down at my shirt. “Nothing designer, if that’s what you mean.”
She waves a hand impatiently. “No, like, is it cologne, or what?”
I laugh again, feeling the back of my neck heat. “Is it a good smell?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, it’s a good smell. Is it Calvin Klein or some other fancy shit? I don’t know what rich people wear.”
“I—Um.” I laugh again. “I don’t wear cologne.
Just aftershave, sometimes, I guess. I don’t know if I put any on today.
” I run a hand down my cheeks, excited as always when I get a little bit of stubbly resistance.
All it means is I probably didn’t shave this morning.
So I guess it’s just… me she’s smelling?
I mean, I did take a shower this morning.
“Oh. Yeah. Well.” For the first time, Harper looks a little embarrassed. “Not that I care or anything.”
I suddenly realize I’m sitting on her bed.
In her bedroom.
And I’ve run out of things to say. It’s totally blank in my head, and all I’m doing is staring at a beautiful girl, suddenly excruciatingly aware we share a wall and a Jack and Jill bathroom, and I probably look weird as fuck.
I get to my feet and run a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Well. Thanks for letting me meet Sox.”
I head for the balcony door as she tosses out a careless, “See ya later, stepbrother dearest.”
I mumble something not quite intelligible, hand squeezing into a fist, over and over in sets of four until I get outside and shut the door behind me. As soon as it’s shut, I can’t help sucking in a huge breath of cool night air.
I pull her door closed. Then I touch the doorknob twice to make sure it latched. Two is the only even prime number. Two is good. Stable.
I suck in another breath of night air.
Because I am. So. Screwed.