To my horror, my lower lip starts to tremble. I don't want to cry right now but I can’t hold back the tears any longer.
“No…shit, that's not what…” Nate says, his eyes widen as a tear slips down my cheek. I furiously brush it away and Nate backs up, running his hands through his wavy hair. “It's not that I don't want Jackson to date you, it's that I don’t want you to date Jackson.”
“What? That doesn't make any sense,” I reply, trying to staunch the flow of tears as I tug at my hair.
“Jackson's track record with women is pretty bad. They're just conquests to him.”
I cross my arms and frown at him. “That sounds pretty hypocritical. I mean, the first time we met, you asked me to have a threesome with you and you didn't even know my name.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “OK, that's fair. For the record, you just looked so shocked, and innocent—I couldn’t resist. You're right, it's not like I have a great track record either. I guess the difference, in my mind, is that I'm upfront about it. I've never promised a woman a relationship. The girls I sleep with, they know that it's not going anywhere because I tell them that. Jackson pulls them in by promising them a future with him, and then as soon as he sleeps with them, he acts like they don't exist.”
“But you're friends with him…” I point out.
“Well, he's a good friend. Loyal, funny…”
“But he sounds like a bad person. I just… I don't know why you'd want to be friends with a person like that. Sorry, maybe I'm just…” I shake my head, trying to process this new version of events. “He did…what you just said about him does match up with some things he was saying to me. God, I can't believe I fell for it.”
“He wasn't always like that,” Nate says quietly, gesturing vaguely to a framed photo sitting on his desk. I glance at it, then walk over to get a closer look.
“Oh my god, is that you?” I ask, picking it up. It's a class photo from elementary school, three rows of smiling kids with their teacher standing next to them. Nate is easy to spot. “You look so serious, like you're on the way to the office or something.”
Nate peers over my shoulder at it, his face an exact reflection of his younger self. “That was the year my mom left,” he says quietly.
“Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. Do you ever see her?”
“No. She made her choice.” He pauses for a moment. “That one's Jackson,” he says, pointing out a grinning towheaded boy. I snort. He had a flirtatious smile even back then. “I'm sorry you heard me say those things. Jackson's the kind of guy who, if you tell him something's off limits, that makes him want it even more. He's never been denied anything. So I thought it would be better to convince him that he didn't want you in the first place.”
I fiddle with the edge of the frame and then turn to face him. He’s standing closer than I thought he was. “So…you don't think those things about me?” I whisper, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
“No, the exact opposite, really,” he replies, equally softly. “Brynn you are gorgeous.”
There's a charged moment between us. I can't rip my gaze away from his eyes. I realize he's moving forward ever so slowly, and my lips automatically part, my body taking over from my brain. Every inch of my skin tingles, and I suddenly feel brave—a completely different reaction than anything I’ve ever felt being this close to Jackson.
Just before his mouth touches mine, I close my eyes. As our lips come together, an exquisite feeling rushes through me, unlike anything I've ever felt before. His lips graze mine, then return a bit more firmly, guiding me into a kiss. I've been kissed by a handful of guys over the years, but this kiss is something else. Nate is something else.
His hands wrap around my waist and slide to the small of my back as his lips crush against mine. All my thoughts evaporate, all my worries and insecurities—maybe it's that I can tell he knows exactly what he's doing, and so I can let myself go, trust myself in his hands. He nudges me slightly with his nose and his lower lip brushes against mine. I almost gasp as I feel his tongue move smoothly into my mouth. Electricity flies straight from my mouth to the base of my hips.
I press my tongue against his as my hands move of their own accord up to his chest. I lay my palms against his pecs and feel his racing heartbeat under his rapidly rising and falling chest. It's my first hint that there's something else hiding under his completely confident exterior.
His tongue moves deeper into my mouth, and his hands pull me close against his body. I wrap my arms around his neck and run my fingers through the hair falling onto the collar of his polo. I can feel his erection pushing against my stomach as he slides one hand over my ass. I want nothing more than to rip my clothes off, jump on his bed, and be ravaged by him…to feel his mouth all over my body…inside me…
Suddenly he pulls away. I almost fall forward in surprise as my eyes blink open.
“I shouldn't have done that,” he mutters.
“Why?” I whisper, falling quickly from my cloud.
“It's wrong…you're my stepsister. Maybe it's best if we just keep our distance from each other.”
“Yeah, you’re right…” I reply, feeling like he's just slapped me in the face. I walk quickly to the door. I pause before I open it, wishing I could put into words what I'm feeling, but I can't. I open the door and close it softly behind me before rushing to my room.
As I curl up under the covers, I try to wrap my mind around all the twists this night has taken. I can't believe Nate and I just kissed. I mean, I've been dreaming about that moment since I first laid eyes on him freshman year. I've found that most things in life don't live up to how I've built them up in my head, but that kiss far surpassed any fantasy. I can feel my body reacting at just the thought of his lips touching mine again.
But is he right? Was it wrong of us to do that? Light is creeping around the sides of my shades by the time I manage to fall asleep, and I still haven't managed to find an answer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nate and I pass the next few weeks as though we're each surrounded by an invisible force field. Whenever one of us enters a room, the other is propelled out of it. We're only pushed into close proximity with each other when we have a family dinner, though my mom has been pushing those on us quite frequently in an effort to bond.