“Are they?” Mal’s body moved beneath me as he no doubt lifted his head to check out the damage. “Shit. Ah, yeah. She’s a bit of a mess, isn’t she? But how was I to know if she was into biting or not if I didn’t try it out?”
“She’s not,” said Lizzy. “Or at least, I don’t think she is. Anne’s never seemed like the biting type to me. She’s more … restrained.”
“Restrained?” Mal laughed softly. “Yeah. Why don’t you go check out her bed, then tell me how restrained she is.”
Footsteps followed by a gasp. “Fuck me. It’s totaled.”
“My pumpkin’s an animal when she gets going.”
“You call her pumpkin?” My sister’s voice was filled with awe. “Does she actually answer?”
“Well, she pretends to hate it. But secretly, I know she loves it. Her face goes all soft and everything.”
Oh good god, enough. I’d basically raised this girl; she didn’t need to hear this sort of shit. Any authority I’d once had would be dust. I cracked open an eyelid. “Quiet, Mal.”
“I am your servant in all things.”
“What time is it?” I asked as a yawn almost cracked my jaw in two.
“Mal? Did she call you Mal?” asked Lizzy, coming up close beside us. My sister and I didn’t look much alike. Her hair was a pretty caramel color as opposed to my carrot. Her features were more delicate than mine, though we both had mom’s strong jawline. “No. Way.”
Ha, this would be fun.
“Strangely enough yes, way,” I said, my voice ever so slightly smug. “Mal, this is my little sister, Lizzy. Lizzy, this is Malcolm Ericson.” My sister hadn’t been quite as big a Stage Dive fan as me. Doubtful it would stop her from fangirling out, however.
As suspected, Lizzy squealed like a loon. Both Mal and I winced. “Oh my god, Anne loves you. She had an entire wall of her bedroom dedicated to you.”
“No!” Shit, how had I not seen this coming? Fear choked me. Someone had to tackle my sister, now. Take her down and lock her in a cupboard. It was absolutely for her own benefit, but mostly mine. I tried to lunge at her, but strong arms held me trapped. “Lizzy. Shut up. Please shut up. He doesn’t need to know that.”
“Tell me more, Lizzy,” demanded Mal. “A whole wall, did you say? That is fascinating. I definitely need to know more.”
“No you don’t.”
“Hush, Anne. I’m listening.”
My arms weren’t long enough to cover Lizzy’s mouth. I had to settle for Mal’s ears. I fought him, but he shook off my hands far too easily, the wily man.
“She used to write your name on her thigh in permanent marker,” my traitorous wench of a sister reported. It was official: Lizzy sucked. There was a good chance I’d soon be an only child if she kept talking. Given mom rarely noticed she had children at all, the loss shouldn’t be too debilitating long-term.
“That’s a lie!” I cried, breaking out into a cold sweat.
“Did she write it on her inner thigh? I bet it she did, the minx.” Mal grabbed my wrists, holding them against his chest. An effective means of stopping me from beating him bloody. “Did she draw little hearts with arrows sticking out of ’em too?”
“I don’t know.” My beloved sister settled into the wingback, crossing her legs. “But she did practice signing her name as Anne Ericson all the time.”
“I am so touched you’d take my name, pumpkin.” Mal attempted to smooch my fists. “No shit, that’s awesome of you. Means the world to me. My family is gonna love you.”
“La–la-la-la,” I sang at the top of my voice, drowning them both out as best I could.
“And she’d watch Stage Dive videos over and over. Except for the one where you kissed that girl.” Lizzy clicked her fingers, her face tensed in concentration. “’Last Days of Love’, that was the one. She flat-out refused to watch it, would leave the room if it came on.”
Beneath me, Mal’s body shuddered because he was laughing his ass off. The man was in hysterics. Even his eyes were bright with unshed tears, the douche canoe. A big hand curled around the back of my head, pressing my face into his neck. “Aw, Anne. Were you jealous?”
“No.” Yes. Horribly, horribly jealous. That kiss had ravaged my teenage soul and made me listen to sad songs for almost a year.
“My poor girl.”
“Shuddup.”
“I didn’t mean to kiss her. My mouth slipped,” he said, trying for earnest and failing. “I swear I was trying to keep myself pure for you. Tell me you believe me, please.”