"You mean fighting with each other?" I asked and forced a smile. I made my hands squeeze tighter in an effort to keep my expression stoic. "Isn't that what we've always done? Bicker? Exchange witty repartee?"
"Things are different now," Flor said, gritting his teeth. The muscles in his jaw tightened and finally, blissfully, he looked away from me. "Before, we always fought about nothing and this … "
"You sneaking into my room to read my diary wasn't nothing, Flor." I tried to keep my tone light. It was like the sunshine around us demanded it. "Scaring away each and every guy I've ever had a crush on wasn't nothing. Dragging me out of that party when I was fifteen … That was something."
He kept his gaze averted long enough that I was starting to wonder whether he was actually listening or if he'd let his mind spin away into some alternate universe where he didn't have to deal with a taboo attraction to his stepsister, where he and Rhonda could get married at age twenty-one and have beautiful babies together.
When he looked back at me, I could tell that wasn't true. Whatever was going through his mind right now wasn't about Rhonda – it was about me. I stared into his eyes, noting the rings of color in his irises, darker at the center and fanning out to a lighter shade on the edges. It wasn't normal to have eyes that beautiful, or for someone to notice them so much. In fact, when I thought about it, really thought about it, I realized I could scarcely remember the colors of my friends' eyes. It just wasn't something that stood out as much as you'd think.
"Why bring me here?" I asked him, sagging back in my chair, my hands still keeping their death grip on the arms of the chair. "I feel like we've already said everything we need to say to each other. Where else is there to go from here?"
"I can't see you like this, Abi," he said, his voice taking on that husky tone that he seemed to reserve specially for me. "Dating Max even though he's a piece of shit, crying all night because of something I said, waiting and wishing and hoping."
I pursed my lips.
"I already told you, Flor, that my life won't end because you turned me down." I wanted to look away, but I knew I couldn't. If I did, I'd probably cry again and where would that get me? Pitied? I didn't want my stepbrother to pity me; I wanted him to love me. "I gave it my best, saw it through, and now here we are. I'm allowed time to grieve and frankly, it shouldn't be any of your business how I go about doing that."
"It's fucking about me," Flor said, leaning forward. Underneath the table, I felt his foot bump mine and memories assaulted me, memories of sitting side by side at the dinner table passing notes. "I think that gives me a whole hell of a lot of rights."
I sighed. The same old stubborn, know-it-all jerk was sitting across me and still, my heart thumped painfully, the broken shattered pieces grating against one another as I looked back, willing this to be the end, knowing I'd promised myself that very same thing hundreds of times before. Why can't I get over you?
"How did you think this would work anyway?" he asked me, his eyes taking in my disheveled appearance with a much more discerning eye than I'd like. Asshole. Even rumpled and wrinkled and broken in two, I still felt his gaze hot and scorching. It made me wish I had some style like Addi, something that I could hide behind and feel confident about. Instead, here I sat with a tattoo my brother had picked out for me, a nose ring I'd gotten because half the girls he'd gone out with in high school had had them, and a belly button ring so I could show him my stomach every time I changed out the jewelry, noticing even then that his eyes lingered. It was like I was made up of bits and pieces of Flor, and I hated that. "That we'd go on dates? That nobody would think anything when they saw us together?"
I raised one eyebrow.
"Flor, what do you think a date is? It's going out and doing something with someone because, at first, you're trying to get to know them and later, because you simply like being with them. We've been to the movies, to the park, we've been camping together, we go out to eat all the time … nothing would've changed between us."
"Not in public," Flor said, leaning forward, the table suddenly shrinking in my view, disappearing and bringing us closer together as if by magic. I knew it was all an illusion, just my heated brain and my hormones and my emotions closing in on me. I resisted the urge to scoot back, but felt his hot breath on my cheek. "That's why I asked you before, do you know what you're saying? Things would get even weirder between us because, in the bedroom, you'd be mine."
I sucked in a deep breath, felt his lips feather across mine.
"You'd be naked in front of me, beneath me. Us being together wouldn't just mean more walks in the park and restaurant nights on weekends, but it would mean my lips on yours, my body inside yours, my hands on your skin."
I jerked back then, suddenly, like he'd burned me. The same way he'd done all those years ago when he'd backed away from our first kiss like I was on fire, like I was dangerous.
Being with Flor would mean him holding me, would mean watching A Christmas Story with him enough times that I'd have all the words memorized, would mean him loving me fully and completely and without restraint. Why didn't he understand me? It wasn't just about sex, but I wasn't scared of that either. The first sexual feelings I'd ever had, that had confused me and made me feel strange inside, those had been for him. When I was with Max, the only man I'd ever had sex with, I imagined Flor.
"What if I gave you a chance to see what you were really asking?" he said, maintaining his position leaning over the tabletop. I let my eyes linger on his lip rings, on the scar that graced his chin, on the smoothness of his jaw. "What if we spent one night together? Just one?"
My heart thrummed in my chest like it was an instrument, like it was my cello, clutched close to me and singing out its notes for only me to hear.
"What about Rhonda?" I asked, thinking of the girl he was dating, that he'd brought home for dinner, that I hadn't taken seriously but should've.
"She doesn't have to know."
And there it was. My frustration, my anger, my rage, all boiling over and spilling into my lap.
I stood up just as one of the waiters approached with our order.
I backed up a step as he set it down on the table and disappeared into the restaurant like we were a blaze he'd rather not get burned by. I knew my eyes sparked with rage and my hands trembled, knew Flor could see my expression flickering across my features as he rose from his chair and glared straight back at me. From an early age I'd known he used sex to get over other feelings, to numb pain. He used girls and he tossed them aside because why? Because of me? I wasn't going to let him do it again. I pictured Rhonda sitting in his studio, winking at me, telling me there was nothing wrong with nice guys, smiling at me as I came out of his house in a teary rage.
No.
If he wanted Rhonda, he was going to have to earn her.
"I hate you sometimes," I told him, and I hoped he could feel the truth in my words.
I turned on my heel and walked away.
Flor let me go without a word.
I hated him for that, too.
I spent the following day being dragged around town by Addi and Theo, and the week after that doing anything and everything but thinking about Florian. I made up with Max after cornering him and questioning him about the girl at the concert. He'd stuttered and flushed, scratching at the back of his head and putting on that nice guy grin that could fool anyone, even me sometimes. He told me that, yeah, he was a little too flirty sometimes, but he'd sworn up and down that he hadn't had sex with another girl since we'd gotten back together. I didn't even bother to ask about before, when we'd first started dating. Truth be told, I didn't want to know.
I destroyed my homework with religious fervor, went out to lunch with my dad and promised I'd watch the house that following weekend, even managed to get in an inordinate amount of practice on my cello. I cleaned my room and didn't think of Flor, had a girls' night in with Addi and didn't think about Flor, and made an admittedly delicious chicken pot pie (with homemade crust), all without thinking about Flor.
But at night? That was a different story. My heart contracted painfully as I lay in the dark and closed my eyes, praying that I wouldn't dream of him again. It kept happening until the point where I actually asked Addi for some of her sleeping pills. He didn't try to call me, didn't try to come over, and when I went to lunch with my dad, he said nothing about him.