After a moment, I realized that whatever it was that Florian had been planning to say, he'd changed his mind. I could tell the moment I looked up and caught him staring at the bookcases that lined the walls between the windows, and not at my face.
"Flor," I said and his gaze snapped back to me, his lips twisting into an evil grin.
"Let me take you out," he said, sending a thrill of heat down my spine. My heartbeat picked up speed, something I hadn't even thought possible, making me dizzy for a split second before I realized I was overreacting.
"Out?" I asked, and was glad I actually managed to keep my voice in check. I sounded normal, or relatively normal for me anyway. My voice always sounded kind of husky, like I was trying too hard. "What do you mean out?" I looked at him looking at me and tried to figure out that enigmatic smile of his.
"You know, because your birthday was so goddamn fucking lame." I raised an eyebrow at that, but he wasn't done, finishing his beer and taking a step towards me. "Your dad still hasn't gotten it through that thick skull of his that you're not a kid anymore. Cake and frigging ice cream is fine when you're six, but eighteen? Come on. Tell me that family dinner didn't suck some serious ass."
I tried to smile, but what was I going to say? That my birthday was six months ago, that this was a little late, or that I'd snuck out of the house afterward and partied until dawn (at my friends' behest, of course)? None of that seemed appropriate, so I held my tongue and smiled instead.
"I guess so. What did you have in mind?" Flor raised his hand like he was going to touch my hair, but then he snatched it back, running his tongue over his lower lip and turning away from me. I may or may not have focused on his ass again.
"I don't know, nee-chan, let's figure this shit out." He glanced over his shoulder at me and I died a little inside. Nee-chan. That's basically Japanese for 'little sister', made even worse by the fact that chan is an honorific usually reserved for little kids and people you're too close to to ever consider throwing over the couch and fucking until they scream. It also irritated me because I knew that Flor spoke little to no actual Japanese despite three years of high school classes. My dad pretty much forced me to take them, too, so I could tutor Flor and hopefully keep him from flunking out. Since he managed to graduate high school, I considered it a great feat on my part. "We live in the greatest city in the world; there's always something to do." A slight exaggeration when it came to Eugene, Oregon, but I wasn't about to burst his bubble. I'd have much rather lived in San Francisco, in some tiny little apartment in the Mission, but there was something other than the beautiful scenery and the microbrews that kept me here, and I'll give you a hint – it wasn't the Ducks football team.
I nibbled on my lower lip again, realized I was doing it and promptly snapped my mouth shut. The sudden silence in the room seemed even louder than before.
Flor dug into the pocket of his jeans for a light and lit up, putting a boot on the window seat and leaning forward to push the window up and out of his way. He must've grabbed the lighter when he'd gone back down to his car. I didn't know what his mother would think of him smoking in here, considering this entire building actually belonged to her. And I could only imagine what she'd do if she realized I was crushing on her son. Kick me out? Banish me from family gatherings?
I lifted my gaze away from my stepbrother's ass and came to sit next to his foot on the cushioned seat. He maintained his vigil of the neighborhood and hooked up the left half of his mouth in a grin.
"Naked dude," he said, and I smiled. Despite an ordinance banning nudity (don't ask about our sister city to the north and its infamous World Naked Bike Ride), it wasn't impossible to catch a glimpse of a brave soul every once in a while. "And he's got a pierced dick, would you look at that?" I scrambled to look out the window and catch a glimpse of this mystery dude while Flor roared with laughter. "Look at you, so desperate to see some guy's metallic junk. Do you know how bad that shit hurts?" I glanced back at him with a raised brow, my eyes dropping low … lower. Flor caught me looking and leaned down, whispering in my ear. "Wouldn't you like to know." And then he stood up, took his foot off the window seat and flicked his cigarette in the sink. "Pick something to do or I'll pick it out for you," he added, taking out another beer and chugging it.
My mind went immediately to all of the things we couldn't do together – like rip each other's clothes off – before it spiraled back down into the realm of the everyday and I was suddenly flooded with vapid indecision.
"Um." This was the only word capable of escaping my suddenly parched lips. Go to dinner? No. No. That's either too lame or too much like a date. A movie? Definitely boring. A club? Did I really want to go to a club and watch a hundred other girls rub all over Flor? No. The answer was hell freaking no I did not.
I raised my head and found those eyes of his boring into me, cutting so deep I was pretty sure I was seconds away from bleeding out all over the wood floors. My breath remained trapped in my throat, choking back the words I really wanted to say, the questions I wanted to ask. Once, several months back, I'd braved the school therapist and I'd told her all about my problem, spilled my secrets to a stranger and sat back waiting for judgment. Instead, all I got was an understanding smile and more questions. Lots of questions. How does your attraction to your brother make you feel? Have you ever talked with him about it? Have you and your brother ever acted out on your feelings? I'd wanted to snap back at her, remind her that stepbrother and brother were two entirely different things. In some ways, though, she'd been right: I should tell him. Maybe, just maybe, if we talked about it together, if I was honest with Flor, I could get past this.
Instead I swallowed hard and blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.
"I want a tattoo."
I don't think he'd have been anymore shocked if I really had confessed my undying love.
"You what?" he asked, scratching at the side of his head with those long, strong fingers I'd always admired. I knew how good those fingers could feel, how they could skitter across my skin like bits of coal, burning a trail of pleasure that stained the spirit and the soul.
I steepled my own hands together like a prayer and pressed them against my lips to hide my equally stunned expression.
"A tattoo, huh?" Flor asked again, sitting next to me on the window seat. I turned slowly to look at him and nearly exploded out of my skin when he bumped me playfully with his shoulder, just like he'd done when were kids – just like he hadn't done since we'd kissed each other that night three years ago. That simple touch, the slight brush of his skin against mine, was like an electric shock, waking me up inside, making me melt, paralyzing my heart for several beats.
"Yeah, a tattoo."
I glanced over at my stepbrother, Florian, the boy who'd grown up practically alongside me but was still, somehow, a virtual stranger, like a long lost childhood friend that I'd once known but would never know again. I nibbled on my lower lip in thought and turned away, focusing on the kitchen instead of on his face. He seemed surprised still, but pleased. I mean, why wouldn't he be? Tattooing was his art, his passion, and his career.
"Only if you trust me," he said, drawing my gaze back to him. Already I could see gears turning behind those green eyes of his. He blinked once and suddenly his entire focus was on me, on my face, my body. I could feel him looking not just at me, but into me. An involuntary shiver worked its way down my spine. "Let me decide what and where, Abi," he continued, his voice dropping an octave, making me shift uncomfortably. I could feel things happening between my thighs that only Flor could do to me. Even my last boyfriend, the one I'd lost my virginity to, hadn't made me feel like this.
I kept my gaze locked on his and for a split second there, I saw indecision and secrets. They fluttered behind his eyes like shadows and then were gone, buried deep down God only knows where, somewhere inside of Florian that nobody was allowed to see.
I wished desperately that he'd let me in.
Instead, I smiled, nodded and stood up.
"Okay, Flor," I told him, trying to keep my voice light. "Okay, I trust you."
His smile then was positively wicked.
"Hey Abi," he said as I raised my eyebrow and forced myself to appear nonchalant, taking another sip of my beer, "do you have any of those side-tie bikini bottoms in that conservative little closet of yours?"