Page 33 of My Brother's Bad Best Friend

Lizzie

Istep out of the shower, pausing to wipe the steam from the glass. I look at my face, at the slowly fading bruise around my eye, and I wonder how I got here.

At least work was decent. I like Lane, she’s funny and helpful and easy to talk to. The customers are okay too, some are kind of douchey and annoying, but mostly I had a good time. I think I could probably do this for a while, maybe even save up enough to get my own place.

I frown, glancing away. It’s amazing how much I think about myself when my brother’s in trouble.

I tried calling him when I got home, but there was no answer. I figure he’ll be home late again tonight, and I bet Jonas won’t be back at all. He avoided me for the rest of the day after that kiss, that stupid, amazing, so stupid kiss. I don’t get why I can’t just have a little self-control and keep my hands off him, but apparently I’m pathetic. The first handsome guy to smile at me suddenly sets my heart on fire and now all I want to do is throw myself at him, no matter how much of an asshole he can be.

I poke at the bruised skin around my eye. “Stupid Lizzie,” I say to my reflection. The girl staring back at me smiles and cocks her head. I sigh as I drop my fingers. Part of me wishes my eye would scar, a deep pink rut down along the side of my face.

Then maybe I’d have a permanent reminder of what assholes men can be.

I tighten the towel around my chest and slip out of the bathroom. I shiver a little bit, my long, wet hair dangling down my back as I pad into the living room. I should’ve brought my clothes in with me, but oh, well, the guys aren’t going to be back anytime soon.

I fish a clean bra and panties from my bag before letting the towel drop to the floor. I slip the panties on and decide against the bra, opting for an old Disneyworld t-shirt instead. As I’m pulling it over my head, I hear a key in the lock. The door swings over just in time as my arms are half tangled in the shirt, my breasts still partially exposed.

I yank the shirt down, but I can tell by the look on Jonas’s face that I was too slow. “I didn’t think you’d be home,” I say quickly.

“I’m glad I am.” He’s smiling but his eyes are flashing passion and need, that same look he gave me earlier in the grow room.

“I don’t have a room,” I say stupidly, like he didn’t already know.

He smiles and shuts the door behind him. “I get it. Sorry I barged in.”

“No, I mean, it’s your apartment.”

He tosses his keys in the dish and heads into the kitchen. I wrap my arms across my chest, the too-small t-shirt tight against my chest, my nipples poking out from the chilly air.

“You can put some pants on,” he calls out. “I won’t peek.”

“Oh, okay.” I feel so stupid as I pull a pair of shorts out of my bag and quickly get them on. I consider the bra as well, but it’s too late for that. I mean, whatever, he already got a glimpse of my bare chest. Can’t get any worse from there.

I follow him into the kitchen and the way his eyes glance across my breasts makes me think that yes, maybe I should’ve put on that bra after all. I get a thrill knowing he’s looking at my body though.

It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone. I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever be able to, after the accident, but I know I’m perfectly capable of, you know, feeling that sensation down there. I mean, it’s not like I’m paralyzed or whatever, I just broke my legs. I think I was numb for a while after the accident and couldn’t figure out how to make myself feel again.

It came back though, gradually. By the time I felt like myself again, desires and all, I’d already lost all my friends, and everyone thought I got Nathan killed. Who wants to sleep with the girl that murdered her boyfriend? That’s what everyone was whispering, or at least what I imagined they were saying.

Jonas pulls a bottle of wine out from a cabinet and looks at me. “Want some?” he asks, hesitating before he grabs a glass.

“Sure,” I say.

He pulls down two glasses, opens the bottle, and pours. He slides me my glass and I take it from him, grateful to have something to do other than think about how pathetically horny I’ve been for the past few months, how I’ve humped pillows, watched porn, and fingered myself into oblivion.

And how I really, really wish I could do that right now, just to get some freaking relief from all this tension.

He sips his drink. “How was your first day?”

“Good,” I say. “Lane was helpful.” I sip the wine, and it’s good, deep and rich. I get a glance at the label, some pinot noir I’ve never heard of before, not that I have much experience drinking.

We both sip in silence for a second before he grins at me. “Do I need to take my shirt off right now?” he asks suddenly.

“What?” I ask, almost choking on my wine. I start coughing like a moron and he comes around the counter to rub my back.

It feels stupidly good. I get up, putting my hands in the air. “I’m fine,” I manage. “Wrong pipe.”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “I hope the thought of seeing me without my shirt on doesn’t make you choke.”

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