Page 11 of My Brother's Bad Best Friend

I don’t know what I expected. I step into the room and look around, but it’s empty. She’s not on the couch, which I guess is where I thought she’d be. I check the kitchen, Ezra’s room, even my room, but nothing.

Finally I go out onto the patio, and stop in front of a little body wrapped in a blanket, curled up in a corner near my cannas.

I crouch down near her and don’t say anything at first. I watch her stir a little bit and after a few seconds, a face appears from the blanket, her wide eyes blinking at me.

I stare at her in silence. After a second, I reach into my pocket and take out a joint I was saving for tonight. I light it and draw deep as I watch her. She shifts her weight, sitting up, her back against the corrugated steel wall, her eyes watching me warily.

“Where’s Ezra?” she asks.

“I thought you might be dead,” I answer, ignoring her comment.

She shakes her head. “Not dead. Just tired.”

“Long day?”

I can’t help but smile at the way she arches an eyebrow. “You could say that.”

I let the smoke drift from between my lips and sigh with the last bit of air in my lungs. She cocks her head and I stand up, stretching a little bit.

“Never pegged you as a plant guy,” she comments as I turn away.

I look back at her. Those wide eyes almost look like they’re floating in space, the way her black hair blends in with the night. I have the sudden urge to walk over to her and curl up in that blanket next to her body.

“Calms me,” I say. “Plus, they’re pretty.”

She snorts. “Pretty?”

“Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy.” I smile a little bit, not sure if she’s mocking or genuinely enjoying this part of me. I don’t normally share my love of gardening with people, since I don’t need the fucking comments. I have an image, and that image doesn’t include growing shit on his patio. People picture me smoking weed and cracking skulls and selling drugs and getting tattoos, and that’s all they care about.

Might as well try not to disappoint my fans.

“Are you talking about me or the flowers?” Her smile turns a little mischievous and I get a glimpse of the Lizzie I remember from when she was younger. Funny and immature but whip-smart and quick with a dig.

“I’m definitely talking about you, little rose,” I say.

“Rose?” She arches another eyebrow at me.

“Pretty and thorny. Quick to bite.”

She laughs. “So you do think I’m pretty.”

“Careful. We’ll be living together for a while.”

Her laugh is bitter like ice in black coffee. “Not like that ever bothered me before.”

I raise an eyebrow, mind reeling for a second. “Royal, did that fucking bastard ever…?” I trail off as she laughs, shaking her head.

“God, no,” she says. “Royal never, ever touched me.” She pauses for a second, fingers coming to her black eye. “At least not like that. No, I was thinking about mom’s boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends,” I say.

“You know, the young guys she fucks around with when Royal pretends he isn’t looking. Or when he’s too drunk to care.”

“I hear something along those lines.” I keep my face straight, trying not to pity the poor girl. Fact is, her mom has a pretty horrendous reputation for sleeping with any guy under the age of eighteen. I hear she hires them to clean her pool then takes their virginity, which is the most fucking cliché thing imaginable. I figured it was all bullshit, although even Ezra admitted once that there may be some truth to it. Now though, I’m pretty sure most of that insane shit I heard about probably really did happen.

“Come inside,” I say. “You hungry?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that?” she grumbles as she climbs to her feet. I help her the rest of the way, my hand lingering on hers as we step in through the patio door. I slide it shut behind us and head into the kitchen, Lizzie shambling along behind me, blanket trailing along the floor like a skirt.

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