Page 67 of The Spider & the Storm

But the problem was, for me, love always came with the side effect of blindness.

With Amanda, I couldn’t see that my love for her was unrequited.

With Jersey, I simply lost the ability to see anything elsebuther. And, God, what a sight she was.

Tall, only an inch or two shorter than me, with slender legs that stretched on for miles. Pale, icy-blue eyes that were only ever emphasized by thick black lashes and a clean sweep of blacker eyeliner. Long, voluminous white hair. Manicured fingernails painted a permanent shade of deep, dark blood red—the same signature color as her full lips.

I felt like an imposter with her on my arm. Like at any moment, she’d snap her crystalline eyes open, take one look at me, and wonder how the hell she’d spent three months sleeping naked beside me without ever noticing what a spastic, skinny, socially idiotic ass I was. Because that was exactly what I couldn’t stop thinking anytime I caught a glimpse of her in her bed, in her kitchen, in her shower, in her car …

What the hell is she doing with me?

But also …

God, I fucking love her.

“So, when are you finally going to introduce us to whatever chick has you looking like that all the time?” Luke asked as we sat down to dinner.

Oh, right.

And I had yet to bring Jersey home to meet my brother and his fiancée.

“Huh?” I asked, feigning cluelessness as I reached across the table for the pepper.

“Right?” Luke asked Melanie, gesturing the tines of his fork in my direction. “He always has this dreamy look on his adorable widdle face.”

I glanced at Melanie, who I knew would back me up if Luke was just being a jackass, but she smiled and gave a little shrug.

“You kinda do,” she answered, her eyes glistening with that type of affection I had grown accustomed to over the years.

It was one of the things I missed most about Mom, but I was grateful it hadn’t died with her.

“So, what’s her name?” Luke asked, chomping down on the end of a carrot stick like he’d decided to start moonlighting as a Bugs Bunny impersonator.

“Jersey,” I replied, dropping my gaze back to my plate.

“Ooh, Jersey!” he teased, raising his voice a few octaves. “Exotic! What is she, a stripper?”

“Oh Jesus, Luke,” Melanie groaned. “Stop. I like it. Jersey is a cool name.”

“Is she?”

I looked up at my brother, instantly defensive for no fucking reason I could explain. “Is shewhat?”

He lifted one side of his mouth in synchronicity with his shoulder. “Is she cool?”

“Cooler than you, dumbass,” I replied.

Luke cackled obnoxiously. “Babe, look at him. He's blushing, and his feathers are all ruffled. Aww …” He folded his arms on the table and grinned, waggling his brows. “So, you really like her, huh?”

“Yes,” I answered simply because it was a lot easier—and less likely to earn me more of Luke’s obnoxious torment—than to say that I was in love with her.

“So, uh, why haven't we met her then? Why don’t you bring her over?”

I sniffed a sardonic laugh and shook my head, avoiding his questions for as long as I could.

The truth was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring Jersey into the house I’d grown up in—ever. The house that had once belonged to my parents, the house that still encased their untouched room like a dust-encrusted tomb. The house I shared with my wreck of an older brother and his incredible, saintly girlfriend-now-fiancée, who was more blinded by love than I’d ever been.

There was a lot of baggage there, a lot I wasn’t sure I wanted to unpack when Jersey knew so little about my familial life and the things that had so far formed the foundation I now sat upon.

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