Page 25 of Wicked Sins

Worth what? Pissing off Josiah? My stepfather?

I can’t answer that question any more than I can explain why I took Sean’s number. Any more than I can explain why I decided to go out with him tonight.

“Lighten up,” he says, nudging my thigh with a knuckle. “You act like you’ve never been to a party before.”

I’ve been to parties before. Of course I have. But not the kind where alcohol and weed are in such abundance, or with crazy-suggestive hip hop music blaring on the sound system. And it seems all the kids are either making out, playing beer pong, or have already passed out in a pool of their own vomit.

Sean drinks it in like he’s come home while my eyes start watering from the cigarette smoke stinging them.

“Wanna drink?”

I should say no—hell, I’d promised myself this morning I’d stop drinking—but all it takes is one condescending glance from a girl who looks like she’s probably the head cheerleader or something before my resolve crumbles.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Whatcha like?”

I scan the dizzying array of bottles clustered on the kitchen’s granite countertop, looking for something familiar. I spot a dark brown bottle near the end, and my mouth starts to water.

Candy, no.

Screw you, Josiah.

I smile and point at the bottle of Irish cream. Sean nods and goes over to pour me a glass while I wait and try not to look like a total loser.

He comes back and hands me a plastic cup, bumping his against mine. I turn my grimace into a faint smile and take a sip. Sure doesn’t feel the same, drinking it from a plastic cup. Doesn’t taste the same either, but in a good way. For some reason, this one’s sweeter. Maybe it’s because I just brushed my teeth. I take another sip, then a gulp, willing it to get on and do its job.

“Hey, there’s something I wanna show you,” Sean says.

He leans over and grasps my hand, lacing his fingers between mine. A thrill chases up my arm, and I drop my eyes before I can start blushing like a damn kid who’s never even been kissed.

I haven’t. Been kissed that is. But I’ll be damned if anyone willeverfind out. Dating isn’t exactly a top priority if you’re trying to keep your mother from OD’ing while keeping whoever she’s sleeping with at the time from throwing you out of the house.

Also, no one wants to date the kid wearing old, stained clothes to school, who can’t even afford a textbook.

Thankfully, that all changed since Mom met Mr. Bale. My clothes are new and clean and fit properly. I’m wearing a new bra that I didn’t have to wash in the school basin. I still haven’t gotten the hang of wearing makeup and stuff like that, but my hair is sleek and shiny from using a hair straightener, and I even spritzed on some perfume before I left home.

A shopping spree was the first thing on Mom’s list after we moved into Bale Manor, and Wayne was kind enough to let her use his credit card.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom happier—eating ice cream as we shopped at the mall and came home with bags and bags of stuff.

I should feel like a million bucks. Instead, my perfume smells too strong, my hair keeps falling in my face, and my new bra’s intent on chafing off my nipples.

Knew I shouldn’t have gone with the lace one. It sure looks pretty, but I may as well have duct-taped pot scourers to my chest.

Sean leads me to a wide staircase. Kids gather on the steps, leaning against the wall or the railing, and we have to weave through them to get to the top.

It might be my imagination, but I swear conversation dies down as we pass. There’s even the odd murmur that sounds as if it’s directed at me.

“…Getting laid…”

“…Bale’s sister…”

“…Get her hair so…”

“…Like thirteen?”

My cheeks grow hot. I do my best to ignore the rest of the comments, focusing instead on Sean’s back. He’s wearing a t-shirt that struggles to contain his wide shoulders. Whether it was intentional or just because he might not always find clothes in his size, heaven knows.

---