Page 36 of Piston

He grabs the lasagna and places it on top of the stove, then grabs the garlic bread, before shutting the door and turning to me.

“Why don’t you go and set the counter? It may be safer,” he jokes.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare, making him grin.

He laughs when Cooper admits, “I’ve already set it and put our drinks there, and the salad.” I mock glare at my little brother, who just shrugs. “I’m hungry, Sissy. Remember last week, when you accidentally knocked over the glasses when you put our silverware down?”

Damn, kid.

Poking his side, making him giggle, I move around the counter, and sit at the end. Piston snorts, thinking I sat here on purpose, but I ignore him, taking a sip of my soda.

He dishes out the food before both join me, my little brother taking his normal seat in the middle, and digging in, instantly moaning. “That is some good grub, Sissy. You should have been a chef, not a teacher.”

I grin. “Me? In a chef’s kitchen? Do you think that would be a good idea, Coop?”

He pauses for a minute, then nods. “You're right, that would be a disaster. You’d probably set a bigger fire than you did here last month.”

I wince as Piston chokes on his drink, coughing, before looking at me with shock. I smile sheepishly, wishing I could bury my head in the sand.

“How-how…” he stutters.

I open and close my mouth a few times, but nothing comes out, so my traitor brother decides to speak for me through a mouthful of food.

“S-She forgot a-about the dishcloth on the stove….”

Piston blinks, and I groan, dropping my head while mumbling, “No talking with your mouth full, Coop.”

He laughs as Piston whispers, “Damn, I think I need to put a guard on you….”

I look his way and narrow my eyes, and he winces, clearly not meaning to say the words out loud.

Geez, I’m not that bad…. Right?

Rolling my eyes, I grab my fork and stab it into my food, ignoring Piston's eyes.

Damn Cooper opening his little mouth.

Hopefully, Piston will leave once it’s time to put Cooper to bed.

I know why Piston’s here, but I just don’t understand why he cares. Not only has he disregarded me for years, but he watches women get off.

He doesn’t love me; no one ever will.

12

Piston

As quietly as I can, I tighten the screw on the wall of the dishwasher from my crouched position, my head inside the washing chamber, trying to ignore Bluebell moving in between of my feet.

I noticed Nat handwashing the dishes, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out the thing was broken and, thankfully, it was just some funky wiring.

Grunting, I stand and slowly close the thing, then switch it on. It lights up, and I sigh in relief. I do a quick rinse just to make sure it works before I run my hand down Bluebell’s back. She scampers off into the living area, most likely to stare out the window.

My eyes move around the kitchen. The fridge has hand-drawn pictures held on by small butterfly magnets, pictures, I’m guessing, are from Cooper. Plants sit on her windowsill, which overlooks the small yard with a bunch of flower beds, and a scooter and helmet that leans against the fence.

Fuck, I can’t believe she has a brother, a little one at that.

He’s eight…and I didn’t know.

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