Page 51 of College-Virgin & Dark Bully Next-Door

Dad breathes out a long, conceding sigh, then walks away. Mom kisses the top of my head. “He’s proud of you in his own way.”

“Sure,” I snort.

She pats my shoulder. I haven’t seen Peter today; he didn’t bother to show up for dinner and hasn’t made an appearance tonight, which is weird. He likes to be up my ass about this kind of shit.

He’d give me crap about having bruises at all, ask how little the loser was and generally be an annoying little brother until we end up wrestling or until we get a little too close to getting along. But instead: radio silence.

Are all my hard hours learning how to please people really crashing and burning this summer?

My phone vibrates, and I see an email from Sky, which pushes all worry about my brother out of my head. She’s sent me a few photos. They’re pretty good. But then she sends the one of me getting decked with a caption, ‘my favorite’.

I roll my eyes, text her thank you and ask why she didn’t hang around.

She just sends back her brother’s name.

Yep. Say no more.

Chase and I parted ways on a sour note two years ago, but I can’t help feeling like his anger runs deeper than the text message I sent. Sure, I was harsh, calling him a back-stabbing piece of shit who should burn in hell, but I can’t imagine him being so hostile over that.

Especially when I sent an apology voice note after I left town that night.

The one he didn’t reply to.

With a sigh, I push the memories to the back of my head and get through a much-needed shower, then do another round of ice on my face in my room. But I don’t want to leave the conversation with Sky at that little exchange. I hadn’t seen her since Monday, and she’s not the most avid texter.

Annoying but true. There’s plenty about her that bugs me. How she doesn’t want to ask for things or tell me what she wants, the lack of texting, the way she can wind me up like a fucking top, blow me, and then retreat completely. But all of that just makes me want to know more about her and find out what makes her tick.

I rub the bruise she gave me Monday. It’s barely a green mark now. But I want her to renew it, to dig her teeth into me again, moan for me again, cuddle me close, even the innocent stuff feels intense with her.

Fuck. If she’s not going to take initiative, I’ll lead by example. I’ll do it even when my logic is screaming at me to blend in and fill the mold she’s given me. I call her and see her sit up in bed to give me a face before picking up her phone. “Yes?”

“How was the fight?”

She shrugs. “Gave me good material for your Instagram page.”

“Did you enjoy it?” I push.

“Maybe …” She flops back, and I picture her rubbing her forehead. “I didn’t like seeing you get punched the first time. I wanted to hop on his back and distract him.”

“Like you used to do to me?”

“Yeah. Why did you have to be told to use your left? You loved using it against my brother.”

“Forgot in the heat of the moment,” I admit. “Sucks, but when my blood is boiling like that, the brain isn’t always working.”

“I can relate.”

“Are you avoiding me, Sky?” I ask, dropping all pretenses.

“No.”

“Are you upset about what happened?”

“No.”

“Then what’s with the rift?” I groan. “I can’t do shit if you don’t talk to me.”

“We’re not in a-”

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