Page 67 of College-Virgin & Dark Bully Next-Door

He makes a sound like a snort and walks past me.

“I’m going out tonight,” I call after him.

He doesn’t even pause, just nods. “Make good choices.”

That’s it. Then he goes upstairs. No concern about telling me to adhere to curfew, nothing about not drinking, nothing about who I’m going out with. I narrow my eyes and feel spite spread along my nerves. Now I want to get wild just to get his fucking attention and snap him back into gear.

So I go upstairs and grab a dress Bonnie got me for my birthday that I swore I’d never wear. It’s not ridiculously sexy, but it’s tight, molds to my body, and comes down to barely mid-thigh. It’s red, spandex and cotton, and when I pair it with black wedges, I feel like I’ve dialed up to an eight instead of my normal three. I do some makeup to top it off, put on a dash of perfume, then grab my worn-out leather jacket.

I walk downstairs, making sure to walk in front of my dad’s room. “I’m leaving now.”

He grunts. But when I get downstairs and hear the fridge close, the hair on the back of my neck shoots up, and a zing slithers down my spine. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Dracula was crawling down my back.

I didn’t think about Chase.

And Chase will haul my ass back inside, toss me in my room and tie my doorknob to the bathroom door so I can’t leave. He’s done it before. He’ll do it again.

Swallowing, I turn around slowly.

Chase appears, a Ziploc bag of ham between his teeth, bread in one hand, mayo in the other. Our eyes meet, he looks me over, and the bag of ham falls to the floor. Fuck. I sprint to the door, but Chase is faster, wrapping his arm around my middle and tugging me back while shoving the door shut.

I scream as my bad hand is grabbed, and Chase releases me with a healthy dose of concern on his face. I check my bruised finger and shoot him a glare.

“Where the hell are you going dressed like that?” He booms.

“Wherever I want! Dad doesn’t care!” I sneer.

We glower at one another, and he points at the stairs. “Shorts. Now.”

“I don’t need shorts. I’m eighteen. I can dress how I want no matter where I’m going.”

“You are my little sister, Skylar Constance Bennett. I’d be a shit brother if I let you walk out of the house like this unless you’re …” He looks me over again, eyes widening, then leans back. “You’re going on a date?”

“Maybe.” I take another step towards the door.

“I want to meet him.”

“That’s Dad’s job, not yours.” It’s a low blow, and I regret it right away, but I know I said it loud enough for Dad to hear. I rub my forehead slowly.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. Chase fans off my apology, then jerks his chin toward the door. “Is he picking you up?”

“Um… no. I called a cab,” I reply, thinking quickly.

“Do you want me to wait outside with you?”

Panic flares inside me, and I hope it’s not stamped on my face. “The streetlights are on, so I’ll be safe.” I point to the bag of ham on the floor. “Don’t you have a sandwich to make?”

“It can wait.”

His cellphone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket. I’m surprised by how his face reddens in the split second it takes for him to glance at the screen. “I need to take this,” he mutters.

Relief floods me. “I’ll be back before midnight, okay? I’ll text you every hour.”

“You better.” His eyes are still on the screen.

“At least someone cares,” I mumble, walking out and closing the door behind me.

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