Page 96 of Fast

“Why?” she tilts her head when she asks.

“Look, Heather is a nice person. But she hasn’t grasped the importance of focusing on the road, and not on her phone. Besides, she thinks that being the sheriff’s daughter automatically excuses her from speeding tickets.”

Zara must think it’s funny, because she laughs. “And does it?”

“I guess it does,” I sigh. “That doesn’t mean I don’t pull her over whenever I catch her speeding.”

“You and Heather are like oil and water.” She observes.

She nailed it. “Yeah, we’ve known each other forever. She’s like a little sister to me. She’s like a category five hurricane, her energy is unmatched. That’s why she was perfect for—that’s why she drives me nuts when she won’t slow her roll.”

I almost mentioned Atlas.

Fuck. I’m in my own house. Why do I still feel like I can’t say his name? Dad made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about him—or Mom—because it hurts too much.

“Anyway. What do you want to do?” I ask, changing the topic. “Wanna watch a movie and sample those cookies? I should have some microwave popcorn somewhere, too.”

“Sure.” She smiles.

When I decide to let Zara choose the movie, I expect a rom-com, or some period drama. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but not my first choice.

She surprises the hell out of me by choosingKickass.

We settle side by side on my couch, a bowl of popcorn between us and the tub of cookies on the coffee table. I grabbed two cans of soda from the fridge and offered one to my stepsister.

I’ve seen this movie before, and it’s fun, but I’m not paying attention to the screen.

My eyes keep drifting to her. I’m more entertained by her facial expressions, the way she eats the popcorn, than the goofy superheroes in the movie.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. In a different way than Heather, Angela, and most of the girls in town. They know that they’re pretty. Their beauty is carefully constructed and curated.

Zara is different. She might have some minimal makeup today, because she’s been talked into a rush week party. But I’ve seen her bare faced and in just jean cut-offs and a tank top most days. I like that she’s herself. She isn’t trying to impress anyone.

“Ares,” I realize that she’s looking at me. “Are you ok? If you don’t like this movie, we can watch something else.”

That shakes me out of my daze. “No, sorry. I was just thinking that these cookies are delicious.”

Lame. I know.

A part of me wants to pull her into my arms and kiss her. Fuck Dad’s unreasonable demands. I’m tired of always doing “the right thing.”

Maybe, for once, I should do what I want. And what I want is to kiss my stepsister, and consequences be damned.

Her green eyes are locked on me. At this point, neither of us is looking at the TV.

“Were you going to kiss me when we were dancing at the wedding?”

Ok. I guess she wants to address the elephant in the room.

“I was.” I can’t see the point of lying.

The corner of her lips tugs into a smile. “I thought so.”

She turns her attention back to the screen. And I’m confused. Why did she ask me?

A few minutes go by, and Zara seems completely absorbed with the cartoonish activity flick on the screen. I’m starting to think that maybe it’s good I didn’t kiss her after all.

But why bring it up, unless she wanted to kiss me?

---