Almost Wrong by Aubrey Parker

Author:Aubrey Parker [Parker, Aubrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: EROS
Published: 2016-10-10T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ANGELA

Hunter and I were both dirt-ass poor back then, our already-pressing poverty exacerbated by us both being teenagers. I still don’t know whom he borrowed the car from, but I did know the gas to get us to Santa Monica in that fuel-guzzling monster must have hurt. He probably didn’t have a choice. His Ford was always falling apart; it ran its final year on spit and bailing wire. He’d probably been afraid we’d break down and find ourselves stranded, and getting to the pier seemed unduly important to him.

I didn’t understand why. We’d been passingly friendly lately, but only passingly. As in: I passed him, and he passed me, and we were usually able to resist sniping. He was moody and barely spoke; I was a bit intimidated in spite of the broken tension, and kept my head down. We had an understanding, but we didn’t mesh and never would. I was coming to understand that he was the troublemaker; I was the stuffy drama girl that he seemed to feel some obligation to protect. That was it.

In the past, when we’d been alone, things had been slightly uncomfortable. When Mom and Bill were out, I worked in the living room, and Hunter stayed in his room. He came and went. We nodded and traded brief greetings. But we never sat for long in the same room. It was too strange. There was the tension of unfamiliarity, plus a different strain that hung in the air like a cloud. I felt guilty for my part. I’d started to notice that despite being an asshole, Hunter was hot. That was wrong on a thousand levels, and I hated the feeling. Worse: I didn’t like what those feelings said about me as a person. I was supposed to date nice boys who did their chores and earned good grades. I was supposed to be into people who weren’t my stepbrother.

But I’d found myself looking at Hunter in the wrong way more and more often. Whenever I caught myself thinking something inappropriate, the feeling intensified rather than going away. I hated it, and hating it made me want to avoid him. But that was impossible, because we lived in the same house. He walked from his room to the bathroom in his boxers, and my room was between them. I listened to the shower through one wall, unable to stop thinking of him standing in its spray, water coursing along his washboard stomach, running down his body to —

But that was so much worse.

And sometimes, at night, I’d hear him clicking around on his computer. Hunter wasn’t much of a computer guy, and the idea that he’d be looking up information on Wikipedia after dark seemed odd. Sometimes, I’d catch the faint sounds of moaning, and I knew he was watching porn. Of course. Boys would be boys. I wanted to be disgusted, having to hear that, knowing what he must be doing on the other side of our thin wall. But sometimes, thinking of it, I’d slip my hands into my pajamas and do the same.

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