Page 1 of Habits

Jeanette

ONE MONTH AGO

“You are one big jackass, Andrew Hill,” I say, watching two girls walk away in a hurry.

He managed to upset one of them and get the second angry at him, as well as piss off his best friend and my brother. It has to be some kind of record for the number of screw-ups in one night. Or more precisely, ten minutes. But who’s counting?

“Just figuring that out, Princess?” He shakes his head mockingly. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you are late and I’ve heard worse.”

My eyes leave the darkness and concentrate on him. We’re sitting in the shadows between the shelves in the school library. I can’t see him clearly, but I don’t have to see him to know the lines of his face. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud.

Andrew Hill is one handsome devil. I can’t deny it, no matter how painful it is, even if I only confess it to myself. I would never utter it in the light of day.

His face is made of strong lines. High cheekbones and square jaw. His lips are full and reddish. They’re pouty, stubborn and oh-so-kissable. A little bump on his nose—most likely the result of years of playing hockey—the only imperfection he has. Well, the only physical imperfection because God knows it, his personality has much to be desired.

Like you’re one to talk.

And then there are his eyes. His big, piercing green eyes surrounded by thick eyelashes. The rich, dark green of woods and fields just after a perfect summer storm. Eyes that charm women into dropping their panties only to have their hearts shattered a moment later.

His brown hair is disheveled, as if he just ran his hands through it or got out of bed after a heated hook-up. It’s not dark brown, but lighter, warmer. Streaked with honey strands when the sun hits at the right angle. It’s longish, and the ends curl against his neck.

As I said, Andrew Hill is one handsome devil.

If only he was less of a jerk.

The school organized this senior sleepover. I don’t get why they even bother, but my brother wanted to come, so here I am.

Max has been acting strange since we moved here. More accurately, since he met Amelia. So there is no way I’ll leave my twin alone. We aren’t as close as we were before, far from it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. He’s not just my brother; he’s my other half. My twin. When we are at our worst, our bond is stronger than some other siblings at their best.

Hill takes a pull from the bottle of Jack he stashed here for our little game and offers me a bit that’s left. His green eyes look at me intensely.

Daring me.

Mocking me.

I don’t think he’s aware of what he’s got himself into. I’m not like the other girls he usually has around. The ones that’ll let him do and say whatever he pleases. The ones that’ll do anything to please him. The ones that’ll bat their eyelashes and smile stupidly, sighing at how good-looking, rich or dreamy he is.

There is nothing dreamy about Andrew Hill.

Just one big douchebag who thinks he knows everything.

Newsflash—he doesn’t.

Yeah, he’s rich. Correction, his father is rich. But so is mine. And yeah, you can say he’s handsome. If you go for a big, bulky body, messy hair and pretty face. But there is nothing dreamy about the guy. He’s cruel, cold-hearted and mean.

I take the bottle from him, my fingers brushing against his as I curl my hand around the glass and bring it to my lips.

The liquid burns in my throat. I’ve already drunk so much I’m starting to feel it. The numbness of my body. The warmth in my belly. The rush of blood in my veins.

I haven’t drunk in so long—almost two years—that I forgot how it feels.

Nothing seems difficult anymore. There is no heaviness in my heart. Dark thoughts are pushed to the back of my mind.

Just for a little while.

I want to roll my eyes at the voice inside my head. Like I need a reminder that nothing can keep my demons at bay for long.

“Don’t be absurd. I know exactly what you’re hiding behind that mask of yours, Andrew Hill. I just like to remind you so you don’t forget.”

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