Page 22 of Lust
But it wasn’t all about our petty rivalry.
When I didn’t torture her, Sara could be sweet. In turn, she was the only talkative person I tolerated. Even my childhood friends couldn’t pull more than a few syllables out of me. Despite the nearly eleven-year age gap we shared, she was my one meaningful connection to this earth.
When I used to visit home from college, she’d be the first person to greet me at the door. In eighth grade, Sara told everyone that her brother would be the president one day, and anyone to contradict it was met with her wrath.
And every year, on the anniversary of Dad’s death, Sara hugged me.
Ever since I hit puberty, everything had been handed to me. People fell at my feet though I’d do very little to charm them. Men wanted to be me. Women kneeled down without knowing a thing about me. No one displayed a morsel of authenticity. The mindless devotion had turned hollow with a voice taunting me that I’d never experience more than these superficial connections. There were no more surprises left… except for Sara.
She became my adopted sister upon Mary and Ragu’s matrimony. For all intents and purposes, I was a brother to her, and perhaps that’s why she didn’t mindlessly bow to me just because of my looks.
For years, our friendly competition had kept me engaged in my otherwise dull life. Not once had she told on me. Instead, she was my worthiest adversary. The only person in this damned world that I respected. And I had come to crave her sweetness as much as I craved her wickedness, although she was always hell-bent on annoying the shit out of me.
Sara turned on her heels and swabbed me with her paintbrush.
“What was that for?” I frowned, irritated.
“I’m furious with you.”
“What else is new?”
Grabbing one of the white rags next to her canvas, I wiped the paint off my chest. For a second, I wondered if the moonlight was playing tricks on me or did her gaze linger on my shirtless torso for a second too long?
She looked away much too quick for my liking. “Why are you forcing me to move home?”
Because you lived in a coed dorm, and all the boys wanted to fuck you, and I had been going crazy. “You know why,” I replied coolly.
Sara’s stone-colored eyes searched mine. “Because you think I hurt those girls?” she asked, bottom lip quivering.
I gaped at her. She couldn’t believe that; Could she?
Guilt over the part I had played tore my heart open because her desolate state was apparent. “No, Angel,” I said. “Never,” I reiterated firmly because it was imperative for her to know. “But I think it’ll be best for you to live at home instead of the dorms, so we can protect you if people start talking again.”
Sara’s reluctant eyes returned to the canvas.
I sighed. “Look at it this way. At least there was a silver lining tonight.”
“What’s that?”
“You looked less ugly than usual.”
Sara tried to swab the paintbrush at me again, but I moved back just in time to avoid the attack. “At least my hair wasn’t such a mess that it was all everyone talked about. Your convertible hair gave away which car you drove to the event.”
A slow-motion horror hit me like a train wreck.
Convertible hair? Why didn’t Steve tell me? Did the photographers take pictures of my hair in that condition? Would it be in tomorrow’s papers? Why hadn’t I thought of checking on my hair before entering the grand ballroom?
Always check on the hair, Tristan!
Spinning in place, I caught my reflection in the glass of the double doors to Sara’s room. Everything looked in place where my hair was concerned.
Her melodic laugh confirmed that she was playing with my vanity. I ground my teeth in irritation. How did she always manage to get the better of me? I didn’t even drive my fucking convertible to the event. I had donated that car to one of Sara’s charities.
I gained on her until nominal distance remained between my bare chest and her itty-bitty nightshirt. The smile vanished off her face, and she visibly swallowed. Dilated pupils tried to keep their gaze trained on me. A low growl built inside my chest when her eyes inadvertently drooped to my abs.
It’s a nonverbal game we played, one we never admitted to out loud. She teased me for my vanity, and I shut her up with the same ethereal looks even my sister couldn’t deny.
Sara’s gaze lingered on my torso, and this time there was no uncertainty in the matter. In spite of herself, she was checking me out.
