“Oh, fuck, Natasha, of course,” Jackson says, laughing and hitting the steering wheel. I frown a little. I guess it's par for the course for my stepbrother.
Jackson picks up most of the slack in the conversation, and the radio does the rest. I'm too nervous and stuck in my head, thinking of what I should say, while Nate mumbles one word responses from the back.
I'm relieved when we find a parking space on the street near the party. As we walk toward the riotous townhouse, I'm surprised the neighbors haven't already called the cops. People are spilling out the front door and I can hear the music halfway down the block. There's a pretty olive-skinned girl standing on the curb who turns her head as Nate calls out, “Natasha!”
She smiles coyly as we walk up. Nate dips her in a jokingly romantic manner and plants a kiss on her lips as she breaks out into giggles.
“Come on,” Jackson says, draping an arm around my shoulders protectively and escorting me inside. He high-fives a few guys as we walk in, and he guides me to a keg in the middle of the living room, which is strung with little white Christmas lights. There's an impenetrable crowd around it but somehow he manages to snag me a beer, and before I know it I'm taking my first sip of the summer. With his hand on the small of my back, we walk into the next room. The dining room table is being used for a beer pong game, and Jackson and I take a seat on a couch nearby.
“You're gorgeous, you know that?” Jackson whispers in my ear. I'm startled and almost spit out my beer.
“No…” I look down, blushing, “I mean, that's sweet of you to say.”
“I'd love to see you again after tonight. Maybe we could get dinner next weekend,” he offers.
“Oh, sure,” I reply, feeling flattered. I mean, it does feel a little…rushed, or something, but I've heard so many stories about guys just wanting to hook up, that it's refreshing to be asked out on an old-fashioned date. I take a few more sips of my beer as I look around, feeling more comfortable now that I know Jackson is really into me.
“Hey, I'm going to get another beer,” I tell Jackson, as I drain mine. He jumps up.
“Don't worry about it. I'll grab 'em,” he says, walking confidently into the other room. I watch the ping pong ball as it's thrown back and forth across the table, and Jackson is soon back with the beers. He launches into a story about this crazy party he went to back at school, but out of the corner of my eye I notice a couple walking up the stairs at the rear of the room, their hands all over each other, and feel a stab of envy in my chest.
I am beyond tired of being a virgin. It's certainly not on purpose that I'm twenty-one and still haven't had sex yet. I guess I just assumed it would happen somehow, without my ever putting any thought into it, and I've never built it up like it's going to be some crazy special thing, either.
I look at Jackson out of the corner of my eye as I make quick work of my second beer. Maybe Nate was right—maybe I am too serious and distant. Maybe it would be better if I just got it out of the way. And I bet Jackson would be good at it. Really, really good at it. Plus, he's a decent guy.
“…Don't you think?” Jackson asks me, leaning in.
“Yes, right,” I reply, even though I spaced out and have no idea what he was talking about. My hair falls in front of my face as I take another sip of beer, and Jackson reaches up and tucks it behind my ear. We make eye contact and he leans forward slowly, brushing a soft kiss across my neck.
“Want to get out of here?” he murmurs into my ear, sending a little shiver down my spine. “My place is pretty close by, and we'll actually be able to hear ourselves think.”
“Um, yeah, that sounds good,” I reply, a little nervously. Jackson stands and offers me his hand. I place mine in his and he leads me out toward the front. We pass Nate on the way, with his arms wrapped around Natasha and his hands tucked into her back pockets.
“Hey man, we're taking off. You think you can find another ride?” Jackson asks.
“What do you mean? You're both leaving?” Nate asks, frowning.
“Yup, we're going back to my place, dude,” Jackson replies. “You cool for a ride?”
“Yeah, come here for a second,” Nate says, his eyes flicking back and forth between us. He takes Jackson's arm and pulls him toward a screen door in the back. “Not you,” he says to me, as I begin to follow.
I bristle at his tone. They disappear out back and I look after them, my mouth open in shock and annoyance. I can't believe the way Nate talks to me sometimes. So dismissively. I exchange a polite smile with Natasha, who is now looking around the party aimlessly, clearly bored without Nate.
Screw Nate. I’ll do whatever the hell I please, and I want to know what he's saying.
I brush past Natasha, push open the screen door and walk into the small, fenced-in backyard. There are fewer people out here, but there's still a crowd. I can just see Nate and Jackson talking in a back corner. I weave my way through the people, keeping my head down so they don't notice me. I take out my phone so I look like I'm doing something other than eavesdropping, and sidle into the group nearest to them. I can just overhear what they're saying.
“Why, do you want her Nate?” Jackson asks angrily. My eyes widen.
“Fuck no, she's my stepsister. It's just weird, that's all. You two. She's not your type.” I feel a stab of pain at the finality of Nate's words.
“She's gorgeous,” I hear Jackson reply.
“You think she's gorgeous?” Nate says, beginning to laugh. “Seriously? Dude, come on. Besides, she's a fucking buzz kill.”
I don't want to hear any more. I can already feel angry tears building up behind my eyes. I'm so stupid. Why do I keep giving Nate the benefit of the doubt, when he is so clearly such an asshole?
I walk quickly back inside, through the living room, and out to the street. I turn toward the left, where I can see a busier street, and hustle toward it. I know it's going to be a pricey cab ride back to the house, but I feel like I'm about to explode into a puddle of tears.
And I don't want to give Nate the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I breathe in as deeply as possible and hold it, counting to ten before exhaling as slowly as I can, trying to rid myself of the hurt feeling that followed me home from the party. It’s a trick I learned to control my anxiety, and to say that I’m anxious right now would be an understatement.
I can't remember the last time I heard someone talk about me like that, though I suppose it's partially my fault for eavesdropping. I finally start to feel calm enough to go to sleep, and reach to turn off my bedside lamp.