I could have sighed with relief but instead I smiled back, grateful for such a wonderful, supportive mother.
“Ah,” Dean said. I was surprised that he didn’t have more to say – normally, he was more strict about making sure that I did well in school than Mom was.
“Honey?” Mom turned to Dean. “What happened? You’re home so early.”
Dean shrugged. “I got a call,” he said slowly, keeping his eyes on me. “You know. About Andrew.”
Instantly, my ears perked up. I couldn’t wait to hear what Dean was about to
say – if I was lucky enough to be allowed to stay in the room. Andrew Medina, Dean’s son, was my stepbrother. He was five years older than me, and endlessly cool. I’d always had a little…well, I don’t really know what to call it. But as soon as he walked into the room, my eyes always went right to him. It was like I couldn’t look away. Not because of anything bad, though. While I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, the way I felt about Andrew was almost like I had a crush on him.
Honestly, it was hard not to feel that way. He was so handsome – sexy, messy dark hair that stood up in cowlicks all over his head. Dark, intense eyes. A chiseled jaw covered with dark scruff. I especially loved the way he looked at people – almost like he could see right through them.
The first time I met Andrew, I was sixteen. He was twenty-one, and finishing up college in Boston. I didn’t know anything about him – Dean had always talked about “my son” this and “my son” that, but it wasn’t like the anecdotes were actually personal. It was stuff like, “my son loves oranges,” or “my son hated doing this, too.”
So, I was completely unprepared when I actually met Andrew. I hadn’t really known what to expect. Dean himself was a pretty normal, stand-up guy – the exact kind of guy I always saw Mom going for. I imagined that his son, Andrew, would just be like a tiny version of him.
Needless to say, I was really shocked when Andrew pulled into the driveway and swaggered into the house. There were no other words for it – he was just cool. He had longish dark hair that he kept pushing away from his forehead in a messy, practiced gesture. His dark eyes sought out all of the movement in the room. When he saw me, he stared. First his eyes traveled down my face, then my body. When I realized that he was lingering on my breasts, I blushed bright red.
“So you’re Kristin?”
I nodded. My mouth felt dry and I was getting weak in the knees. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m Kristin. You’re Andrew?”
Instead of answering, Andrew licked his lips (they were surprisingly full, for a man) and gave a brief jerk of his head. His dark hair went flying and my palms itched – suddenly, I was desperate to know what it would feel like if I ran my fingers through his dark locks.
Andrew smirked. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”
I licked my lips. “Fun?”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fun,” he replied. He leaned closer, putting his hands on the dining room table until he was mere inches away from my face.
“I study,” I said. A peculiar feeling was spreading through my limbs – a blend of excitement and arousal and the odd sensation that Andrew was making fun of me, even though he hadn’t said anything to that effect.
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Studying,” he drawled. “Yeah, that does sound fun.” He peered intently into my eyes and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “I bet you really know how to throw a party, Sis.”
My cheeks burned flame red and I shook my head fast enough to make my brown curls obscure my vision.
“I can’t really go to parties,” I said. I was mortified – my voice was barely above a whisper. I desperately wanted Andrew to think I was cool, too, but I was doing such a piss-poor job of it that I might as well just give up and slink upstairs.
“Well, here’s the thing with good ole Mom and Dad,” Andrew said sarcastically. “They only know what you tell them. So, if you wanna have fun, you gotta do that on your own time.”
He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his black leather jacket and lit up, right in the middle of the kitchen. Wreaths of blue smoke clouded around Andrew’s head, rising up to the shiny white ceiling that Mom and Dean had painted just days before.
“I don’t think Mom and Dean would like you doing that,” I said, unable to stop myself. Andrew just smirked in response. I winced and blushed – god! It was like I couldn’t fuck up any more if I actually tried!
“Well, I do lots of stuff Dad wouldn’t like,” Andrew said. He exhaled right in my face and I started coughing violently as the toxic smoke rushed into my lungs. Before I could get a chance to ask him what he’d meant, Mom and Dean rushed into the room and as I’d predicted, began scolding Andrew about smoking in their house.
That had been six years ago. Even though I’d grown up from a teenager into a young woman, I knew deep down that I was still the perfect goody two-shoes, the little princess who listened to every word that came out of Mommy or Daddy’s mouth.
No wonder Andrew thinks I’m a drip, I thought as I watched Mom and Dean exchange a terse look.
“So, what happened?” Mom tried to keep her voice down. I was staring down at my papers, but my ears were glued to the mouths of my parents. I was desperate to hear what they had to say about Andrew – it was the most thrilling thing that had happened to me in at least six months.
“Carissa,” Dean said. I imagined him jerking his head towards me. “Shouldn’t we talk upstairs?”
Mom sighed. I got ready for the inevitable – surely, she and Dean would tell me to leave the room. But what she said shocked me.
“I think Kristin is old enough to hear what Andrew is really like,” Mom said. She flicked her gaze over me. I felt my cheeks flush as I pretended again to be absorbed in my studies.