Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(31)
That doesn't do anything about the heavy feeling in my gut as I trudge into the house and slurp down a protein shake. The unease doesn't fade.
Can a fantasy be addictive? We barely know each other, I've only spent a few hours with her, but I can see myself in a place like this. I can see her in a place like this with a bump on her stomach. Magnets on the refrigerator. The refrigerator here is naked. I've never had fridge magnets. Out there is a future with World's Best Dad mugs, living in the same place for years, maybe forever, waking up next to the same person. If I imagine myself in that world all I can see is a stranger in a strange land.
It's already too late for me. I don't belong here.
Chapter 8: Diana
I end up carrying one of her bags. I've never known my mother to be nuts about the clothes, but here she is, carrying a bunch of stuff out to the car. I can't believe this is happening. I want to say something, but I'm stuck in a daze. Worst of all, Apollo is here. As soon I lay eyes on him, the tension begins to build, like a distant swell of music. It's gotten hot all at once, and it's looking to be ninety this afternoon. Sweat prickles on my skin as I carry the bag out to the car, looking at all these people, my mother, her boyfriend, Apollo, trying to figure out what to say.
I'm dressed for the weather, so, shorts. Every time Apollo looks at me his eyes glide up and down my legs and a shiver rolls down my spine, and I suck in a little involuntary breath.
I had to wear the Daisy Dukes today.
He moves to my side and takes the bag I'm carrying, and his hands brush over mine as he pries my fingers loose. As he lowers it into the trunk, he tips back a bit, just enough to side-eye and look right at my ass, and worst of all he wants me to know he's doing it, he's checking me out. It makes my butt clench and I shiver again. Whenever he's around I feel like I'm sucked in his orbit, stuck to him. His arm brushes mine, and it's electric.
I have to get away from him. Not here, not now. I step away, to where Mom is waiting by the door. She leans over and kisses my cheek, to my surprise.
Her voice is very soft.
"Steven says he had a talk with Apollo about you. I don't want you two getting involved with each other that way."
A vicious part of me wants to bite back that it's none of her business what I do, or with who I do it. I think she senses it anyway. She can't have missed me looking over her shoulder at Apollo.
"Ready?" Steven says, taking her arm.
She smiles at him so brightly it's almost blinding.
The twist I feel in my chest makes me feel small and stupid. I fold my arms and step back as they get in the car. Apollo looks at me as he slides into the back seat and pulls his door closed. As the car rumbles to life and pulls away, he locks eyes with me and winks. Of course he wasn't staying, he just came to carry bags and, I guess, drive the car back from the airport. As they pull away, I'm suddenly aware of how alone I am. The whole house is empty. Charity is at work and I don't feel like sitting in the bookstore all day.
When I walk back into my room the acceptance letters are just sitting there on the desk, as though challenging me. Would it be a good idea to just get it over with now, while she's gone, or would that be stabbing her in the back?
I need some air. I grab a water bottle and some sunglasses, lock up, and head out. There's a path almost two miles long winding through the museum grounds, so I don't have to go somewhere. It goes past the house and up a hill, which is a bit of a strain to start. I'm puffing a little by the time I get to the top, stop, and swipe my hand across my forehead to wipe back the sweat. On top of the hill I can see the old house, the original museum building, the annex and the sculpture garden, a collection of classic and modern all jumbled up. The centerpiece is this huge red metal thing that's kind of like a windmill. On a breezy day the wind catches it and makes it move, and the cuts in the metal make it look like there's a man and a woman dancing inside. It's actually pretty clever. The wind picks up and cools me down a little, and the big sculpture starts creaking and turning, dancers cut out of the air by negative space.
I start walking again, with a purpose. The path goes down through the garden. I don't stop to take any looks. A few patrons are wandering here and there, appreciating the collection.
I've seen it.
Of course, I'm not the only walker. Admission to the grounds is free and lots of people have friends-of-the-museum passes, so quite a few people, mostly older folks, walk the path pretty regularly. I imagine there'd be more if we let people walk dogs.
What the hell am I going to do with myself?
I was almost jogging when I started but by the end of the sculpture garden path, I'm trudging forward with my hands in my pockets, eyes cast down to the ground. I need to make a decision and I need to do it soon.
This isn't just about where I want to go to school or what I want to do with my life. I want her to be proud of me. I want her to be happy with something I've done. I want to live my life, not the one she wants to make with me.
That's when my day decides to go to hell, and Lucas shows up.
He looks out of place on the grounds of the museum. Scholarly pursuits and Lucas do not match. He comes jogging down the path and catches up to me, moving that way he always does, shoulders hunched, a leer on his face as he checks me out. It's not like when Apollo looks at me. Lucas makes me feel naked in a bad way, like he's stealing something from me just by looking at me.