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After telling me I could leave my bag on the steps leading to the second floor, Jacqueline showed me to the half-bath in a back hallway. I took care of business and washed my hands before slipping out and heading toward the open concept main area where I’d left her and Dad.
There were windows everywhere.
Fucking hell, I’d never seen anything like it. Not a fan of heights, I wasn’t too keen on the view from practically every angle. I hoped whatever room I ended up calling my own was either an interior space or had blinds to block out the city far, far below that made me woozy.
I turned the corner into the living room and slammed into somebody. A grunt pulled from whoever it was, and I grabbed his slender arms to keep them steady. “Shit—sorry.”
Another tiny person with a mop of red, wavy hair stood inches away from me.
But unlike Jacqueline’s smooth, blemish-free skin that had probably cost a fortune to maintain, pimples littered the kid’s face. He peered up at me with emerald eyes framed by pale lashes before flitting his focus to my chest. Cowering in on himself, he hitched his narrow shoulders, sending a sudden pang through me.
I dropped my hold on his arms, fisting my hands as though he’d burned my skin.
The young teenager was cute as a button and would be a heartbreaker when he was older, that was for damned sure.
“H-Hi,” he croaked, his voice breaking like a pubescent kid as his face flushed the color of a cherry. He stepped back and continued to stare at my chest, which was eye level for his short height. Everything about him screamed bashful and insecure. “S-Sorry about that. I t-tend not to look where I’m g-going.”
His stuttering hit me in the gut and made me want to soothe him somehow.
“Preston?” I asked, figuring out who the kid was.
Dad had told me Jacqueline had a boy a year or so younger than me, and I’d been kind of excited to have a stepbrother to play sports with.
From his appearance, I didn’t think Preston would be joining me on any field. His long, slender fingers looked like they belonged on the ivory keys of that piano out in the living room rather than grasping a football or baseball.
“You must be Drake.” He held out his hand, acting all posh and shit with straightened shoulders, his words more articulated than before, even though his extended arm shook.
I swore if the floor opened and swallowed Preston whole, he would sigh in relief. At least he hadn’t sneered at my ripped jeans and old Aerosmith T-shirt when he wore a starched button-down and perfectly creased slacks.
“Hey.” I clasped his hand, wishing I could wrap my arms around him in a big hug instead and tell him we would be best buds and that everything would be okay like Dad had promised me.
Preston gasped at my touch and quickly stepped back, wiping his palm on his thigh.
My eyebrows dented inward.
“S-Sorry,” he rushed to say. “I-I’m not normally this n-nervous.”
So he wasn’t scrubbing the lower class of me off his palm. Good to know, because I didn’t want to spend the next three years with a rich snob for a stepbrother.
“No worries, kid.” I clasped his shoulder with a light touch.
He still shied away from me again, nodding.
I guessed I needed to keep my hands to myself.
“You—have an accent l-like your d-dad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Boston,” I stated, the first hint of a smile on my face. Fuck, did I love that city.
“It’s…c-cool.”
I grinned even though he hadn’t taken his focus off my chest. “Thanks.”
“Mom wanted me t-to tell you that d-dinner is served,” he stuttered and spun.
I followed on his heels, noticing he wore fucking loafers or some shit while my right big toe threatened to push through the thinning material of my old Vans.
Preston had serious self-esteem issues if his stooped posture and lowered head were any indication. I wondered how he would handle high school in a couple of weeks. Unless he had a solid group of friends, I expected it would be a rough transition for him from middle school.
