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Right before he kicks me in the dick again, of course.
“Stop thanking me, Hannah.”
She opens her mouth to apologize, but stops, popping the top on her own beer instead. “I don’t know who these belong to, but they can spare a couple right?”
“Why do you live here?”
She stares at me a beat, swallowing some of the cheap beer and wincing when it hits the back of her tongue.
I almost chuckle. Seems California’s princess doesn’t like the taste.
“Where else is there to live?” she challenges.
“I’d have to think anywhere would be better than here.”
She shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve thought about moving out a few times, I just . . . my mother’s not the easiest person to get along with, but she’d be on her own. With Missy staying here most of the time.”
“She’s not your responsibility.”
“Maybe not,” she offers. “But she’s still my mother.”
“A mother who beats you.”
Hannah fixes me with a look.
“She doesn’t beat me. She’s just . . . I don’t know.”
“What about your father?”
“Gone,” she says. “He left with his mistress back in Virginia when we were kids. Haven’t seen him since.”
It’s dangerous to ask questions like this. Questions I’m not even sure I want the answer to. Still . . . the nagging little voice in the back of my head forces me, because it’s fucking Hannah and I’ve never been good at following the rules. Not where she’s concerned.
“Funny,” she chuckles humorlessly. “Our families keep intertwining even if they hate each other. We’re like the LA version of the Montague's and the Capulet's.”
“Your sister is the mistress of my stepfather. It seems our families are intertwined already.”
Hannah shifts on the couch, taking another drink and otherwise, looks uncomfortable.
“Missy hasn’t always been like this, you know? She used to be . . . more normal, I guess.”
“Does your mother know?”
“Well . . . we’re not really supposed to speak about it. She’s always been a little different. A little more headstrong. She and Mom can fight for hours.” She shakes her head. “Is your family like that or is mine just crazy?”
“All families are crazy.”
“Yeah,” she muses, voice low and soft. Finally, she tears her eyes to mine and I can’t fucking look away. “Is that what it’s like? Being in love?”
She looks like a little deer in this light. Timid and fragile. The freckles on her nose make her look younger than she is. Too soft and sweet for someone like me. Unfortunately for her, my cock doesn’t seem to care.
“I couldn’t tell you.”
She shrugs.
“If it is, I don’t want to experience it.”
“Hannah . . . This isn’t—”
