Page 4 of Love You Like This

I always forget that even though she’s technically from LA, she’s spent most of her life in the valley, so she doesn’t know many local spots. It’s crazy how different life can be from one side of the mountains to the other. She’s had a solidly suburban life, but the glitz of moving to Bel Air is a completely different level.

“Thank you,” she says after we finish eating in silence. “I can’t believe he did that.”

“He’s a douche bag.”

“How’s your hand?” She reaches over and grabs my right hand. “It was pretty stupid to risk hurting yourself just for me. Especially with your hands being so important.”

Her thumb sweeps over my bruised and bloody knuckles, and even though she’s gentle, it still throbs painfully. I want to tell her it was worth it. That I’d do it again and again if necessary, but she doesn’t need to be clued into my stupid crush. My fingers flex against hers, if only I could link them and pull her into my arms. But she lets my hand drop and then grabs her Diet Coke.

I pull my hand back and drop it in my lap. “I’ve wanted to do that since we were kids,” I say to downplay what I did. “You just gave me a solid reason.”

“Well, you’re welcome, I guess.” She folds her knees up and slides my hoodie down her legs so all that’s visible are her feet and ankles.

“Cold?”

“A little.” She shrugs and keeps watching the surf.

“Do you want to go home?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright.”

I lay down on my side facing her. One lone, silent tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t swipe it away, just lets it fall, a dark spot that will eventually dry on the cotton she’s swathed in. I’m not sure what to do to comfort her, but words feel hollow. Instead, I reach over and set my hand over her ankle, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She rests her temple on her knee and looks down at me. “Can you believe I was going to let him be my first?”

“Your first?” I sit up. “As in losing your virginity to him?”

She rolls her eyes. “I hate that term. Virginity.” She scoffs. “I’m sure my hymen broke long ago while doing some innocuous activity. He was just the first person I thought was a reasonable choice to have sex with.”

“You should probably reevaluate your standards for reasonable.”

She chuckles, and I feel like I just won the fucking lottery.

“Screw you.” She reaches over and pushes my shoulder. “But you’re not wrong.”

“You’re going to UCLA next year, I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a good guy.” I don’t know why I’m giving her a pep talk about this when just the thought of her with someone else makes my jaw tighten.

“True.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence. Every so often I look over at her, watching as the breeze off the Pacific blows strands of her hair around her face. I hope she knows she’s worth so much more than any of the guys at our school can give her. They don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as she does.

Her phone alerts with a series of chirps meaning she’s getting inundated with text messages. She picks it up and reads through them before her fingers fly over the screen to reply. With the speed at which she’s reading and replying, I can only assume she’s in her group text with Shan and Steph.

“We should probably go.” I push to my feet, glad that her friends have her now.

When I extend my hand to help her up, her eyes meet mine and their green depths are clear. Bolts of electricity pass between our palms as I pull her up, but I ignore them. She’s my stepsister. That’s the end of the story.

I lift the violin to my shoulder and rest my chin, breathing in the scent of the rosewood the instrument is hand carved from. It was an eighteenth birthday present from my dad. Out of all the instruments I have in my collection, it’s my favorite. I drag the bow over the strings and lose myself to the music.

I’m working on a piece I plan to use as an audition for a program when I go off to college in the fall at Berkeley. Juilliard was my top choice, but I was wait-listed. With how small and competitive it is, I doubt I’ll be getting called up. I’ve made peace with it, even if I long for a bigger change than going to school in the same state I’ve lived in all my life.

I practice until I’m happy with the piece, which takes longer than I’d like because the sound of laughter and water splashing from the pool keeps distracting me. I set my violin down and wander over to the window. Jade, Steph, and Shan are floating around on fruit-shaped rafts. Jade’s on a peach ring and wearing the tiniest green polka dot bikini. Since it’s just the girls, she hasn’t covered up all her freckles. I hate that she doesn’t love them as much as I do. Even Suzette loves them.

My stepmother might have a long history of falling in and out of love at the drop of a hat, but she’s a great mom. In the world of rich kids, a girl having a mom that builds her up instead of tearing her down is a gift. Especially a mom whose entire job is taking exceptionally beautiful people and making them even more attractive.

“Xander?”