Living With The Bad Boy

58) Do You Want A Ride?

"And done," I said to myself, smiling as I booked a ticket to Texas for tomorrow. It's been way too long and I think that Saturday was the perfect day to visit my parents. Forget about the stupid leg, there are more important things to do. I can't believe I lasted more than a month without visiting them...

"Why are you smiling to yourself?" Luke asked, opening my door in his soccer jersey. We don't have privacy in this house, in case you haven't realized.

"I booked a ticket to Texas," I let him know. Suddenly, my face dropped as I realized that I didn't ask my siblings if they wanted to come too. I'm such a horrible sister. "Do you want me to book one for you too? And Bethany?"

He thought hard before making a decision. "I can't this weekend and Beth can't either. Do you want to book them for another weekend?"

"They're already booked," I pointed out. Plus, I had the need to go tomorrow because I absolutely needed to or else I was going to explode. I probably spent more time in a cemetery rather than my own house back then. I even visit the cemetery here even though I don't have any family.

He studied my face for a good three seconds before sighing. "You can go but take Sam with you," he decided. Hell no.

"We're not on speaking terms right now," I reminded him, crossing my arms. Yesterday night, I decided that I wasn't going to even try to communicate with him. Call me immature or whatever you want, whatever he was doing was getting on my nerves.

"You both are so annoying," he grumbled, crossing his arms and then smacking his head. "You should be the bigger person you know."

"You didn't talk to me for a month when I said that your hair looked like Brad Pitt's hair," I reminded him, smirking at the memory. Young Luke had a bad taste in hairstyles. It's a good thing Beth talked him out of the mullet...

"I was seven," he groaned, covering his face in embarrassment. I only smirked wider, happy that I had pictures of it for blackmail. "I swear to god if you do something stupid I will tell everyone about your obsession with Dylan Sprouse."

"I was six," I groaned, running my fingers through my short hair. "He was hot back then." He still is now but the obsession faded away over the years.

"Don't talk about boys like that when I'm in the room," he wrinkled his nose. Then get the hell out, no one's stopping you.

"When's your game?" I asked, changing the subject. I really needed to know if I wanted to get Marcie's jersey though.

"In an hour," he let me know, laying down on my bed. "I don't get how you like your bed so hard. It's so uncomfortable."

"Then get off," I suggested, rolling around in my chair. The Ryder's really did have a good taste in furniture. I recently realized that I could press a button in my closet and half of the wall would turn around so that there were a bunch of shelves for socks and underwear and all of that stuff. Don't ask me, I didn't know.

"No way," he snorted. He did get off the bed and rolled around on my carpet, snuggling with a large teddy bear. My poor teddy bear. I should really take a picture right now and show it to his fangirls, that would also be great blackmail. "Why is your room so comfortable?"

"Why is your room so ugly?" I asked, referring to all the pizza boxes and orange t-shirts that surrounded his floor. Out of all the colors, he had to choose my least favorite one.

"It's beautiful," he scoffed, wiping off a fake tear. "I still don't get why you hate orange."

"Because it's an ugly color," I argued, wrinkling my nose. Now don't get me wrong, I love oranges and orange juice. I'll never get tired of them. But the color...