Despicable Desires

Episode 36

Jayden

In the back of the bar, I watched the men set up the pool table. I had made no attempt to find out if Amber was working tonight, preferring to ignore her presence as long as possible. "Can I get you anything, gentlemen, moi maudit?" - I slowly turn to face that all too recognizable voice, and find myself facing Amber in her burgundy polo shirt and black pencil skirt that perfectly hugs her hips. The evening is going to be excruciating. I see her cringe when she recognizes me, but she quickly recovers and turns her attention to the boys.

"A rum and coke for me, please."

"Same for me," Peter said.

"A virgin mojito for me, I'm driving."

She carefully writes down my buddies' orders on her little notepad, and I wait for her to look up at me before I give her mine. She's stronger than me, I have to meet her gaze, and despite all my good intentions when I came here, I have to get her attention. Just this once. To remind myself that what I did to keep her away was justified. I need to see that she hates me, I need to feel that she won't come back, because if she does, I'm not sure I can hold myself back either.

But I promised my mother.

With her head down on her pad, she finally straightens up to lock her irises with mine. The annoyance I read in her features was enough to break my heart, but my resolve only grew stronger. She must resent me.

"What will you have?" she asks impatiently.

"A gin and tonic."

She nods and turns away without bothering to write down my order on her paper.

I spend the first two hours toggling between the pool game and Amber wandering around the bar. Her hands always carrying a tray, she deftly moves from table to table, doing everything she can to avoid meeting my gaze. When Holly comes to clean our empty glasses in her place, with an expression as friendly as a prison door, I understand that she has arranged not to manage our table for the rest of the evening.

I should be pleased with myself, she really hates me.

This is what I wanted, isn't it?

"White, it's your turn."

Scott offered me the cue and invited me to play. I quickly snatched it from his grasp and leaned over the table to watch the game.

I have to stop thinking.

"Your sister's really hot," Peter says. I miss my shot, clenching my fingers and letting out a growl. Rising quickly, I give Peter a piercing stare. A little drunk, his eyes are fixed on Adeline.

"She's not his sister," Scott corrects.

"It's easier to say than 'your mother's new husband's daughter,'" Peter replies, amused by his own joke, bursting into laughter as my muscles tense to the maximum.

"Just call her Adeline," I snap irritably.

"Isn't that a perfume? Do you think she smells good too?" Peter smirks.

Scott stifles a laugh as Peter continues to mock me, making me seriously angry.

"That's not funny," I sneer.

"I know, and that's what's funny," Peter shoots back.

"What are you playing at?"

"What are you playing at, White? When are you going to admit that you like her?"

I step back, as if Peter had thrown a right hook into my face. They both watch me closely as I slowly lose my color. In a panic, I look worriedly at Adeline, who still doesn't notice me.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"Drop the act," Peter replies, sounding less drunk than I thought.

I freeze, unable to make an excuse, and blatantly lie to my friends. Even when I moved in with my mother and Cameron at Henri's, they found it amusing that the stepsister I would end up with was beautiful, but they never asked the fateful question of whether I liked her. I kept the secret to myself, and they went on living without me revealing it.

Until now.

"You didn't take your eyes off her all night, and I thought my head would explode when I mentioned her beauty. It's complicated," I breathed.

"I don't feel like talking about it tonight."

They watched me in silence, then Scott added, "In that case, let's just get drunk.

***

It is a little after four in the morning when I enter the house. The entrance is shrouded in darkness and I do my best to remain discreet. Phone in hand, I light up the stairs, which I climb stealthily. First step: the bathroom, where I brush my teeth and put on my jogging pants to go to sleep. As I leave, I am terribly tempted to enter the room to my left, but I fight hard not to slip under her warm sheets. I reluctantly give up the game of testing my nerves and climb the last few steps that separate me from my bed. I don't know if it's a sixth sense or just a wish come true, but when I reach my bedroom, a faint floral aroma awakens my senses. She's there. Lying on my sheets, she is fast asleep. I quietly approach her bed and illuminate her face with the beam of light from my phone. Her long blonde hair is spread all over the pillow, no doubt permeating the fabric with her scent. She seems serene, and I'm beginning to face a complicated inner struggle. I desperately want to leave her in my bed, snuggle up against her warm skin, and fall asleep in her arms. But that would undo the week I spent pushing her away. A huge knot tightens in my throat, making it hard to breathe and squeezing my heart further into my chest.

I lean over to stroke her face before gently sliding my hand under her neck. With my other hand, I hook her legs over my arm and gently lift her up, trying not to wake her, and press her against my chest. Maybe it is a reflex, but her head slides into my neck and a few hairs tickle my jaw.

My God, Adeline, how I miss you.

As quietly as I can, I descend the stairs to the first floor and slip into her room. When my arm touches the cold fabric of her sheets, I recoil, wanting only to hold her close. Reluctantly, I pull away from her body, cover her with the blanket and leave the room. Right now I really hate myself and have only one desire: to go to Seattle.