Improbable

Four

Saturday morning. Okay, fine, more like Saturday afternoon. My eyes and head seem to not be on good terms as my vision blurs in the soft lighting of my room. The light taints my sanctuary as it tries to eat at the darkness of my dwelling. I want to throw my blankets over my head and be encased in the warmth that's grown as I slept. But no. Shit has to get done, people.

Birds tweet outside my window, making me want to flip birds left and right. Not. It's actually kinda pleasant, I'd only want to do that if I were hungover, which I'm not. Getting up I think about the last thing I did before my nightly death practice. I had detention, my brain reminds me as I shuffle into some slippers and a dressing gown. Then it hits me. I had a heart to heart with the most heartless dude in the school, possibly the entire country. Wait no, probably not, there are serial killers and jackasses bigger than him out there, my deepest apologies. He's still not exactly sane.

My heart squeezes as I remember the smell of his deodorant. Musky, enticing. Stop. Nope, don't think about that. My cheeks feel a dash of heat as I remember how his hair smelt like freshly cut grass. Was it his shampoo, or did he have PE? Would they have had PE outside on a day like that? It's probably his shampoo. I point my head to the ceiling, eyes tightly closed, with a huge grin. Stop.

The guy is hurting. He's broken. You don't want to get involved with someone so unpredictable. He probably doesn't even like you in the slightest, you're just a stranger who managed to crack his emotional barrier in detention like a massive weirdo. I remember how my heart felt so sore as he cried, though. I felt torn like I'd gone through a shredder but still ended up in one piece that felt the pain the shredder caused.

As I enter the kitchen I hear a familiar laugh. An evil laugh.

"Good morning Hermione Granger," I hear a massive prick say. Now I know why sleeping beauty went into a coma. Bloody pricks can be so annoying.

"Get out of my house," I say opening the fridge door to see if there's anything good. Orange juice, good enough.

"Hey! That's not very nice, I'm here for your brother, I slept over if you didn't notice," the pain in my butt replies.

"Stop being a pain in my butt and leave, please. I'm even being polite, go before I get my tennis racket," I say grabbing a glass, still not looking at him. I feel hands suddenly wrap around my waist and pull me into a muscular chest. My body is pressed right up against his. I can smell lemon. Lemon, a delectable smell, but a sour taste. Just like this Ethan White. My brother's friend who always, always, is in my face. Or my face is pressed against his chest, but you get the idea.

"I could be a pleasant pain in your butt," he says, his voice deep and sexy. Okay, I admit, the guy has game. I strangely feel turned on a bit. No. Nope. Stop!

I try to move away. Keyword being try. His hands just hold me tighter, which makes me not want to go. He lifts me up on the counter while I weakly struggle, but to no avail. My legs wrap around his waist, slippers falling off my feet, dressing gown falling slightly open to reveal my pyjamas. He moves in closer to me if that were possible.

"How much longer are you gonna play with me like this?" I ask quietly. His dark eyes blink from desire to confusion.

"Play?" he asks, his grip not loosening.

He leans in to my ear, his breath fanning against my cheek. I blush, bright, bright red.

"You're mine."

And that's it. I can't help myself like the hormone filled teenager I am. I press myself even closer to him. I'm filled with regret. This relationship can't last, it's purely physical. He does this every time. He uses me. Part of me wants him to, but a huge part of me wants more. I want a boy I can talk to, go out places with, laugh and enjoy myself with. Ethan doesn't do any of that. He does do everyone. Not including me, I never let him go that far. He knows if he forced me to, my older brother would beat him until he never could again. He couldn't do that, though, he likes playing too much. Players. They're full of shit.

His hands feel warm as they roughly slip under my shirt. The skin he touches feels buzzy. I put my hands under his shirt and feel his chest. Still a six-pack. He doesn't deserve it, but damn it's nice. I wonder if Jared has muscles like these. His hands drop to my butt, pulling me closer into him. I let him.

Then the heat can't be taken anymore. His hands stop roaming me. He puts his hand behind my neck and leans in.

"Get the fuck off my sister!" I hear a yell. Oh, brother.

For some reason, Ethan doesn't pull away. He keeps me close, not wanting to let go.

"Let me go," I order him.

He doesn't.

Then he does. Well, actually he was thrown away by my brother. My brother's blue eyes are burning with fury, like the strongest of flames. The flame that packs the most heat is blue, am I right Chemistry people?

"What did I tell you about the conditions of coming over here?" My brother bellows at Ethan who's just standing there his eyes still on me. I'm still on the counter, my shirt askew, breathing heavily. He's breathing heavy too. Then, his eyes are off me. He looks squarely at my brother.

"I'm sorry mate, I couldn't help myself. I haven't seen Ree in so long," he grins a disarming smile at my brother. He uses that stupid nickname, I wish he wouldn't.

My brother remains armed.

"Get the fuck out, don't come back until you're married or in a strong relationship," my brother snarls at his friend. I would definitely not say they're best friends. Ethan is a pretty crap friend if I'm honest.

"Nah, you know I'm no good at getting tied down," Ethan winks at me, making me pissed. Jerk. "So I'll be back on Monday, okay?" he doesn't wait for a reply and darts past my brother. As he passes me on his way out, he drags my face in to his and kisses me hard for three seconds before sprinting out of the kitchen afraid my brother will beat him.

"You fucker!" my brother screams chasing after him. I get it, the guy is disgusting, playing with his friend's sister right in front of him. Bloody torture. That's why he isn't best friend material, and probably will not be invited to my brother's wedding.

My mind drifts from where I am. I touch my lip which feels a little swollen, and I can't help but think of Jared. The boy who has so many walls, and is so hurt inside.

He really loved her.