Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I groan into my hands. “Not what I had in mind, and I mean that in the best way possible.”
“Not to make it weird,” She licks her lips. “But at least your wish was semi-granted.”
“You’re here now.”
“Yup.”
“But call yourself my foster sister one more time, and I’m jumping from the roof, okay?”
She bursts out laughing and stares me up and down. “Yeah, definitely not blood-related.”
“It got weird.”
“So weird.”
“My fault.”
“Can we go have ice cream?”
I laugh and jump to my feet. “What’s with you and junk food?”
“What’s with you and not eating it?” I counter. “Food is meant to be eaten!”
I laugh and then pull her to her feet and swing her easily across my back, giving her a piggyback ride. “Your carriage awaits.”
“Thank you, good sir.”
“Milady.” I laugh and carry her all the way down the stairs while simultaneously cursing the stars on my ceiling.
Wish granted?
Except she’s not my sister.
She’s my roommate.
And I think I can fall in love with her if I let myself—and that’s more dangerous than being a teenager left alone with unlimited amounts of money and her across the hall from me.
Sex, I can do.
Love? It isn’t perfect, which is the biggest temptation at all. It’s messy, chaotic, it hurts, and it makes you bleed over and over again.
It’s the perfect sort of torture you never want to let slip through your fingers.
The universe granted me two things.
And I have no choice but to pick the one without any residual damage.
Friends.
Family.
And nothing more.
“Kiss me,” she’d whispered.
Jokes on her because the minute she asked, I replayed every single one of them in my head—and for a few seconds.
I was free.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mary-Belle
I don’t remember falling asleep on the couch in the living room, but I do remember wishing I could reach for his hand. My throat is scratchy from all the talking we did the night before and probably from the severe amount of junk food that made it past my lips.
For whatever reason, I was starving again at two in the morning. It’s almost like I had food now, and my body was telling me it was going to go away, so I wanted to just keep eating and eating and eating.
I tried sneaking past a sleeping Ambrose only to have him jolt awake in a panic that we were getting robbed. I think he’d been dreaming. “Why????”
“Starving.” My grumbly answer.
“Shit girl, you put it away like an MMA fighter trying to bulk up, then look like a wrestler who just dropped weight.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, never mind, I had a dream about The Rock.”
“That a nightly occurrence or…”
He opened one eye, then the other. “Yes, yes, it is. Every night I pray I dream of Dwayne Johnson. No, we just fell asleep to Jungle Cruise!”
“Oh, rightttt.” I stepped past him and went into the kitchen, then heard rustling. Soon he was behind me, opening the fridge and pulling out a whole bunch of food. “What’s all this?”
“Quesadillas, you can’t eat fruit snacks at two in the morning, MB, that’s a crime, and we’re perfect, remember?” He grinned. “You want shredded chicken or pork? I have both.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course you do. You have a taco truck in the back too? A Starbucks?”
He paused. “Should we get them? I’m not even sure my mom would notice it on the credit card.”
I laughed, then. “Well, the taco truck isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“I want a taco bus.”
“I would drive that bus to school.” I nodded.
“Nah, that’s my job.” Was all he said as he started making the quesadillas.
I ate three.
He ate four.
And then I fell asleep with a smile on my face—and my stomach full.
I sit up and yawn; the blanket falls down by my feet, wrapped around me, I hear a noise and look over my shoulder. My jaw drops as Ambrose walks around the corner in nothing but a white towel and all the abs on display.
His hair’s still wet.
He reaches into the fridge, grabs the orange juice carton, and tilts it back, his mouth on it like he has ownership of the juice.
“Germs,” I call out.
He chokes and then wipes his mouth, and looks over at me. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too late to be worried about germs?”
My face instantly heats.
Don’t think about it.
Do not.
Do not go there.
Foster brother.
Roommate.
Semi-friends at home.
Enemies at school.
I try to stand, then realize that I’m tangled up too late, crashing to the floor with a giant thud.
“You all right?” He laughs.
I hold up a thumbs up. “Not so much my pride, but my body broke the fall into the coffee table, then the floor.”
“Good to know.” He laughs harder. “We have school in a few. I’d shower and do something with that hair before I have to step in and braid it for you.”
I jerk up and look at him from the floor. “You braid? Who are you?”