“You know what?” he hisses. His lower lip juts out as his chiseled jaw clenches. “I don’t care. Think whatever you want about me.”
“Think whatever I want?” My eyes narrow into tiny slits as I hold my stare, yet he struggles to hold his. He keeps glancing erratically off to the sides, to the floor, to the ceiling. But never back to me. “I think that you infuriate me,” I say. “I think that you are an arrogant jackass who can never simply be nice to someone, because it doesn’t fit in with the act you’re putting on.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly squeezed shut as he takes a few deep breaths. I watch his chest rise as the air enters his abused lungs. The smoking isn’t good for him. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”
“Let me finish,” I order sharply. The anxiousness has faded, replaced with confidence fueled by adrenaline. “I also think that you’re a jerk. Your ego is too big for your own head, and you think that you look cool by being a badass. But really, Tyler? You just look pathetic.”
Tyler’s face falls, his taut expression crumpling as his lips twitch slightly. “Alright, now I just look like a complete moron coming up here and telling you that I’m attracted to you. You could’ve let me down easier.”
“I thought someone as badass as you could handle it.”
He stuffs his curled-up fists into the pockets of his jeans and averts his gaze to the windows. For a short while, he just stares at the sky with a sad look in his eyes. In between the explosive noise of the fireworks, I can hear his breathing deepening. He blinks and glances over his shoulder at me. “And I thought you’d figured out that I’m not really a badass.”
The moment the final syllable rolls off the tip of his tongue, my entire mind-set transforms. He’s vulnerable, and I am completely right. His walls are a mask. It’s all an act, a role he’s trying to play. The crude comments and leching over Tiffani and the addictions: they’re fake. It’s all fake. There’s more to him. Like today in the kitchen with Ella. He wasn’t a badass then, and he wasn’t a badass when he was joking with Jamie. Sometimes his facade slips. And sometimes I’ve been there to see beneath it.
It’s the way his eyes sometimes soften, offering a true glimpse of what he’s about to anyone who is willing to look. And I don’t know why it hasn’t hit me until this moment. It is so, so obvious. Our irrelevant arguments and pathetic small talk and constant glares seem so…so inevitable, like we couldn’t stop, like we enjoyed the bickering. Somehow. We have sneered at one another since the day I arrived, fighting to try to find each other’s weaknesses. Mine is my insecurity. Tyler’s is the truth.
And beneath it all lies attraction.
Tyler is attracted to me, and I am attracted to Tyler.
The realization makes my heart skip a beat, my blood running cold as I lift my eyes to his. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again, and now that I’m not seeing him as some jackass who rudely stormed into a barbecue, I can study him in a new light. His eyes are mesmerizing, his jaw is perfectly crafted, and his plump lips form a mischievous crooked smile. Not only that, there are so many things about him that I’m dying to find out. Mostly, I just want to uncover the truth about him. I need to know who he really is, not who he wants me to think he is. He’s pretending, just an actor playing a role. I need to know what happens backstage, after the show ends and the curtains come down. Who’s left?
Tyler notices my stare boring into him, and he looks perplexed.
“I think,” I say, drawing in a sharp breath, “that I’m attracted to you too.”
My words take him aback. He slowly turns his body completely around to face me, and he removes his hands from his pockets. Utter surprise dominates his expression. His widened eyes meet my gaze from five feet away, and he bites down on his lower lip. “You are?” He arches an eyebrow as though he can’t decide if I’m playing a game or not.
In all honesty, I really wish I was.
I shouldn’t be attracted to my stepbrother.
“I am.” It almost hurts to admit it. But at the same time, there’s a sense of relief that relaxes the tightness in my chest. I can no longer meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Tyler demands. He warily approaches me, his steps slow as he relaxes his fists. His gray T-shirt is tightly fitted to his body, and I find myself analyzing every detail of his outfit as he moves nearer. Gray T-shirt, dark jeans, and the white Chucks that match mine. “Don’t regret anything.”