I stood beside him, nodding and facing the yard, which was full of guys in purple shirts and girls drinking and laughing. There was an area to the far left where there was a makeshift dance floor set up with a DJ. Only a couple of people were actually dancing there, and one couple in particular caught my eye. The guy was mainly just standing there, moving in a two-step, while the girl had her hands up, running her fingers through her long, brown hair. She wore a short, tight, black dress that captured every curve on her body, and on her feet, black converse. I was completely mesmerized by her and the way she moved her body. It was like she was doing a striptease without the stripping. Somehow, her dress, as short as it was, covered her nicely shaped ass. I opened my mouth to say something about her to Victor, but then she turned around, smiling, her back facing the guy she was dancing with, and I realized I knew her.
“What the fuck?” I nearly growled.
“What?” Vic said, snapping his eyes to meet mine.
“You let Elle wear that to this party?” I knew I sounded like a jealous boyfriend and I had no right, but here was the girl we were all constantly warned to stay away from and grew up taking care of like she was our own sister, and then . . . whatever . . . and here she was . . . and here was Vic. “What the fuck?” I repeated, glaring at him.
He looked at me like I was crazy and laughed at what was probably a furious look on my face. “She’s eighteen. I can’t really tell her what to wear, and hello . . . have you ever known her to wear anything more? Besides . . . I’ve been standing here watching her like a freaking hawk all night just in case that asshole tries anything stupid.”
I gathered the hair that had fallen out of the bun I’d put it in and thought about what he said. I hadn’t really noticed. We spent that summer together, talking almost every night on her roof and she always looked clothed enough. Well, not really, now that I thought about it. She was always wearing loose shirts and tiny shorts, or pajama pants and tiny shirts. I’d never really seen her at a party, other than her own or Victor’s. Those times, she didn’t wear make-up or tight ass dresses that would make any breathing male want to bend her over by the bushes and fuck her.
“I haven’t really noticed, no,” I said, finally.
He laughed. “That’s because she’s like your sister.”
I froze. She was like a sister at one point when we were young, before she grew up. Before that summer happened. I didn’t think my heart could take watching another one of those dances, knowing it was her, and that I wasn’t that guy.
“Who’s the guy?”
“Uh, that’s Adam. I think she said his name is Adam.”
“She brought him?” Why did that bother me?
“Yeah. Something about Mia not being able to come, and she didn’t want to come by herself to hang out with a bunch of horny guys and annoying girls she didn’t know.”
I laughed. Annoying girls. That sounded like something she would say, but what did I know? I didn’t know this Elle.
“So they’re dating?” I pointed at them. They finally pulled apart and walked away from the floor. As they headed in our direction, Elle pulled her hair up into a ponytail and then let it flow through her fingers to drift back down. She was laughing at something Adam said behind her, and I wondered if he was making a joke about her ass, because that’s where his eyes were.
“Nah, I don’t think so. She’s not into the serious relationship thing.”
I gaped at Victor, and he gave me a shrug. “You’re okay with that?”
He shrugged again, drinking his beer. “What am I supposed to tell her? Go get married, Elle, you need to go get married right now? She’s eighteen!”
The thought of Elle getting married right now didn’t bode well for me, so I stayed quiet and glanced in her direction again. I could see her eyebrows pull together as she got closer and the smile on her face drop when she saw me. My chest squeezed a little. What had I ever done to her? Shouldn’t she be smiling?
“Hey, Bean,” she said as she neared me. In that moment, for the first time ever—as I watched her plump lips moving as she spoke—I hated that she used my nickname. The nickname my mother had given me, no less. Bean sprout, she used to call me. It kind of stuck, to the point that all my friends used it when they addressed me. It never bothered me when little girl Elle said it, but grown-up Elle? I wanted her to call me Oliver. I wanted her to scream Oliver. And on that note, I cleared my throat.
“Hey, Chicken,” I said, my smile growing when she glared as I used her nickname.
Adam chimed in with a laugh. “Chicken?”
Elle groaned. “Long story.”
“It’s not really that long,” Vic said. “She was scared of everything as a kid, hence the name Chicken.”
She rolled her eyes and took the cup of beer Vic had just poured for himself, chugging it down quickly. And I stood there, gaping, completely-fucking-entranced by the way she wiped under her mouth using two fingers, and at the wide smile in response to whatever it was Adam was saying. I couldn’t concentrate on his words—I could only hear her throaty laugh and see her face . . . her body . . . and I really needed to stop. I knew I needed to stop. Adam said something about the bathroom, Vic pointed, and I seethed as Elle watched him walk away.
“How’s the basil?” she asked Vic, who shrugged.
“Your plant, not mine.”
“You’re kidding me. Victor, how do you expect it to stay alive if you don’t care for it?” she asked. “I’m going to go look.”
“What basil?” I asked, watching her ass sway as she walked away.
“She planted some basil on the side of my house because her apartment has no proper lighting or something, and she expects me to take care of it. I don’t know.” He shrugged.
“Huh. I’m going to go see it.”
“Good, that way you can keep an eye on her,” he said.
I cocked an eyebrow. “What happened to ‘she’s eighteen’?”
“Well, yeah, she can be eighteen with Adam and shit—not with my fraternity brothers. That’s different.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He let out an impatient breath and shook his head. “That’s sacred. That’s like if I make a move on Sophie or something. You just don’t do that shit.”
I didn’t bother to point out to him that Sophie was older than we were, and married, because I understood where he was coming from. She was Elle, the baby sister, and we were Vic’s dickhead friends, the ones who liked to sleep around and had STD scares. Not the kind of guys you want around your sisters. It hurt though. The realization of how he felt and how he expected it to be that way, warred with the fact that looking at Elle made me yearn for something I knew I couldn’t have.
The loud sounds of the party died down with each step I took toward the side of the house—the direction she’d gone. I stopped when I found her. She was bent over, looking at the plant on the ground, and I took a couple of seconds to admire how good she looked in that position.
“When did you get into gardening?” I asked, walking closer.
Her head snapped up, and she straightened with a shrug and a smile. “It’s new. I’m trying to eat healthy. I want to plant my own crops, but it’s kind of impossible in my dorm.”
I stood beside her and faced the plant. “It looks good.”
“Yeah, it smells good, too,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice, and it made me smile.
“So, how has your first semester been?”
“It’s been . . . good, actually. Fun.”
I turned my body to face her, tucking my thumbs in the front pockets of my jeans. “It sounds like you’re having too much fun.”
Elle tilted her head to look at me, wearing that tiny frown she got when she was trying to figure something out.
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. Adam . . . you dancing . . . Vic saying you’re not into relationships . . .” I shrugged.
She laughed, her eyes lit in amusement. “That’s something, coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve never been into relationships. You have all the fun in the world.”
“That’s different.”
“Different how? Is it because I’m a girl?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“No,” I said quickly. “It’s not that.” It wasn’t. The women I fucked were all single and not into relationships—it was what we had most in common. But this was Elle. This was . . . Elle.
“So what is it?” she challenged.
I groaned, running my hand over my hair and leaving it there. “I don’t know. I . . . don’t know. You’re right. You should do whatever you want.”
“Your hair’s gotten longer,” she said, her eyes trailing from mine, to my bicep, and then my head. I smiled.
“You can braid it better now.”
She smiled. “Turn around.”
I did. My shoulders stiffened when I felt her hands on them.
“I can’t reach. You’re going to have to kneel down,” she whispered against my neck. My eyes fell closed as I tried to contain the fire beginning to blaze through me. I turned and walked to a bench at the side of the house. It was gross, and Vic had been trying to get rid of it for years, but right now, I was glad it was there.