“What’s going on?” she asks with a head tilt to the side as she pushes her square frames into her dark auburn hair. She used to have blond hair, but in the past few years, she started dyeing it for a change, and I love the color on her. She blinks her blue eyes a few times at us, questioning.

  “We were just talking about tomorrow,” Wild answers.

  “Oh. Yeah, I think I’m going to go to work,” she says, and I’m shocked. “I want to…stay busy.” Sara is a high school teacher—not at the school Wild and I go to, but at another school across town. “And then when I get home, we can do something? Unless you guys want me here in the morning?”

  Wild shakes his head. “I’m going to sleep in, I think, and then I have my call with Dr. Rollins at noon,” he says, referring to his therapist.

  We’ve gone through quite a few over the years until we finally both settled on the ones we liked. He doesn’t see his as often as I see mine, but he tries to check in with her once a month, especially on days like tomorrow.

  “Me too.” I nod.

  “Okay.” She pulls us both in for a hug. “I love you guys.”

  “Love you too, Mom,” Wild says, and I nod in agreement. It isn’t that I don’t love Sara. I do. But I’m not as liberal with the L-word as they are. The first person I ever loved died while she was giving birth to me, and the second person I ever loved died four years later. I have a complex about what that word means, and I don’t go throwing it around often. I’ve said it to both Sara and Wild, but not as often as they do, and my reluctance to say it is something I’ve discussed at length in therapy.

  The following morning, I wake up to the smell of cinnamon tickling my nose, and when my eyes flutter open, sunlight is streaming through my bedroom window. It’s a toss-up what the weather would be like in early October. Sometimes it’s warm and sunny, and other times, it’s rainy and chilly, but it seems like it will be the former today. I sit up in bed, wondering if Sara decided to stay home instead. After brushing my teeth and putting a sweatshirt over the tank top I slept in, I make my way down the stairs toward the smell to see Wild standing at the stove in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. I blink several times at the visual. Not only have I never seen Sebastian Wilder cook anything but toast and that nasty instant mac and cheese that comes in the blue box, but he’s also in his underwear, forcing me to expel the breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding since I walked into the room. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen him in them, but it’s the first time I feel those butterflies at the sight. I’ve watched him grow from a boy into what looks like the beginnings of something… so not boyish. His hair is still messy from sleep, like maybe he hasn’t been awake long, and my fingers itch to run my hands through it.

  Maybe while my lips are on his.

  My eyes slam shut briefly while I try to push the fantasy out of my mind, and when I open them, his back is still to me.

  “Tell me you’re not going to burn the house down?” I tease as I move through the kitchen, and when he turns around, he gives me a smile that makes my heart skip a beat.

  “Does it smell like it?”

  I hop on one of the barstools behind the island in the center of the kitchen and prop my head on my fists. “Since when do you cook?”

  He shrugs. “I looked up a recipe,” he says, then turns back to the stove. “I know it’s your favorite.”

  “You’re cooking for me?”

  “Of course, who else?” I get off the stool and make my way toward him, looking down at the almost finished French toast that looks as good as it smells, then back up at him. Tears prickle in my eyes, and his face falls. “Please don’t cry. I need to make sure I don’t fuck these up, so I can’t hold you right now.”

  I blink the tears away and wrap my arms around him anyway, instantly comforted by his scent. I breathe him in before taking a step back to watch him finish making us breakfast.

  Minutes later, we are sitting at the table eating in relative silence when I broach a somewhat uncomfortable subject. “Have you kissed a girl before?”

  He pauses, his fork halfway to his mouth, before he narrows his eyes. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “Yes…have you?” He chuckles.

  Jealousy flashes through me, and I do my best to ignore it. “No… and who?”

  “Just a few girls. Nothing serious.” I’ve never known Wild to have a girlfriend, so maybe these were just random girls. He’s pretty popular, way more so than me. I mean, I’m popular in a “you’re Sebastian’s sister, right?” kind of way, but he’s the golden boy. The king of the sophomore class. He’s already been nominated for homecoming court for his grade, and people pretty much assume he’s going to win.

  I push my unreasonable jealousy aside. “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?” he responds, confused.

  “To kiss someone?”

  “You don’t know?” he asks, and I see a flash of something in his eyes that I don’t recognize before it disappears.

  “How could I kiss someone? You scare off any guy who looks at me sideways.”

  A smug smile pulls on his lips before he takes a bite of his French toast. “Good, I’m doing my job.”

  “No, you’re not. I’m going to die never having been kissed at this rate.” I cross my arms over my chest with a pout.

  “Okay, you’re fourteen. Don’t be so dramatic.” He gives me a pointed look that I could only equate to a fatherly scold, based on what I see in movies.

  “Wild, this is your fault,” I whine.

  He chuckles. “Mine!? What did I do?”

  “Yes, girls my age are being kissed and know how to. I don’t! And you are scaring off anyone who could potentially kiss me!” I say as I stab a piece of French toast with a little more force.

  “Okay?” He takes a sip of his orange juice before looking at me over the rim of his glass.

  “My friends practice with each other.” I scrunch my nose. “But I don’t want to do that.”

  “Okay…” he repeats.

  “I mean, you are my best friend…” I say with a bit of pleading in my tone.

  His eyes widen. “Me?” he asks, realizing where I’m going with this.

  “Yes, you. Come onnnn.”

  “Absolutely not, Saint. No.” He shakes his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” He hesitates briefly before continuing, “We can’t do that.”

  “It’s just to teach me,” I counter.

  “I’m not helping you learn how to kiss for you to do it with some other guy. No.”

  I frown because what does that mean? Why does it matter? “It’s just for me to learn! So I’m not awkward or bad the first time I do it.”

  “No,” he repeats without another word, and I note that he won’t even look at me now.

  “Fine, I'll just ask Brant.” I shrug as I get up from the table. I’ve barely made it a step before a hand is wrapped around my wrist, gripping it tightly.

  “No,” he says again. This time, his voice is growly and angrier.

  “What is your problem?”

  “Do not ask him because then I’ll have to beat the shit out of him and it’ll cause a problem between Mom and his mom.” Sara and Elana, Brant’s mom, have been best friends ever since we moved in after my dad died nine years ago. We wanted a fresh start, so Sara bought this house, and within minutes of us moving in, Elana Sharpe was at our front door. She brought cookies for Wild and me, and a bottle of tequila, and, as I later learned, weed brownies for Sara, having heard through the grapevine that a newly widowed young woman was moving in next door.

  Despite Sara and Mrs. Sharpe being best friends, Brant and Wild are not. Well, they were when they were kids, but they grew apart sometime in middle school, and now they barely talk. Brant and I get along fine, though, and Sara thinks he has a crush on me.

  “You’re so weird about him now. He’s nice to me. What happened between you two, anyway?”

  “It doesn’t matter. But you can’t practice kissing with him. Mom says he likes you. If you do this, you’ll give him the wrong idea.”

  I blink at him. “I’ll tell him it’s just for practice.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Saint,” he presses. “He’s going to think it’s more. If you must do this, it has to be with a guy who in no way can fall for you.”

  “That’s why I asked you!” I stamp my foot. Although I’m pretty sure I could fall for him easily, he doesn’t need to know that.

  He stands up and grabs my plate, taking it to the sink and setting it inside. “You’re basically my sister.”

  “Basically is not biological,” I respond matter-of-factly.

  He cocks his head to the side before letting out what sounds like a sigh of defeat. “Can I think about it?”

  “Okay.”

  “Why the sudden need to kiss boys anyway? Someone in particular you have your eye on?” He crosses his arms over his chest. Yes, you. The thought crosses my mind, yet I do my best not to react to it.

  “No, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you! You’d just threaten him. I want to be prepared. I’m going to be fifteen in a few weeks, and I feel like a freak that I haven’t kissed anyone.”

  “You’re not a freak, Saint. You’re perfect,” he says, and I feel a flutter in my chest over his comment. It isn’t the first time he’s said something along those lines, and those familiar tingles are back shooting through me.

  Later that day, Wild and I settled into the living room to watch a movie. I’m actually glad Sara isn’t home because she told us recently that we should stop cuddling so much, and all I want to do is feel his arms around me while we watch a movie. It’s where I feel the safest. He’s sitting in one of our recliners, probably assuming I want the couch, but I stand in front of him, signaling what I want. He hesitates slightly before looking at his phone, probably to check the time and see how long we have before Sara gets home. Then he moves slightly to give me some space. Even with him moving, I’m still going to be sitting kind of on his lap, but this isn’t anything new. I’ve done that hundreds of times.

  Things are starting to change, though, and sitting on his lap doesn’t feel quite as innocent as it did when we were younger.

  I rest my head on his chest, and he wraps an arm around me before turning on a movie we’ve seen a hundred times. I don’t think I make it through the opening credits before I fall asleep. When my eyes open again, his hand is still around me, and he’s gently snoring above me. The movie is still on, and it looks like I’ve only been out for about an hour. I move slightly to look at him. He looks so peaceful and happy, and when I move again, he makes a noise and whispers my name.

  But he doesn’t say Saint. He calls me Halle, which he rarely does, and I frown, wondering briefly if there’s another Halle I don’t know about. I shake my head at the ridiculous thought before I take a moment to study him. He is so beautiful. And bright and funny and…my eyes drop to his lips, and I press my teeth into my bottom lip, wondering if I could brush my lips across his once.

  I lick my lips and move a little closer to his face, and then a little closer, and just when my eyes flutter shut, and I’m about to press my lips to his, his hand covers my mouth. When my eyes pop open, he’s staring at me through hooded slits. “What did I say?”

  “I know…you were supposed to be asleep! You weren’t going to know!”

  “Okay, and kissing me like I’m Sleeping Beauty is supposed to teach you how to make out?”

  I huff indignantly despite his attempt to defuse the tension with humor and pull back before climbing off his lap, suddenly embarrassed over being chastised.

  “This is stupid. It’s not illegal. It’s not incest. You’re my stepbrother, Wild, and I wasn’t suggesting we tell anyone.”

  “I’m not saying no, Saint, but someone has to have a level head here, and per usual, it has to be me.”

  “What does that mean?” I snap, fury spiking at him for treating me like I’m a child when he’s less than two goddamn years older than me.

  “It means that I’m worried that once we do it, we won’t want to stop.” He swallows hard and doesn’t meet my gaze. “That I won’t want to stop.”

  I was not expecting that, and when he still doesn’t look me in the eye, I wonder if there’s an underlying meaning to his words. “Oh.”

  “I know I’m your stepbrother, Saint. Trust me, sometimes I really fucking wish I wasn’t.” He gets off the chair and makes his way up the stairs.

  That night, long after dinner and after Sara had gone to bed, I was staring at the ceiling in my room, thinking about how my life would have been different had my father not died. How my life would have been different had he not died right in front of my eyes. What would have happened if Wild hadn’t stopped me from running toward my father? Would the guy have shot me, too? They ended up catching the guy, and he’s currently in prison for life without parole, so I’m not worried he’ll come after me, although I do sometimes have nightmares that he’d gotten me too. Or worse, that he’d gotten Wild.

  My door creaks open, and my eyes immediately snap to the noise, fully expecting Wild but still surprised when he walks through the door and closes it quietly behind him. We didn’t talk for most of the day after what happened earlier. Even Sara was confused at our lack of conversation at dinner, but I’m sure she just chalked it up to it being the anniversary and letting us feel whatever we needed.

  I turn to my side just as Wild kneels next to my bed. I’m a little surprised he doesn’t climb in with me, but we haven’t done that in a few years…since Sara told us we couldn’t anymore.

  “Hey,” he murmurs.

  “Hi,” I respond, unsure of what to say because I don’t know if he’s mad at me for what happened earlier.

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Despite the dark, moonlight streams through my window, highlighting the concern etched on his face.

  “No.”

  “Good. I know we didn’t talk much today, so I just wanted to see how you were.” His hand darts out to gently move a hair out of my face, and I hope he doesn’t notice the shiver that skates through me at his touch.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

  “Of course. I tell you everything.”

  He swallows. “I did too. Until recently.” He nods. His earlier comment flashes through my mind, and I wonder if he’ll elaborate. “Saint, I am…so crazy about you.” He shakes his head before those piercing hooded eyes slowly meet mine, and if I’m not mistaken, I see a hint of worry in them. “What I feel for you is…not how a stepbrother should feel about his stepsister.” He looks down at his hands, and I watch him close his eyes slowly before they open and lift to mine. “I’ve thought about kissing you for months. All I think about is kissing you.”

  I gasp and prop myself up on my elbow. “Really?”

  He nods as he scratches the back of his neck. “So as you can see, it’s probably not a good idea.”

  “What…what if I told you I felt the same?”

  He swallows and looks toward my bedroom door before looking back at me. “I guess that changes things a little. But…we couldn’t…tell anyone.”

  “I figured.”

  “What does this mean?” he asks, and I wonder if it’s more rhetorical. “Us doing this…”

  “I know what it means for me.” He looks at me, wanting me to continue. “That I love you. Saying it to you doesn’t hurt.” I swallow. “Saying it to Sara hurts sometimes because it just reminds me of who’s not here. But you…saying it to you makes my heart smile.”

  “Halle…”

  “Sebastian,” I whisper in response, and then our faces are moving toward each other. And just before October seventh turns into the eighth, I have my first kiss.

  And once again, the course of my life changed.

  Present Day

  I wake up the following morning to an empty bed, but like so many times before, the smell of cinnamon wafts through my apartment. I’m still naked from last night, and I don’t even bother covering up before I make my way toward my kitchen, where I know Wild is cooking French toast. He turns around before I say anything and drags his eyes all over me before a salacious smile finds his face.

  “Do you want me to burn your breakfast?” He chuckles before turning back to my stove. “Go put some clothes on, Saint.”

  I move to stand next to him and slide my hand under his sweatpants to squeeze one of his ass cheeks. “I’m not hungry for food.”

  “Neither am I, but you should eat.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.

  “I dreamed of the first time we kissed last night,” I tell him as I move to stand behind him. I wrap my arms around his middle and kiss his back. He’s still much taller than me, so I only come up to about the center of his back. He’s wearing a T-shirt, so I don’t get to drag my lips over all of his delicious muscles or the tattoos stretched across his skin like I usually do.

  “Did you?” He chuckles. “I remember how chapped our lips were the next day and trying to hide it from Mom.”

  “Kissing for five hours straight will do that, I guess.”

  “One of my favorite memories of us,” he says, and my heart flutters.

  “One of my favorite memories, period.” I giggle just as he slides the last pieces of French toast onto a plate.

  “But I think the memories of dry humping while we kissed come in higher on that list,” he says as he sits at the table, and I immediately take my usual seat on his lap.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.” I laugh.

  For a year, all we had done was kiss, and we hadn’t gone further than that. There were times when we were close, but we never crossed that line until I was fifteen and he was sixteen, when he was driving me home from tennis practice. We had become pretty savvy about where we could go to make out because not only did we have to hide it from Sara but also from half the town, who knew us as siblings. We were making out in his car when I wanted to be closer. I was growing increasingly frustrated with kissing over his console when I took the reins and climbed onto his lap. One thing led to another, and before I could think, I was having my first orgasm while I rubbed my body against my stepbrother’s dick. It was only a matter of moments before he did the same, coming all over the inside of his shorts.