“Fuck you,” she spits at me just before she turns on her heel and runs out the door.

Shock renders me frozen as I stare out the still open front door. She came and left, just like that. No thank you, no “you’re the greatest son alive,” none of that. Just a demand and a curse—that’s all I get for my troubles.

I’m the world’s biggest fucking idiot.

Anger streams through my blood, makes me stalk around the house with clenched fists and a broken heart. Why the hell does she do this to me? Why do I let her get to me every single time? I wish I were more like Fable. She’s pushed Mom right out of her life, and with no regret. Moved on with someone she loves, someone who takes care of her. Created a family out of nothing. And though I’m a part of that family and I know it, it’s still hard. The distance between us makes it harder.

I’m here and the three of them are there. Drew and Fable and Autumn. It used to be Drew and Fable and Owen.

Now I’m just Owen.

Sometimes, I hate that. Growing up, moving on. Being alone. Finding my footing, when all I do is stumble around in the dark. Fuck.

I need a hit.

Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I see I have less than five minutes before Chelsea’s supposed to show up. Just enough time to take a drag off a joint, maybe even a couple of hits if I’m fast. I have one I rolled a few nights ago stashed in the top drawer of my dresser and I go to it as if in a daze. Pull the drawer open, pull the joint out, grab the lighter, and flick it again and again until there’s a flame.

Then I’m lighting it. Sucking up the smoke and the seed, inhaling until it fills my throat, slips into my lungs, and I feel the familiar, pleasurable burn. I exhale, thin tendrils of smoke escaping from my mouth, and I close my eyes briefly. Let it take me away to another place. A simpler time when I didn’t have all this goddamn pressure weighing on me.

I take another puff and then stub out the joint against the side of my dresser, not giving a shit if I’m messing up the wood. Stash everything away quick, my buzz already washing over me, zipping through my veins, settling in my still pissed-off brain and making all my troubles slowly melt into nothing. The haze comes, warm and comfortable and just enough to leave me numb. I want to forget. Forget Mom and Fable and my grades and my job and football. Focus on the here and now and a girl named Chelsea who thinks she’s coming over here to help me with my homework assignments.

That’s the last thing I want to do with her. But I’m afraid that’s all I’m ever going to get.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Her sweet voice calls to me and I leave my room to find Chelsea standing in the middle of the living room, a hesitant look on her face as she looks around. When she spots me, I see the relief wash over her and I smile. Feeling cocky, feeling good, feeling like nothing can get me down now.

Not with Chelsea here, lighting up the room like sunshine and flowers and pure, unadulterated beauty.

“Hey,” I say, letting my gaze roam over her unabashedly. She’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved white top that clings to her breasts and makes me wanna cling to them, too. Her backpack is slung over her shoulder, her smile tentative as she sets the bulky, heavy-looking object down on the floor beside the couch.

“Hi. Um, your front door was wide open, so I hope you don’t mind that I just walked in,” she says, waving toward the now closed door.

“No problem. Glad you made it.” I’m sincere as hell about that. I am so damn glad she made it. I’d be climbing the walls if she weren’t here.

“Are you ready to get to work?” She kicks at her backpack. “I brought some stuff that I printed up, but I’m hoping you know what you need to do.”

“Yeah, I totally know what to do.” I wave a hand, dismissing her worry as I approach her. She takes a step back and I brush by her, wishing I could reach out and grab her. Kiss her.

This is the weed talking. It has to be.

She squints at me, watching as I go to the dining table and grab the folder I keep with my missing assignments in it. “Are you all right?”

“I’m feeling pretty fucking amazing.” I turn to face her once more, noticing how she’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my head. She might be right. Mom coming over, the weed, having Chelsea standing here in front of me looking cute as hell—it’s all sending my head spinning out of control.

She makes a face at my choice of words, then leans over and unzips her backpack, digging inside for all the work she wants me to do, I’m sure. I stare at her ass, tilting my head to the side so I can get a better view, and when she turns she catches me.

Her gaze narrows. She is such a suspicious little thing. “Are you checking me out?”

I decide to be straightforward. No bullshit games from me tonight. “Yep.” I lift my head slowly, since it feels like it weighs a ton. For whatever reason, the weed has loosened my tongue, which is not a usual side effect. “You have a really great …”

“A great what?” She stands to her full height, hands on her hips as she waits for my answer.

“A really great everything,” I finish, not wanting to focus on her butt and nothing else. There’s more to this girl than just her figure. “I’m fucking starving. Want me to order a pizza?”

She does that face again. It’s cute, makes me want to keep saying things she doesn’t like just to see her do it again. “There’s a really good Chinese place that delivers. I love it. You like Chinese?”

“Sure.” I shrug, ignoring my rumbling stomach. Right about now I’d eat a piece of cardboard, I’m so hungry. “Sounds good. You have the number?”

“Will you let me order?” She shoots me a questioning look, nibbling on her full lower lip in that innocently sexy way she has. Watching her makes me want to be the one nibbling on that lush lip. Tugging and pulling with my teeth, making her gasp just before I soothe the hurt with my tongue …

“Be my guest,” I say, sounding like I’m in a daze. I sorta am.

This girl works some sort of magic over me. And I can’t quite figure out how. Or why.

She smiles and grabs her backpack, hauling it over to the dining table and setting it down with a loud thump before she starts rummaging through it. “Their food is pretty cheap and I know just what to order. I’ll even pay.”

“Hell no.” I grab her wrist when she pulls out her cell from the depths of her backpack, stopping her. “You are definitely not paying for it. I will.”

“But I don’t mind.” She glances down at where I’m touching her. I wonder if she’s as aware of me as I am of her. “I’m the one who wants Chinese.”

“I want it, too.” I circle my fingers around her slender wrist, feel her wildly beating pulse beneath my touch. I want more than just Chinese food, that’s for damn sure. I feel like we’re talking in secret code. Saying one thing and really meaning another.

At least, I am.

“Fine. I order, you pay.” She doesn’t try to tug out of my grip and I take advantage, sweeping my thumb slowly over the inside of her wrist in the lightest of caresses. I swear I feel her shiver, and when I look at her, I find her staring at me like she’s so fucking hungry she just might gobble me up.

“Sounds good.” I let my hand drop from her arm, disappointment clanging through me like a living, breathing thing. The tension between us is fucking ridiculous. If nothing happens tonight, I’m afraid I might burst. At the very least, I’ll have to go whack off after she leaves, like some sort of deranged pervert in need of constant relief.

I want her but I don’t. I’m attracted to her though I shouldn’t be. I’m high, and it’s not just from the weed.

I’m also high on Chelsea.

Chelsea

He’s pushing through his assignments way quicker than I thought he would. I knew Owen was smart. I’d studied his student file well enough to see he just lacked focus or flat-out didn’t apply himself. His past grades reflected that. Going to college does that to a person. It’s all so much, sometimes too much, and students either thrive or they fail.