The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(54)
“Do you want to come up?” she asks softly as she stares out the window. “I’m going to edit the video for the app.”
Something is pulling me up to her apartment. A force that promises more than just sex. I see the way she looks at me.
How she wants to fix me. Comfort me. Offer me more than my family could.
Fuck. It’s really messing with my head. And messing with my head is not part of the plan.
“No. I’ll go home, but be ready for me to pick you up at five for dinner.”
She’s opening the door before I even finish my sentence.
Hovering over the open door, she leans in with a sympathetic expression as she nods. “Okay, Adam. See you then.”
Then she closes it and walks away.
My afternoon was spent tossing and turning on my couch, sleep evading me until I let my mind wander to the tattoos on her skin, tracing each one in my head like my own form of meditation. That’s what finally helped me nod off, and I slept so soundly that I barely woke in time to pick her up for dinner.
As I pull up to her apartment, I take out my phone and text Caleb. I’ve been an asshole brother for not talking to him more lately, but I can’t possibly bring him into this.
I’m bringing my girlfriend to dinner tonight.
He texts back almost immediately. I’m grinning at my phone with confusion as he responds.
Fuck yeah.
You seem to really like her. Which means Mom will like her.
Well, this is feeling too fucking real all of a sudden. And it settles heavily in my gut like dread as the passenger door opens and Sage slides into the seat next to me. She has on a pair of black chunky boots with a short green corduroy skirt…
and a bra.
“You forgot your shirt,” I mutter as my eyes rake over her petite frame in my passenger seat. The only thing covering her bra is an open flannel shirt that’s so long the sleeves hang over her wrists. It’s an atrocious outfit…and she really should not look so good in it.
“I thought you’d like it,” she replies, beaming at me with her perfectly straight white teeth. When she catches me staring a moment too long, her smile fades. “What?”
I clench my jaw as I look forward, fighting a smile as I put the car into drive. “Nothing. I’m just…” My voice trails.
“Just what?”
“Just wondering what you’d look like,” I say, finishing my thought with a wince.
“What I would look like if…what?”
Glancing sideways at her, I start to feel bad for even bringing this up, but now I know she won’t let me let it go.
“If you were…normal,” I reply sheepishly.
Instead of pouting or getting mad, she laughs. “You mean, you wonder if you’d be attracted to me if I looked normal,”
she says, using air quotes.
I am attracted to you, I think but don’t say.
“No,” I say, quickly avoiding that accusation.
“Yes, you do,” she persists. “Here.” She pulls out her phone and scrolls through some apps as I drive. Then as I pull up to a stoplight, she thrusts her phone in my face. There on the screen is a blonde-haired young woman with a button nose, a dimpled chin, and straight white teeth in a cheesy grin. She’s wearing an oversized green sweater and tiny shorts that barely peek out the bottom. She’s holding a key chain in her hand.
“I was seventeen. I got the keys to my first apartment. Out of my mother’s house and on my own for the first time.”
A smile creeps across my face against my will as I stare at the girl in the photo and see Sage.
One question answered. Would I still be attracted to her if she looked normal? Yes.
It’s too bad she had to go and fuck it all up with that ring in her lip that her tongue is constantly fiddling with. And those tattoos all over her pretty skin, from her neck to her toes. And that pink fucking hair that looks like cotton candy in the sunshine.
“Answer your question?” she asks, giving me a mischievous grin.
I clear my throat, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
“Was that scary?” I ask, changing the subject. “Moving out on your own at such a young age?”
She scoffs playfully. “Scary? No.”
Glancing sideways at her in the passenger seat, my eyes catch on the thick lashes as she blinks down at the photo on her phone.
“Not at all?” I ask.
“No. Sure, it was a struggle, but to me, the struggle meant I was free.”
“Was it so bad living with your mom?”
She shrugs. “We fought a lot. And I felt like I had to fight for her love. It was like she always wanted me to be grateful to her for the simplest things, things she should have done because she loved me. So I just decided that I was better off without it.”
The car grows quiet for a moment as I stare ahead at the road, thinking about what she just said. It strikes me how much I can relate to that, and not just about my father, but maybe about my faith too.
“So, where are we going?” she says with eagerness. I know I’m probably about to crush that excitement.
“My parents’ house.”
Her head snaps in my direction as her eyes widen in surprise. “What? Why?”
“Because I go every Sunday. Well, I used to. I haven’t been to Sunday dinner in six weeks, and I think it’s time I return…honey,” I say, adding on the romantic pet name with a teasing smile.