Chapter 6

Chapter Six 

Amelia

I hated Miguel Angel Sanchez, better known by the female population of Evergreen High as 'Hot Angel.'

Even Bianca couldn't stop drooling when he was around. 

Okay, hate is a really strong word, so let's just go with dislike. Strongly dislike. 

It's been two weeks since Miguel started going to school with me. Two weeks of hell. Two weeks of him stepping on my toes and trying to drive me to madness. Two weeks of unwanted attention. Two weeks of receiving glares from half of the female population because he was so openly affectionate; something I knew that he did on purpose because he liked seeing me squirm. Bianca thought it was the cutest sibling relationship she'd ever seen. 

I'd almost puked at that. At least he and I were on common ground with that one. We were definitely not siblings or related or step-anything. 

I can't be related to a demon. 

After that first day when he'd stolen my hair ribbon and I'd had to return to my car to get a new one, I hadn't seen him till lunch and he'd strolled over to where Bianca and I sat, the entire cafeteria watching him and taking pictures like he was some sort of celebrity (which he was). Bianca had had invisible drool all over her mouth, staring at him like the only reason she wasn't jumping his bones was because I was sitting beside her. Thank God I'd made her promise in time. The spell wore off quickly when she realized that she was sitting in front of someone in the industry she was interested in and not just an arrestingly handsome dude, launching into questions which to my surprise he'd answered patiently. Fortunately (unfortunately), because Miguel was more arts inclined, majority of his classes were with Bianca who'd sworn to help me watch over him–ha, more like jump him–, the only classes I had with him were the ones I had with Bianca as well; Literature, History and Geography. In our school system, History was compulsory for everyone and no matter what you were going to do in college, you had to do at least one science and one art subject. 

Lunch hadn't even expired when Beth had sauntered over from the popular table (comprising Chris, Jane and some members of the football and cheerleading team) to invite Miguel over there. Bianca had told her to go away, in so many cuss words, I'd winced. He'd had looked at me, smirking as he said "I don't know, Bethany, I don't want to leave my sister all alone." 

I'd chased him away from the table almost immediately, watching him smirk all the way as I seethed and sulked. Bianca hadn't been happy with me for the rest of the day. 

The days after that passed in a blur, mostly consisting of one scandal after another involving my stepbrother.  Miguel had for some reason decided that he'd only sit with the populars on Tuesdays and Thursdays, claiming that his sister had felt lonely (Bianca had begged him after school the previous day). Jane had snickered, along with half of the cafeteria as he explained the story of how his sister couldn't live without him to protect her and walk beside her and how I was scared of the dark (I wasn't even scared of the dark.) Bianca had found it funny. I hadn't. 

Since I couldn't avoid Miguel drama at school, I made sure the only times I saw him was when we ate and even then the bastard distracted me, rubbing his thigh against mine at every chance he got. However, I didn't miss the tension that always surrounded us when he sat, Emilio and my mother watching him with apprehension as he ate in silence, because we were worried that he'd been quiet, calm and even docile and we were waiting for the other shoe to drop. I started locking my door before I so much as took my shirt off. His room–he'd picked it because of the balcony– was on the end of my corridor, our rooms separated by two empty rooms.

Girls who didn't talk to me before now whispered to me in class, asking for what my brother liked and what he didn't. The bastard liked messing with me, I'd almost said but didn't because I couldn't even cuss. All my missing hair ribbons were testament to how he subtly liked messing with my orderly life. And then today, Beth had seen me in the library, hinting not so secretly that she'd been the latest to kiss Miguel. I'd broken my pencil into pieces the moment she was out of sight, fuming for the rest of the day as I drove home, the bastard sitting beside me, a smug smile on his face. 

Right now, as I climb the stairs to my bedroom, I don't even register that the boy in question isn't walking to his room until I enter my room and a leg stops the door from slamming shut. 

I throw my bag on the bed and turn to face him, my hands on my waist. "What do you want now, Miguel?" I say exasperatedly and fold my arms. 

He walks up to me, leaning until he's in my face.

"Say that again." He breathes, his annoyingly handsome face the only thing I can see and I lean back, tilting my neck to face him head on. If there's anything I know he seems to enjoy, it's the back and forth that happens between us everyday on our way to school and back. Unfortunately, I don't ever seem to not take the bait. 

"Which part? What do you want part or your name? It is Miguel, is it not?" No way am I going to call him Angel like the girls in school seem to scream everytime he so much as breathes. Even if it is indeed his name. 

Call me Angel, sugar. 

Ugh. 

He closes his eyes, murmuring more to himself than me and my eyes zero in on his lip ring, my hands fisting as I try to curb the urge to remove it from his mouth, because what do I say is my reason? 

Oh hello, I find everything about you distracting, especially your lip ring and I just needed to take it off, thanks for understanding. 

He'd have a field day with that. 

"Our parents are married." He mumbles more to himself, then he opens his eyes and walks to where the couch is resting against the wall and plops on it, his gaze never wavering from mine.  

"Do I need to remind you that this isn't your room?" 

"I've never been before. In your room. It's exactly what I'd pictured it to be."

I raise an eyebrow, tapping my left foot and moving closer to where he is seated like we're longtime pals and I invited him to the only place in the house that was supposed to be free of him. "Orderly, not a thing out of place."

"Thank you? What do you want, Miguel?" 

"You've called my name an awful lot today. Usually, it's crazy bastard when you think I'm not listening." My foot stops tapping as I gawk at him. I'd said it out loud? I never cussed. Not out loud. Never ever. 

"You're mistaken. I don't cuss."

He relaxes into the couch like it's his throne and smiles that sinful smile (the one where he pulls his lip ring between his teeth and twirls his tongue around it). That stupid smile that gets on my nerves everytime and ruffles my feathers. My once upon a time unruffled feathers. 

"I thought so too. Little Miss Goody two shoes, Amelia Hart and her two size too big checkered shirts and jeans and sneakers and her hair always up and her nose always stuck in a book and her perfect relationship with teachers and her A+ in everything and anything and how she likes everything in place and everything in order and doesn't like being put on the spot." He's standing in front of me again and my throat dries up as I take in his intense stare. 

Our faceoffs were usually verbal and at school or on the way, most of the time consisting of me wanting to throw something at him and thinking better of it. I don't know what to expect now. All his pranks, for all that I've thought of how to strangle him, have been relatively harmless

How can one human being look that handsome? It should be forbidden. My reaction to him should be forbidden. 

My next words are stuttered "And you know all of that ... in just two weeks?"

He reaches out his hand and sure enough, the ribbon holding my hair together is in his hands, my hair falling over my shoulders. "People talk, you know. Bianca was willing to help me understand my sister because she knew the sister herself wouldn't ever talk to me." 

I calculate how I'm going to kill Bianca and absentmindedly inch closer to him. God, he's tall. My head is reaching his shoulders. "Why would I want to talk to you?"

"Why wouldn't you? I am your stepbrother after all." The space between us thins out until I can almost feel his body on mine. He tilts my chin up to look into his eyes. 

"You're not my stepbrother. Our parents are just married." 

"And fucking." 

"Can you stop saying that?" I'm sure my heart isn't functioning properly because his hand that isn't holding my chin up wraps around my waist, light as a feather, not doing anything but reminding me that it's there. 

What the hell is going on here? 

"What? Fuck? You don't like it, Mia?" 

I'm sure I'm not thinking. Because if I was, I'd have snatched my body away from his grasp and not encourage whatever agenda he has in place this time to make me squirm.  He starts moving forward and I move backward until my bum hits the bed and he's hovering over me. I don't realize what he's doing until it's too late. He's taken my bag and emptied the contents on the bed, his hand reaching for my purse. I watch, frozen, as his smirk comes back up to his lips and he bends to place a kiss on my jaw before whispering thanks and walking out the door. 

The realization that hits me moments later has my blood running cold. 

Miguel Angel has planned this, all of this because he wants money and I'm the only one weak enough in this house to fall for his charms. The rage that simmers in me dies as my hands caress my jaw where he'd placed his lips, the silver of his lip ring cold as it hit my skin. 

I've just been played.

Wanton bastard.