I wish there were uniforms.
I wish I didn’t wish there were uniforms.
Erik guides me through the crowd. His touch is warm and certain, and every muscle inside me submits. He is overbearing, domineering, always angling to keep me near; I know this. I move with his hand like I always have, without thinking. He taught me about touch. To trust it. To allow it.
We approach a group of people who turn to acknowledge us, eyes widening as they recognise my brother and narrowing as they assess me.
A man steps forwards and grins. “Hey, dickhead!” He clasps Erik’s hand, their knuckles whitening as they squeeze. His gaze shifts to me, eyebrows lifting. “Is this Blesk?”
Erik pulls me an inch closer to his side. “Yes. This is my little sister, Blesk.”
His little sister.That’s the way I’m always spoken about to others, even by our dad. As if I werehissister first, and everything else second.
Jaxon extends his hand to me. “Hi, B. I’m Jaxon. You don’t mind if I call you B?”
Erik’s jaw tightens. “Her name is?—"
“No, no, I don’t,” I cut in, taking Jaxon’s hand and shaking it. His palm is warm, slightly damp. “I may not answer to it, though.”
Laughter ripples through the group. I blink, my smile delayed because was that funny? I meant it literally, but… okay.Funny and social Blesk?
Erik leans into my ear. “So you don’t mind nicknames, just not ones from me?”
My brows furrow. “What?”
“Forget it,” he huffs.
“So this is the famous younger Bellamy.” Jaxon tucks his hands into his pockets, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut across his built shoulders. His eyes flick down my body, then up. “You never told me your sister was hot, Erik.”
The air changes.
“Jaxon.”Erik’s voice comes out low; each syllable laced with warning. “She’s my little sister. Out of bounds.”
Jaxon raises his palms. “Alright, mate. Settle.” He drops his hands, smirking as he says, “I’m not saying this to piss you off, but—“ His gaze slides down my body, lingering at my hips before crawling back up. “She just got way hotter to me since you said that.”
Ugh.
What a show pony!
I shift my weight, and Erik moves without speaking, hisshoulder blocking Jaxon’s view of me. I step to the side, subtly trying to remove myself from my brother’s familiar shadow.
“I’m Pembie.” A blonde with legs that seem to start at her ribcage extends her hand. Her glossy hair catches the sunlight, and her outfit looks curated rather than chosen.
My skirt suddenly feels childish, my wedges clumsy. She glances at the stage, then punches Jaxon’s arm. “Konnor’s up next. Shut up!”
Erik’s breath warms my ear. “Our friend somehow conned his way into a speech.”
“There he is!” Pembie points, bouncing on her toes.
The oval erupts in whistles and hoots. I peek between shoulders just as a man with brown hair strides onto the stage, posture confident, black t-shirt stretching across his chest and biceps and— He’s cute.
He adjusts the microphone.
My fingertips tingle.
“Konnor!” Pembie’s hands blur as she claps, her teeth flashing white between a wide smile.
“Hey, everyone, I’m Konnor Slater.” His voice is deep and confident and somehow weakens my knees. “I'm not going to tell you that you're lucky to be here. Lucky implies chance. You made decisions, some good, some bad, but every one of them is a sentence that got you to this morning, to this page.”