Chapter 6 - Gentleman like us

Max

All my life, I didn't think I would meet a feisty dork like Noah, cheeky on the outside and feisty on the inside.

And who even names a girl Noah? This marriage had never been agreeable to me, and now that Noah is here, everything in my life is clashing, with the exception of my little sister, who lives miles away. I never imagined that I would have to look out for someone.

The moment Noah entered my life, I knew I was doomed. To make matters worse, she was always present wherever I went.

But something about that kiss seemed different, though I would never admit it. I was the Max that everyone labelled as spoilt and bad, and believe me, I have had my fair share of women, but Noah was different; she ignited things I did not know existed. That feeling you get when you know you hate someone but would go to any length to keep them safe.

The way she faces a challenge head-on, her sharp tongue, which was bound to be her doom some day, or the way she looks at me as if I do not matter, which is the polar opposite of what I have known my entire life.

Her forehead struck the headboard for the third time since I placed her in the passenger seat.

"Oh, why does it feel so hot?" she complained as I pushed her back into her seat with my right hand.

"I think I feel cold now," she said again, and I knew she was drunk.

"You would be fine," I reassured her; other days, I would have scolded her for drinking, but seeing her vulnerable was not something I had ever imagined.

She obviously did not know what she was saying.

Her head hits the headboard again, and when I try to pin her back into the seat, she protests.

“Don't touch me, dickhead… no…no…Why don't you let me drive? I have always wanted to drive one of these.” She murmurs and reaches for the wheel, but I shove her hands away.

"No way, I am letting you drive my baby. Furthermore, you are drunk and do not have a licence."

"I am dizzy, that is all," she said, whirling her index finger lazily in my face and smiling sheepishly. “You drank as well, didn’t you?” 

“Just one shot,”

“Yeah, off someone's boob,” she hints, and I turn sideways to stare at her. Obviously she had observed too much for her own good.

"Did I? Interesting," I replied, shoving her hands off my face.

"Not as interesting as nice and salty tequila mixed with sweat, huh," she finally admits, laughing aloud at her own joke.

This part of Noah wasn't what I was fond of, but her jokes bring a smile to my face.

She kept saying strange things, but I was unwilling to listen.

We came to a stop at the house, and I assisted her in getting out of the car. I did not want her to make any noise because it would put me in a position to explain details I was not prepared for, and my father, especially, would not take it well after seeing Noah drunk.

"Freud isn't some trap singer, so you know, I think it's like sucking something off ..." I don't know…of your mother’s breasts,” she says, trying to put words together in her drunken state; every word sounded like a whisper and was barely coherent.

"Do not mention my mother," I warned sternly, but it only earned me a glare from her, and she attempted to slip on the stairs, but I was able to keep her in place.

When I heard a high-pitched voice in the kitchen, I decided to lift Noah into my arms rather than let her blow my cover.

"Your mother never taught you how to pour liquids into something called glass," she enquired, and I knew what she was implying.

Why did the thought of me sipping tequila from the bodies of the girls at the party bother her so much?

"Hey, Barton, this is your great-grandson," she exclaimed excitedly, pointing to the portrait on the wall. "Do not be deceived; he is not a gentleman like you, even with a damsel in his arms." I could not help but laugh at the joke and her referring to me as a brat, which normally would have irritated me but didn't.

"You know what, did you know glass is a liquid?" she says, slapping my shoulder.

We arrived at her room, and I placed her on the bed; even with her eyes closed, she spoke words I could not understand.

"Glass flows so slowly that it appears solid; that is why it is so fragile," she said, causing me to scowl.

What the hell does that mean?

"Hard but fragile," she says a second time, and I dismiss it and try to turn off the light.

She awoke abruptly, clutching my wrist.

"Please, no light," she pleaded, which surprised me; I had no idea my fiery stepsister was afraid of the dark, and I was sure to throw it in her face someday.

She leans back, and her neck is on display; her oval face and wet cheeks, flushed and innocent, make my heart race faster than usual. I noticed the knot behind her neck and wondered why she had the tattoo representing survival.

And I wondered what kind of life this sharp-tongued nerd of a sister had led before coming into my life and what she had survived.

"Do not touch me," she commands, pushing my hands away from her ears.

As I turned to leave, she used the all-too-familiar curse word I was already used to. "Asshole"

The next day, I am sitting in the dining room as Cupid approaches the table.

“Studying at Nick’s house, were you?” I glanced up at him, a mischievous smile planted on my lips. Cupid has known me since I was a child and was obviously aware that I had been partying.

"Yes," I replied.

"Ibuprofen," he asks, slipping out a card with pills. I thanked him, but before I could swallow, an angry little step-sister walked into the kitchen.

I knew nothing positive was coming from her expression when I looked at her, but I maintained my composure before she quickly took the pills away from me.

"Coffee, Miss," Cupid offered.

"I would get it myself," she says, before focusing her gaze on me.

"What happened last night?" She enquired, and I could see beneath her icy glare that she was terrified.

Is that how she saw me, even assuming I could take advantage of her while she was drunk?

The sensation came with a pang of pain, but I let it go. Furthermore, it would not hurt to make fun of her this morning.

"You really do not remember," I said, pretending to be offended. "A lot of things happen after I put you to bed."

"You took advantage of me. How could you?" she accused, staring blankly at me, but her face was no longer a mask of anger; it was something more, and her eyes were glistening in an unusual way.

Even the hardest of rocks

were capable of splitting.