Standing outside of Xander’s apartment door, I fidget with the check in my hand, folding and unfolding it until the crease feels dangerously close to giving way. It’s early— well, before lunch, anyhow. I picked this time because I assume he was out late last night, and thus he’s almost certainly still in bed— and thus, still home. Unless he never even came home?

The door swings open.

The check flutters from my fingertips.

“Josie,” he says— or perhaps he just mouths my name? I can’t tell, taken as I am by the sight of him. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing more than pajama pants and an annoyed expression that melts to something else entirely as he mouths my name.

“Xander,” I say, trying to sound formal, or in the very least, like I’m not having to force my eyes away from his six-pack abs. I always thought Xander was hot, but now that he’s a man, not a boy, he’s meltingly so.

“Josie,” he says— this time I know he says my name aloud, because there’s an edge to it.

“I brought a check,” I say, looking down to where the piece of paper has fluttered to the floor.

Xander looks at the paper, the front splayed up at him, like he can’t quite believe it’s real. “You could have mailed it,” he says.

“I know. But I wanted to talk to you,” I say, then glance back and forth down the hall. “Can I come in? It’s sort of serious.”

Xander’s face goes almost ashen, but his cheekbones don’t quite support that expression; instead he just looks twice as broody as normal.

“Not about…that,” I say quickly, perhaps too quickly. Xander looks doubtful, but steps aside, giving me twice as much room as I need to step through the doorway, like he’s worried about getting too close to me.

I brush past him; he retrieves the check from the ground and holds it like the paper’s texture disgusts him. When I hear the door shut behind me, I turn to face him.

I planned to immediately come out with the question— what kind of shit are you caught up in?— but I have to give myself at least one moment to appreciate how good Xander looks. In the doorway, his muscles, his skin, his shadowed chin were all lit by hallway lights. Last time I saw him, it was the glow of the ultra-modern chandeliers that hang in his apartment. But now? It’s bright and sunny, and light is streaming through the curtains. It bounces off of him like he’s carved from stone, and it’s wild to consider the fact that this is the same sullen boy I crushed on as a high schooler.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to pry, okay? And I know things were sort of…I don’t know, weird, last time we saw each other, and I’m still pretty mad about that but…I’m worried about you, okay?” I begin, stumbling over the words.

Xander’s eyebrows shoot up. “Worried about me.”

“Yes. I don’t know what’s happened in the last three years, Xander, but it’s pretty suspect that you can afford to drop a few grand into my bank account and have a freaking amazing apartment and be out late at night in bars working.”

“Okay,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

It annoys me; that smirk. As if I’m still that same goofy kid stepsister, and he’s still laughing to himself about my innocence and general cluelessness.

“So what is it? Are you like…a drug dealer or something?”

“You think I’m a drug dealer?”

“You tell me,” I say, folding my arms. Xander’s eyes drop to my chest and linger on the resulting cleavage.

Finally, he glances away. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not the one who got mugged my first night in town.”

Ouch. That one stung. I feel my eyes sting a little. “I guess I must be an idiot for trying to care about you,” I mutter.

Then I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm. Not too rough, but just his touch makes me freeze. Makes me realize how fucking bad I still want him. “Wait a second,” he says.

When he speaks again, his voice is gentler than I expect, though he’s clearly working hard to keep it that way. “I can’t tell you about my job. But I can tell you that it’s nothing you that it’s not drugs or anything crazy like that…” he lets go of my arm.

“Then why can’t you tell me?” I say, wishing he’d just touch me again. Touch me like the last time we saw each other.

Xander licks his lips and rubs the back of his neck. It makes each and every muscle along his arms stand out, and I feel my stomach clench at the want for him. “Because I don’t know you that well, Josie.”

I bite my lip. “And you don’t want to know me any better, so I guess…I’ll never know what you do for a living?”

My attempt to disguise this as another question about his line of work is almost comically transparent.

“It’s not that,” he mutters, and takes a few steps forward, down the two steps that lead to the sitting area.

“Okay, but…” I begin, searching for the words, wondering if I can get them out before the hot ball of tears in my throat overpowers me. “Tell me this, at least— did you stop things between us because you suddenly realized I’m not as good looking as you or something? That I’m not on your level? Or is it really because our stupid parents happened to get married to one another?”

Xander stares. “That’s what you seriously think,” he says.

“I don’t know what to think,” I admit with a shrug. My eyes are starting to burn, and I can’t help but wonder if I really came here because I was worried about Xander, or if I just wanted to see his face when he answered my questions.

“I’m older,” he says cautiously. “I’m supposed to protect you. I’m not supposed to be your first sexual partner.”

“Says who?”

“Probably the state of New York,” he answers. “Why is this so important to you?” he adds, almost sounding concerned.

I can’t answer that— because for starters, I’m not entirely sure I know the answer. Perhaps it’s because, up until this week, Xander was as unattainable as any movie star. And now that I know there’s a chance, I can’t merely walk away. Or perhaps it’s because I’m angry. I’m angry that our parents brought us together, then got married, tainting any chance of a relationship.

Or maybe it’s nothing more than red hot lust.

Finally, I just blurt out the truth. “Because I’ve never even considered losing my virginity to some other guy, because I always just…I don’t know. I wanted you,” I say, words muddled in embarrassment and hurt. I stare at my hands.

Xander breathes in slow, heavy breaths for a long, long time— so long that I finally look up at him.

He swallows. “Josie,” he says, closing his eyes, shaking his head, and I prepare myself for another round of rejection. But instead, eyes still shut, he says, “take your shirt off.”