Chapter One

"Jesus, Chase, you really need to clear out your fridge every once in a while."

I try not to wretch as I pull out what used to be a hunk of cheddar from the shelf at the back. I'd only been sent to look for beer, but there are some things a girl just can't ignore.

Chase gives me a cursory glance from the sofa before going back to his x-box. "Haven't you ever heard of blue cheese, sis?"

"This is not 'blue'. Christ." I peel back the wrapper hesitantly. "It's just mould. Mouldy cheese. And Mum and Dad call you the grown up."

"What are you, the cheese police?"

My nose wrinkles as I pull up the lid of the bin, tossing the ex-cheese inside. "Today, yes. That is exactly what I am." I go back to the fridge, scanning the door for the beer Chase asked for. I can't help but itemise the rest of the contents while I'm there: some eggs that passed their sell-by two weeks ago, a shrivelled excuse for a piece of broccoli, and something mysterious wrapped in tin foil. I grab a bottle from the door and turn away in disgust. "I can't cook with any of this shit. How do you live?"

Chase, my stinky, disgusting excuse for an older brother, tosses me a grin over his shoulder. "Take-out," he responds, with a hint of pride. God, he's actually proud of that. Wow. "Who needs to cook when you have a job that pays as well as mine?"

"Clearly not you."

I flop onto the sofa beside him, handing him his beer. Chase takes it distractedly, while still trying to manipulate the character on screen with a one-handed controller. He gets stabbed in the face by a zombie and I can't help but smirk.

Visiting my brother over the summer was one of my better ideas. Compared to Mum and Dad, he's so… laid back. I guess that's what you get for having your own place and making a shit tonne of money (his words, not mine) — it's a bit bachelor-pad-esque I guess, with its hardwood floors and funky halogen lighting, but to my surprise it's also remarkably tidy. Really, the fridge is the only thing that's been offensive during my entire stay.

Chase groans when he realises he's died for the fourth time this afternoon, and exits the game with a huff.

"No matter," he grumbles, with the air of a kid who didn't get exactly what he wanted for Christmas. "The guys'll be here soon anyway."

Every Tuesday, Chase and his friends have a poker night. It's usually a guys-night, something they all do to get away from their lives, but I have been given special privileges of attending tonight due to the fact I'm Chase's sister and I have nowhere else to go. To be honest, I'm not all that stoked about poker, but it's better than sitting around trying to beat him at Left4Dead.

I help him clear up the sitting area and move the dining table into the centre of the room, arranging the chairs for the people he's expecting. There's a good supply of crisps, dips, snacks, and — of course — copious amounts of alcohol. I've been warned off it with the mildest of expressions. At seventeen I am almost legal to drink, but Mum would have a fit if she found out Chase had let me get drunk, so we've agreed I'm allowed one or two on the condition that I stop when he tells me.

Suits me.

There's something quite exciting about hanging out with your older brother's friends. They'll all be in their twenties, I expect, with wives or girlfriends or, heaven forbid, children. Grown ups being grown-up has never really done it for me, but if they're anything like Chase, they're probably helplessly trying to cling on to their youth with imagined fantasies about their pseudo gambler lives.

I can't help but smirk as I arrange the crisps into separate bowls. Chase hasn't told them I'll be there tonight; I wonder what they'll make of me? To be honest, I'm not really anything to write home about. Average height, average waist, average personality. Average, average, average. Brown hair that sits half way down my back, brown eyes with bags under them, legs that are a little on the chunky side, and nails that are bitten away from nervous habit.

"Alex."

I look up expectantly at Chase, my hand buried inside one of the packets of crisps I've been dishing out. His face holds a smirk.

"Got enough snacks there?"

I glance down. Apparently in my haste to be helpful, I'd piled the bowl so high that it's now overflowing. Crisps, crisps everywhere. Oops.

Chase sighs in mock annoyance, coming to my side and grabbing the crisp packet from me so that he can finish up. I'm relegated to music duty instead, which is better, because then I get to figure out how to hook up my iPod to his complex sound-system.

As Chase is setting up the poker table and chips, my finger connects with the play button. Taylor Swift starts blaring from his high-quality, very expensive speakers.

Nice to meet you
Where you been?
I could show you incredible things…

Chase stops dead.

"Turn that off," he snaps, glaring at me. I couldn't stop the grin if I tried, and turn the volume up.

"Aw, but it's your favourite!" I croon back, dancing away to the (admittedly horrific, I don't even know why I have it) music.

"I'm serious Alex! Turn that shit off!"

He actually climbs over the sofa to reach me. I'm giggling as I leap away from his swiping hands as he goes for my iPod, but Chase is bigger than me, and he overpowers my attempts to escape. I'm laughing so much I don't really care, and even as he plunges the room into silence I can see the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

It's good for him, I tell myself.

Since Lisa left, he probably hasn't had much in the way of lighthearted female company. And ew, no, I don't mean like that — I am after all his sister — but, I know how guys can be. Most of my friends are guys. They're great for a night out, or for chatting shit, or whatever, but they're not so good at being there for the more emotional stuff.

Not that playing Taylor Swift during a guys-night is particularly emotionally supportive, but I was trying to make fun of the fact that it used to be Lisa's favourite, and Chase used to hate it, and now he doesn't have to listen to it any more. There are some perks to being single.

I say as much to him, and he offers a weak smile.

"They'll be here soon," is all he says, and manoeuvres between the sofas back to the dining table he's setting up. "Just try not to embarrass me when they're here, all right? Otherwise I'll lock you in the bathroom."

That's really not a very good threat.

I fell in love with Chase's flat the moment I first saw it. The front door opens straight into a large, open-plan room that serves as kitchen, dining and living rooms combined. It's huge. The floor is hardwood, beautifully polished, and the walls are heavy set stone. The kitchen area is immediately to the right. It's all black granite surfaces and deep mahogany cupboards, with one of those giant, metal fridges built into the unit. There's a breakfast bar separating it from the rest of the room, and makes the entrance feel sort of like a hallway.

The room then opens out into a dining area and living space, separated by a stonework plinth. The sofas are leather, and there's a gorgeous, huge coffee table right in the centre of the living room. It's normally covered with magazines, coasters, stale cups of tea, stuff like that — but tonight, it is pristine. A giant TV rests on a gaming unit, filled with console games and controllers. The walls are decorated with tasteful art, and there are two sets of long windows either side of the TV, that flood the room with light during the day. For now the scarlet, floor-length curtains hide the darkness outside away.

The dining table is sort of tucked away in a corner, through an archway. Underneath soft lighting, there's a fireplace set into the wall. It's just for show, but it looks stunning.

The bedrooms are on opposite sides of the dining and living area, and the master has an en suite. Every time I've stayed here I've begged Chase to let me stay in the master bedroom, but to no avail — he doesn't want to give anything up for his kid sister, it seems.

Not that I'm complaining. This bathroom… I would sell my soul for a bathroom like this. (Don't take that literally, devil-type fiends.)

It reminds me of those fancy bathrooms you see in hotels in movies, but that you don't really think exist in real life. Let me tell you, they do. Think of the fanciest hotel bathroom you can imagine, and then add perfect lighting, perfect warmth, and the largest mirror you have ever seen. It's so seductive with its dark brown surfaces, soft beige walls, creamy white porcelain, and — okay, you get the picture. I would die a happy woman in a bathroom like this.

I put the finishing touches to my make-up just as I hear the doorbell go. I'm not normally that much into make-up, if I'm honest. I can splash on a bit of cover up and highlight my eyes a bit with some eyeliner and eyeshadow, but that's about as far as I go. Some girls torture themselves for hours, watching YouTube tutorials and making themselves look, frankly, hilarious. For me, mascara is pushing the boat out.

My top's a smidge on the low-cut side, my jeans a tad bit skinny, but you know what, I'm on holiday, I am going to get tipsy, and I'm going to spend my evening with a group of twenty-somethings. There's no harm in feeling a bit empowered.

I come out of the bathroom just as Chase is opening the door.

The guys are all filing in, chatting, laughing, clapping Chase on the back, making stupid jokes (I assume this is some kind of ritualistic thing that men do when they see each other, the equivalent of girls half-screaming and air kissing and fake-hugging), and it takes them a moment to notice me.

They're a good looking bunch, I can't help but notice (shameful, I know, but what's a girl to do?). It's sort of cute how they all stop dead in their tracks and stare at me.

Feeling a little self conscious, I tuck some hair behind my ear, grateful for the low lighting; I always did blush easily. Stupid bodily reactions.

"Guys, this is my sister," Chase says above the music he put on. "She's, uh, staying with me for a few days. I couldn't really kick her out, so…"

"Hey, no worries," says the tallest from the group. He has a head of thick dark hair, and is wearing glasses. He gives me a polite smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Drew. Are you playing?"

I meet Chase's eye briefly and he inclines his head ever so slightly. That's Chase-speak for 'it's okay with me if it's okay with these guys', which is good, because honestly I'm not sure how I would have entertained myself otherwise.

"Of course," I reply, and it comes out a bit quiet. Maybe I should have had a beer before they all got here, give me some liquid courage. "It's guys' night; how could I refuse?"

"Great."

The group edges cautiously into the room, as though I'm some kind of crazy wild animal that might turn on them at any second. Then someone cracks open a drink and suddenly they're relaxed again, talking amongst themselves as they take seats, put drinks in the fridge and help themselves to snacks. I overhear a couple of petty jokes and resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Alex, make yourself useful." Chase elbows me in my ribs as I move to sit down. "Get us a bottle opener while I set up the game, yeah?"

"No need," says a voice from just behind him. "I've got one on my keyring."

"Hey, thanks man."

Chase turns as he speaks, giving me a view of the guy behind him. My stomach does the smallest of flutters when we accidentally make eye-contact. I look away quickly. Damn, since when did my brother start making hot friends? Through school his friends were all dorky, nerdy types — kind of like him, I guess. But this guy… he's something else.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," Chase says as the guy fishes in his pocket for a collection of keys. "Friend of a friend?"

He nods, and a short lock of dark hair falls into his eyes. He rakes a hand through his hair absent-mindedly, handing his keys to my brother like they're the best of friends.

"I work with Drew," he says, pointing a beer bottle to the guy with glasses on the other side of the room, who is unsuccessfully trying to scoop up way too much dip onto a single crisp. "I'm Jason. Sorry if I'm gatecrashing. My other plans tonight fell through."

Chase, ever the charmer, waves the comment away. "Don't worry about it, the more the merrier. As long as you've got a poker face, you're welcome here."

Jason's smile completely changes his face. It lights up in his eyes, making him look alive. "Thanks," he says. "I'll try not to give you a run for your money. Nice spread, by the way."

He and my brother small talk for a few minutes as the rest of the guys settle in and get comfortable. While they talk, I find myself hovering at Chase's side, mentally kicking myself for being such a loser. Yet I am completely distracted by the ministration of Jason's fingers as he fiddles with the top of his beer bottle, or by the way his mouth smiles as he talks, even though he isn't really smiling.

Christ, I clearly need to get out more.

Chase seems to notice I am still beside him, and gives me a look as though to say, 'don't be such a weirdo'. Unfortunately I kind of agree with him.

"I'm going to get a drink," I say quietly, in a way that is sort of asking for permission.

"Go ahead," comes the reply. "I'm not stopping you."

I help myself to some crisps and dip as I pass through the living room and kitchen, reminding myself that I am here as a guest, not to drool over twenty-somethings way out of my league. I'm lucky I'm even allowed to drink anything.

I decide to be a lame-ass, though, and mix myself a shandy. I'm seventeen, it's not like I've never drunk before, but somehow I'm really not in the mood to get off my face tonight. It's a bit different when you're with a bunch of older people who have seen and done it all before. The mood here isn't one of a hard night of drinking — it's laid back, it's casual, and the pressure is off. I kind of prefer it, in a strange way.

If I were out with Rhi, the shots would have started hours ago, and I would probably be on the floor.

Rhianna Brooks (yes, I know, I like her in spite of her name) is to all intents and purposes my best friend. I've known her for as long as I can really remember. To say she's the yin to my yang is probably a bit of an overstatement: she's more the loud to my quiet, the sassy to my snide, and the brazen to my shy. Don't get me wrong, I don't consider myself a pushover, but Rhi has every outgoing quality in spades. She's got the perfect hair, the buxom boobs, the dazzling personality. Her laugh would make kittens cry, or something just as vomit-worthy. I'm not even joking, one of the boys she dated wrote that in a poem about her once. (We laughed about it afterwards, which was a bit mean, but come on.)

In some ways, I'm kind of glad she's not here with me tonight. I feel a bit guilty for that, but I can't help it. She's stayed with Chase before and she's great fun, but being with Rhi has the downside of being everyone else's second glance rather than their first. She's just so god damned charismatic.

However, her absence does not give me the right to neglect her, so like the dutiful best friend that I am, I pull my phone out of my pocket and pen her a quick message.

Brother's poker night — his friends are hot! X

See? Shameless, like I said. I get her reply within seconds.

Don't do anyone I wouldn't do ;) x

I snort at her subtlety, then put my phone away; she'll get the full details from me tomorrow.

Crossing the room with drink in hand, I balk a little as I realise the only seat left is next to Jason. The hands are all dealt up, the chips are down, and I'm sitting next to the hottest guy in the room. I sip my drink for that extra courage — this is going to be interesting.

Author's Note: Hi folks! Thanks for reading. For the sake of clarity, this story is set in the UK, where the age of consent is 16, and at 18 you can drink alcohol. I'm trying to warm up to writing again and this is the first time I've really tried first person; please let me know what you think!