After that night, the barrier between us completely dissolved. In front of our parents, we played the roles of perfect stepsiblings. He called me Summer, and I called him Rhett. But the moment their backs were turned, he transformed.
Before our parents woke up in the morning, he would slip into my room, pulling me into his arms under the blankets for a brief nap. His chin would rest in my neck, his hands wandering playfully. When I pushed him away, he'd just hold tighter, whispering, "Just holding you, I won't do anything," though he always pushed his luck.
When I hung laundry on the balcony at night, he would appear silently, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind to kiss the nape of my neck.
Dinner was even worse. Beneath the table, his leg would constantly brush against mine.
