Be careful what you ask for.
When digging deep, you may uncover bodies.
Maisie's life has been falling apart since her older sister went missing years ago without a trace. With a dead father and a mentally unstable mother, the teenage girl ha...
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-MAISIE-
MY PINKY FINGER runs under my eyes, cleaning any smudge from my mascara. I look at my reflection, straightening my jersey. It's a limited edition, the colors of the team—red and white—adorning the black shirt. My brother's name is written on the back, the signatures of all the players litter the jersey in white letters. Little sister privileges.
The sleeves swallow my hands, the hem reaching my thighs, an inch above the end of my shorts.
"Come on, Maisie," Logan grumbles from the living room.
"Just a minute, jeez," I shout back. My hands scramble around the sink in the bathroom, searching for my lipstick. "Where is it?" I mumble to myself.
"Looking for this?"
My head snaps toward the door. Blake chuckles, crunching down to pick up the small tube of red lip gloss.
"You're a life savior," I breathe out. He just shrugs.
While I paint my mouth with a cherry color, Blake comes behind me, tying my hair in a half ponytail. I smile at him through the mirror.
"Thank you," I mumble.
"Don't mention it," he says, with a longing in his grey eyes. He sighs. "Laurel forced me to learn how to do her hair when I was like five." His head shakes as he talks about his dead sister. "We the youngest always comply with a big smile when we are kids, don't we?"
I giggle. "We the youngest, so naive."
Two strands of my hair adorn my face. I pack all my makeup into a small toiletry bag. I pick my purse and put on my jacket, heading towards the living room of my twin brothers' apartment. Logan sits on the couch, one ankle over the other knee, his foot bouncing.
He wears a red shirt under his leather jacket after I almost banged his head against the wall for not wearing anything with the team's colors. Logan mumbles a finally when his eyes find me, his hands pushing himself up from the couch.
"You know there is like zero purpose on wearing a puffer jacket if your legs are mostly left naked, right?" he barks at me. "Or are you that dumb?"
I roll my eyes, digging my hands in the jacket's pockets. "You know there is like zero purpose on having an ass if all the shit already comes out of your mouth, right?"
Logan's hand closes in a fist as he loudly inhales. Blake completely loses his shit by my side, snorting out loud.
"I like this girl," he praises me.
"Let's go," Logan huffs.
We walk out of their apartment, and when we reach the car, I get in the back seat, throwing my heavy purse by my side. Al had a lunch date with Maya earlier today, so he dropped me off with Logan this morning. In other words, half of my life is inside the purse.
