“Good.” She smiles. “Me too. But I’d rather be terrified with you than safe with anyone else.”
“You’re not blood,” my stepdad finally said, rubbing his face. “Legally, morally… I don’t know. It’s weird. I won’t pretend it’s not weird.”
I learned things about her that had nothing to do with flirting. She cried during nature documentaries. She talked in her sleep—usually about me. She had a small scar on her ribs from a bike crash at twelve, and she’d let me trace it with my thumb while she hummed. Life With a Flirty Step-Sister -Final-
“Not a chance.”
And I’d go.
So I stopped. The confession didn’t happen dramatically. It happened over coffee.
Here is the final part of the story, written in a narrative, first-person POV as requested. Life With a Flirty Step-Sister -Final- “Good
I always answered with a joke. A deflection. A “You’re impossible.”
But in the end, they listened.
When we break apart, she touches my face. “Scared?”