So Wrong. Part 2

I never liked my sister’s husband.

First, he was a smug asshole. He thought he was gorgeous and charming; he also thought he could win over just about anybody. Fine, he was gorgeous and, okay, quite charming. But I wasn’t just anybody. I told anyone who’d listen about how ridiculous his eyebrows were, or how he only cared about how he looked, or he was as charming as a cold sore. We had a bizarre tension between us that made me want to leave the room as soon as he entered it.

He had thick rusty colored hair that always looked unbrushed and wet green eyes that gleamed with constant amusement. He thought everything was funny. Especially me.

The real reason I disliked Patrick was the way he looked at me. It was like he could see straight through me. It sounds clichéd, I know, but it’s how I felt. When I caught him looking at me, it was like he could see how small and insecure and vulnerable I secretly thought I was and I didn’t like it. I needed to be strong, and I so